Reaping Me Softly

took a glass from the dishwasher as if her father’s irritation didn’t poke at her between her shoulder blades.

“Larger than you’d think.”

“There’s an accident on the 85 too?” She smirked.

“No, there isn’t. Why are you intent on spoiling my morning?” he whined.

Arianne poured herself some juice and took a sip before she kissed him on the cheek and plopped down on a chair at his side.

“Lazy bones,” she said in imitation of her mother.

“I’m entitled to a morning off once in a while, aren’t I?” He tugged at a ribbon of her hair.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we?”

“I take it you’re only this brave because Mom spent the night at Saint Joseph’s again.” She snatched the untouched toast from his plate and bit into it, chewing merrily.

“They’re waiting for news on a possible donor.”

“Still no luck?”

He dropped his gaze like a hot potato.

She stood up and hugged him. “Oh, Daddy, something’ll turn up, you’ll see.”

“Where do you get all this optimism from?” He gave her a squeeze before breaking the contact.

Arianne smiled. “Carrie,” she said.

A sheen of unshed tears surfaced in his eyes. “How did I get so lucky being surrounded by such strong women?”

“You just are.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Gotta go.”

“You visiting this afternoon?” he asked just before she left through the back door.

Arianne glanced at him over her shoulder, a wicked twinkle in her eye. “I’d like to see anyone try and stop me.”

For every step Arianne took to the bus stop, she prayed no lives were lost on I-75. Then, feeling no shame at all, she sent out a prayer for a donor. She blinked away the onset of sadness. As much as anyone in her family, maybe even more, Arianne wanted her sister healthy. “She’ll be fine,” became her daily mantra. If she could have shirts printed out with those words on them, she would, but the printers required at least a hundred pieces per order. Arianne didn’t have that many friends.

She kept her eyes on the sidewalk until she passed the Fletchers’ bungalow. On its freshly watered lawn stood a naked man, facing the house. His ashen pallor made Arianne pause a moment. She rubbed her chest to ease some of the tightness she normally felt when she encountered one of them. The man glanced to the right, as if someone had called to him. When Arianne blinked, he was gone. She said a silent prayer for him and for those he’d left behind.

Resuming her walk, she spotted Ben—in his slacks, button-up shirt, Braves cap, and Converse—using the bus stop sign to keep upright. He had his head bowed and his eyes closed, barely staying vertical. Arianne laughed. When he didn’t need to be fully awake, he stayed in what she thought of as a functioning hibernation mode.

“Hey, sleepy,” she greeted loudly.

Ben groaned. “Too early,” he grumbled.

Arianne cooed, “Oh, I know, I know.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “Bad mornings, bad!”

He snaked his arm around her shoulders and transferred all his weight onto her until her knees buckled.

“I may be sleepy,” he murmured, “but I do know when I’m being patronized.”

Seconds later, the school bus screeched to a stop and the door slid open.

“Come on, you two,” the driver called, waving them up.

“Get on the bus, you big lug.” Arianne yanked Ben as hard as she could. He stumbled forward, eyes shuttered, shoulders slumped. His bag took up the rear.

A typical scene, their schoolmates paid no attention to the proceedings.

They found a seat in the middle, and Arianne slid in by the window. The forward momentum of the vehicle had Ben falling in beside her. A second later, he had his head on her shoulder, already dozing off. Arianne sighed, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. She watched the world pass her by.

Two stops later, Arianne straightened slowly, trying not to jostle Ben. She stared at the front of the bus intently as it made a left onto an all too familiar street. Her heart leapt into her throat, beating there, making it hard to breathe, let alone swallow. She dried her palms on her jean-covered thighs.

And like in those cheesy shampoo commercials, everything stopped the moment Nikolas Clark climbed on the bus, including Arianne’s heart. He made a black T-shirt, ragged Levi’s, and scuffed Docs unintentionally cool. His sable hair, combed to perfection, kissed his brow and nape lightly. What she wouldn’t give to be a single strand among those locks. And those bottomless midnight eyes pierced everything in their path as they scanned for an empty seat. After spotting one toward the back, he glided as sure-footed as any cat.

Restarting her heart with imaginary defibrillators, Arianne had to force herself not to twist around. Ben’s heavy head on her shoulder anchored her. If she moved, he’d wake up and get snippy.

It’s not like I won’t see Niko again in chem, she reminded herself, ignoring the fact that she sounded like a deranged stalker in her head.

Minutes later, heart safely pumping blood again, Arianne waited for the bus to pull into Blackwood High’s parking lot. When it stopped, a blush blanketed her cheeks as her gaze chased Niko from the bus, across the blacktop, all the way to the main entrance where he exchanged pleasantries with a girl who kept her auburn hair in a severe bob. The girl—in her cardigan and pleated skirt—began speaking animatedly. Niko inclined his head and listened, his expression obscured with his back to Arianne.

Frustrated, she nudged Ben harder than usual. “We’re here,” she yelled.

Ben jerked awake and hit his head on the seat in front of him. “Ow! A little warning would have been nice.” He rubbed his forehead.

“I thought the squeal of the bus stopping was the warning.” She grabbed her bag and pushed him off the seat. “Move it before the bell rings.”

“Well, aren’t we bossy this morning?” Ben frowned as he slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the front of the bus.

“I just don’t want to be late, okay?” Arianne trailed after him.

“This mood, by any chance, has nothing to do with Darla Masters, does it?” Ben pointed to the front doors, where Darla and Niko stood—still engaged in conversation.

“Will you stop that,” Arianne said, yanking Ben’s arm down.

“The arm’s attached, you know. Seriously—” Ben adjusted his baseball cap “—it’s not like they’re dating. Why don’t you just ask Niko out and be done with it?”

“Are you crazy?” Arianne glared at her friend. “Do you know what happened to the last person who got in Darla’s way?”

Ben shook his head. To his credit, he didn’t let her glare cow him into submission.

“My point exactly.” She stomped away. Whether in advance or retreat, she couldn’t quite tell.

Books tumbled out of her locker one after the other, making friends with the newly polished floor. Arianne could only stare in disbelief at the situation. Fishing line, almost invisible to the naked eye, was tethered from the inside of her locker to the door. When she punched in the combination and opened it, the line went taut and spilled everything.

Childish, she thought as she bent down, attempting to make sense of the mess.

A pale hand reached for her American history textbook and handed it to Arianne. She glanced sideways and smiled, the line of her lips short and tight. The boy that kneeled by her side rolled his eyes at her from behind thickly-framed glasses.

“The ‘pull and puke,’ huh?” he asked.

Arianne’s sigh finally broke free. “I know, right? It’s so seventh grade.” She stacked her loose notes and tapped them on the floor.

“I guess it never gets old.”