It’s pouring rain outside, but I don’t mind. The cold wetness soothes my burning skin. I hop on my bicycle, imagining the moment I’ll be old enough to get myself a motorcycle. Everything about Dad is cruel, but at least, he’s not stingy. I’ve always been able to buy what I wanted. Maybe he figures that makes up for the rest.
I begin to peddle toward the middle school, thankful that my charter school ends so much earlier. Ten minutes later, I’m stopping at the corner of the building, and then I wait.
I smile to myself as I remember Dad’s words.Pervert.Psychopath.If only he knew just how fucked up his son really is.
I don’t honestly give a shit about whoever’s been telling him what I’m up to. I’m not up to anything. Just standing at the corner of the street, with my hoodie pulled over low, and I guess to the teachers there, it must look like I’m ogling all the girls coming out of the building.
I’m only ogling her, though.
They can’t do a thing, anyway. I’m on the opposite side of the street. It’s a free country, so who the fuck is going to stop me from following a girl as she walks home, keeping a block behind her at all times?
That block wouldn’t be enough to keep most people from realizing, after a while, that someone was following them home every single day after school. But Piper Day is the most distracted person I’ve ever met.
If she reallywasin danger, she wouldn’t even know it before it hit her on the head.
Maybe Iamprotecting her, after all, riding behind her on thesafe, suburban streets that make up the outer parts of Astley. The thought makes me smile from its sheer ridiculousness.
Though I guess, if anyone bothered her, they’d have me to deal with. I feel a weird sense of proprietorship over her.
Today, with the pouring rain, it’s not easy to see her in the mass of kids walking outside the building. But after a while, the groups begin to thread out, each kid walking toward their ride. Before long, Piper is alone, standing against the school, holding her bag to her chest and watching the rain uncertainly.
I guess she’s not exactly feeling up to walking home in this rain. It looks like she’s waiting for someone, but whoever that person is has bailed on her.
At last she peels away from the school wall, sighing as though trying to make up her mind to walk home. She begins to cross the muddy grass that leads to the sidewalk.
I wish I had the strength to go againstthiscrazy urge. The sudden urge to see her up close. To feel her body between my arms,withoutcrushing her inside them.
I don’t take the time to process that before my hand juts out to ring my bicycle bell.
It takes a while for the tinkling sound to pierce through her thoughts. Then she jumps, startled, and looks around.
Another tinkling, and she notices me.
She probably doesn’t recognize me, with her glasses covered in raindrops and the darkness falling early because of the incoming storm. She hesitantly walks forward, as if she’s not sure the bell is meant for her. I tinkle it a third time insistently.
She crosses the street, heading my way.
“Quill!”
She seems very surprised and nervous to see me. I like the little glint of fear I can see in her eyes, despite the foggy glasses mostly hiding them.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, stopping in front of me.
I shrug. “Figured you needed a ride.”
“Uh… well, I do.”
“Then get on.”
She doesn’t get on, merely staring at me in confusion.
I click my tongue impatiently, hating that I have to insist and risk betraying I need her to accept the ride far more than she probably needs the ride itself.
“Go on. I don’t want to wait around for you. I’m wet enough as it is.”
She swallows. “Okay. Where should I get on?”
Thank fucking God.