Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [24]
“Yeah, I just didn’t want to—I mean, not get wasted,” I stammered, trying to explain myself. “Um, why aren’t you drinking?”
“It’s not a big deal.” Brendan shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel weird, like you were the only one not drinking.”
“Oh,” I murmured, in shock and half in love with him for squashing one of my biggest social insecurities with a bottle of Poland Spring. “Um, thanks,” I said shyly. “That’s really nice of you.” I can’t believe he’s curbing partying…for me of all people.
“No problem,” Brendan said, playfully taking the hood on his sweatshirt and flicking it up over my head. “So Emma, are you feeling a little warmer?”
“A lot warmer, thanks.” I laughed as the oversize hood fell over my face, covering my eyes.
“So,” I began, peeking out from underneath the hood, “what’s that Halloween movie thing next week at school all about?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I already knew all about the event at school: Austin had been gabbing in my ear for a week about Vince A showing scary movies for Halloween. I had to find out if Brendan was going. Then it might be worth me going.
But he didn’t get a chance to answer, since our attention was grabbed by a series of high-pitched squeals across the grass. We turned our heads to Kristin, who giggled loudly and deliberately looked over at Brendan as she let Anthony lick tequila salt off her neck.
“The bar’s open!” she called, holding out a shot and patting more salt on her collarbone—and a little lower. Kristin’s invitation was clearly meant for one specific person. The possessive way she stared at Brendan infuriated me.
“Less than fifty feet from priceless art, surrounded by a ton of people and oh, Kristin’s doing a body shot,” I snorted, then feared I sounded way, way too bitchy. To my relief, Brendan just laughed.
“She sucks,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “So Emma, back home, where did you guys hang out?” he asked, suddenly serious as he turned away from Kristin to stare intensely at me. “The Liberty Bell?”
“What do you mean, the Lib… Oh.” My guard was completely down around Brendan. I exhaled nervously, reminded that he knew the truth. “You know, it’s a landmark and all, so that was impossible.”
“So, you hung out at school, right? At that magical high school on the corner of Made-Up Street and Fiction Avenue?” Brendan smirked a knowing smile. More significant than him standing up for me that first day was the fact that he knew my story was faker than pro wrestling.
I tried to think of an excuse, a good story to tell, when he took another gulp of his water and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything right now. But I’d appreciate you telling me eventually.”
“Why does it matter?” I asked, annoyed. He ignores me, and now I owe him my life story?
“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” Brendan asked. “Don’t you trust me?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. For someone with major trust issues, I already did trust him. And that just felt unnatural. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer—Cisco called us over to the sloped glass wall of the Met, where he was standing over a very passed-out Austin.
“I think we need to get him in a cab,” Cisco said, chuckling slightly at the slumbering Austin. Here he was, the student council rep, who had spent every lunch period since we first met trying to convince me to join any club, looking like he was the poster child for our chapter of SADD. Which, ironically, was the club Austin had tried to get me to join at lunch that very afternoon.
“I’ll help you,” Brendan said, lifting up Austin effortlessly. It surprised me, since after the way Austin had talked about Brendan on my first day at school, I was under the impression that they weren’t exactly friends. Brendan and Cisco were about the same height, so they balanced the shorter guy between them easily. Austin woke up, stammering, “What? Ma? Time for school?”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s time for school,” Cisco said, grinning, then added to me, “Emma, we’ll