She turned toward Alyssa now. With one knee up, one fist at her hip and one arm held high, Isobel brought a finger down to aim straight at the other girl. She beamed her hardest, putting on her biggest, brightest cheer smile.
A chorus of “Oooh!’s” rang through the gym, drowned out only by the raucous laughter that followed. In an instant, Alyssa’s smug expression dissolved. Her face reddened. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw the gleam of Coach’s whistle as it rose to her lips. Before she could be stopped, though, she plunged forward, still smiling. She snapped into a T position, then hit into a toe-touch. She landed with a nod, pouring as much energy into the cheer as she would in any competition, knowing how infectious enthusiasm could be to those of the cheer persuasion.
Isobel delivered each “win” with a tuck jump, then threw in a double nine jump at the end just to show off. She finished with a clap, another tight nod, and a forward lunge, her arms extended in a high V.
Breathing hard and gritting her teeth now more than smiling, she awaited the verdict.
There was a general shifting on the stands and some lingering giggles and whispers. A few indecisive, perhaps even apprehensive glances were directed toward Alyssa, who sat glowering, muttering to Nikki, who looked utterly miserable.
Coach stood up. “Lanley, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that middle part,” she said, then turned to the squad and shouted, “Welcome back. You’re leading warm-ups.”
They’d been working on a pike basket toss when Coach blew the whistle for them to get into formation for the routine. After the run-through with music, Stevie came up beside her.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and leaned in to whisper, “they’re glad you’re back, even if they’re not showing it, Coach especially. Alyssa volunteered to take your spot, saying she knew all your stunts, but she couldn’t keep up.” He flashed a knowing smile. “Oh, and I think somebody’s out there waiting for you.”
Isobel’s brow furrowed. Her gaze followed the direction of Stevie’s nod. She narrowed her eyes at the empty archway. He wouldn’t, Isobel thought, picturing Brad standing there during their routine, watching her, waiting to give her a ride, like everything was hunky-dory.
After that, Isobel was only half-able to concentrate on the cooldown stretches as Stevie went through them.
Her eyes kept flashing nervously toward the door.
What did Brad want from her? Couldn’t he take a clue? Or maybe he was just there waiting for Nikki, she thought, though that didn’t really make the situation any better. Actually, it made it worse.
As soon as practice ended, Isobel threw on a pair of blue sweatpants over her shorts and pulled on her yellow Trenton T-shirt. Grabbing her gym bag and backpack, she stormed through the doors but stopped when she didn’t see anyone. Inexplicably, that feeling crept over her again, an echo of what she’d felt earlier that afternoon in the courtyard. She heard the sound of scuffling gravel and turned toward the patch of warm sunlight that leaked in through the parking lot doors, which someone had propped open. A cool breeze wafted in, and she glanced down as a few dead leaves swept inside, tumbling to a stop at her feet.
The patch of light on the floor flickered. A quick shadow flashed across. Isobel’s head popped up, her eyes wide on the open, empty doorway. Outside, she thought she heard a stifled laugh.
Isobel stepped into the door frame. “Brad?”
“Guess again,” came a voice from behind her, separate from the laughter.
She turned to find Varen standing with his back against the wall, her own stunned expression reflected in the pair of sleek sunglasses he wore.
“Jeez, you scared me” was all she could manage while trying to kick-start her breathing again.
“I’ve been told I have that effect,” he said in that deadpan way of his.
Isobel tilted her head at him, a new thought dawning on her. “Did you stay after school?”
His gaze fell to his boots before lifting again. He leaned his head back until it rested against the wall behind him. “I do,” he said. “Sometimes.”
Isobel couldn’t seem to help the small smile that edged its way along her mouth.
“Um, how long have you been out here?” she asked.
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he shrugged.
“Hold up,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You weren’t . . . Were you
It took him a full beat to respond. “I . . . prefer the term ‘observing,’” he said. “The connotations are far less voyeuristic.”
“So what, now you speak French?”
That got a smirk out of him.
“Sooo . . . what’s up?” she asked.
He said nothing for a long moment, only stared at her from behind those glasses that shielded from her sight the eyes that might have told her more. At last, he pushed off from the wall.
“Thought you might need a ride,” he said, brushing past her, walking through the open doors.
Doing her best to suppress her grin, she followed after him.
23
Dearly Departed
“So how did you know to look for me at practice?” Isobel asked as he opened his trunk. “I told you I quit.”
He took her gym bag and threw it in, then relieved her of her backpack as well. His trunk was remarkably clutter free, she noticed. Besides her stuff, there was only a set of neatly wound jumper cables tucked to one side and a case of CDs, which he traded out for his satchel.
She kept sneaking glances at him out of the corner of her eye while she waited for him to say something, but where it had been hard enough to read him without the sunglasses, with them on, it felt like trying to gauge a block of stone.
He reached into his satchel and retrieved the Tupperware container from lunch. He held it up. “Little bird told me.”
Gwen. Isobel found herself smiling at the thought of her newest, most unlikely friend as she climbed into the passenger side of Varen’s car.
He got into the driver’s seat, sweeping aside his wallet chains and turning the key in the ignition. The Cougar rumbled to life, and the portable CD player sitting between them began to spin. A racing beat surged through the car speakers, complete with electric guitars, crashing drums, and someone screaming a ragged plea to please save their soul.
Isobel picked up the Discman, eyeing the scraped casing and the patch of black duct tape holding it all together. “How do you still have one of these things, anyway?” she asked.
“Because I have car payments,” he said. “Seat belt.”
