Page 6 of Enemy Crush
“Yeah, I know you will,” I said breezily, “but I wanna make sure you know your way around. Anyway, there’s a couple of things I gotta fix on my bike before I can ride it.”
It was a bit of a white lie, because I didn’t want Mase to think I’d be babysitting or watching him like a hawk. Although my motorbike did need an adjustment to the exhaust. Mrs. Devereaux had complained about it last week. She’d stopped her Mercedes in the middle of the road and walked to the edge of our driveway, calling into the garage where Dad and I were working on the Mustang.
“I heard his motorbike riding up and down the street yesterday evening,” she’d said as if I wasn’t standing right next to Dad. “This is a peaceful, quiet lane and if I hear it again I’ll call the police.”
“Miller wasn’t home yesterday evening,” Dad said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Must’ve been one of the boys from town out on a joyride.” He stepped toward Mrs. D, who was dressed all fancy in a white blouse with wide black pants like she was some executive, and winked at her. “And don’t you worry, if I hear it, I’ll call the police myself.”
Mrs. Devereaux had stared down her nose and cast her eyes up and down Dad’s clothes, old orange coveralls that he’d taken his arms out of which revealed a tattered black tank and a sleeve of tattoos. Well, it was hot work in the garage. Mrs. D sniffed like everything was beneath her, tossed her head and strode off. And yes, Dad was teasing because I’d ridden my motorbike up and down the lane a few times, just to rev it up and do a few wheelies. A bit of harmless fun, and I knew the limits in the lane. But I hadn’t known Mrs. D was home at the time, so yeah, my bad.
The bus stop in Three Forks Road was a sign on a post. There was no shelter or seat so it was pointless to go too early; you’d end up standing around and if it was cold or raining, it wasn’t much fun. But being we were the second stop on the bus run,we couldn’t be late either. It was this fine line of keeping to a schedule. And the same went for catching the bus home. We had precisely eleven minutes from the final bell to get to the bus stop.
Mason seemed to be taking it all in, but sometimes you couldn’t tell. He had his thumbs tucked in the straps of his backpack as he scuffed along under the weight of it.
I could see that I was the only senior at the bus stop. Typically, seniors drove themselves if they had their own car or motorbike. The Fisher twins, Cassie and Chloe, who lived on the corner of Ambrose Lane stood together looking at their phones, while Joel, a junior who played the big drum in the school band, leaned against the post with his headphones on.
“Hi,” I said, gesturing to him and the twins with a friendly wave. When I wasn’t here, I wanted these kids to acknowledge Mason, watch out for him. I introduced him as my little brother, a freshman, and Joel nodded, and one of the twins smiled and said, “Hey,” and the other said, “Hi Mason.” From what Dad said, the Fishers kept to themselves, as did everyone in the lane, apart from the busybody, Mrs. Devereaux.
Joel paced a few feet down the sidewalk, checking his watch.
“Shouldn’t be too long now,” I said to Mason, who wasn’t looking at me, but focused on something behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder and jerked my head back so sharply that I strained a neck muscle. My heart rate suddenly sped up and my cheeks seared with heat. Were my eyes deceiving me? Surely yes, because there was no way that the person headed toward the bus stop could be...
My lungs ceased to function and I wanted to turn around again, check that I wasn’t hallucinating, but it’s like Medusa had gazed upon me and I’d become an unmoving statue of stone.
The bus pulled up, Joel and the twins boarded and Mason was looking at me with confusion. “Isn’t this our bus, Miller?”
The sound of my name flicked my brain back on, and I pushed Mason forward. “Yeah, get on,” I croaked, a little heavy handed as he stumbled on the first step of the bus. “Go.”
Showing our passes, the bus driver greeted us with a smile, but I fear my face was frozen even though it burned like hot molten lava. I followed Mason, who shuffled down the aisle, continually looking behind to check with me what seat we should take. I shoved him into one halfway down the aisle, pausing to take off my backpack so I could sit down.
My eyes darted to the front where Quinn Devereaux was showing a bus pass to the driver. What was going on? Had she missed the bus to Brizendine? Where was her uniform? Why was she wearing a pink and brown plaid skirt and white sneakers? What parallel universe was this?
The driver approved her pass but there was no smile on her face as she glanced down the bus. I was pretty sure there was no oxygen circulating around my body and I sat motionless as her long legs strode down the aisle. A little soft baby toy swung off of the tote bag on her shoulder and it bumped along the seats as she walked straight past Mason and me, leaving a scented haze in her trail, immersing me in a sweet, intoxicating fragrance.
I couldn’t think straight. It was all so unfathomable. Quinn Devereaux was a student at Brizendine Prep, a private school, yet she was here on the public bus, on the way to Snow Ridge High. And now she was somewhere behind us at the back of the bus. I was dazed and confused and felt the urgent need to text Dad to see if he knew about this.
“Was that the girl from across the road?” Mason had the sense to speak in a whisper.
I shrugged in an attempt to show nonchalance, my voice a low mutter. “Not sure why she’s on the bus. Thought she goes to Brizendine.” I quickly changed the subject because who knows why I couldn’t maintain a regular heartbeat. “You know, it’sprobably best to sit near the front if you can, to avoid a stampede out the back doors.” In truth, it was to avoid the bullies and dirtbags who favored the back of the bus, thinking they could outsmart the driver, hassle the new freshmen, play pranks, but I didn’t want to worry Mason.
I continued to talk about school stuff, all the time watching who was getting on at each stop, who might be a potential friend or foe, but at the same time wondering what the heck Quinn was doing. More than anything I wanted to spin around and see where she was sitting and if she was talking to anyone. But why she was here? What on earth could have happened that she was now attending Snow Ridge High?
“There’s Katie,” Mason said, jumping up from his seat as a small girl with blonde hair entered the bus.
“You know her?”
Mason nodded, waving both arms vigorously above his head to catch her attention. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him so enthusiastic about a person and didn’t want to curb his obvious joy, but I cringed at his overzealous action. Rookie freshman error.
I tapped his arm and he looked at me apologetically, shrinking back into his seat. But Katie, small and petite with a bright blue ribbon in the back of her hair, had stopped by our row.
“Hi Mason,” she said, revealing a mouthful of colored braces.
A smile seldom seen transformed Mason’s face from quiet mouse to superhero. In shock, I stood, instantly realizing I was surplus. What was going on? I slid in the seat opposite, dazed and confused for the second time this morning. My little brother had a friend. Period. The kid who had spent all summer reading books or playing video games, who hadn’t been on one play date, had a cute little friend he’d never mentioned.
I pushed myself into the adjoining seat so I was against the window, easier to watch my brother and Katie, though I didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping.
“How was your summer, Mason?” I heard Katie ask and after a brief, unheard answer, Katie had pulled out her phone. She held it out for Mason as she appeared to be scrolling through photos, commentating and laughing on each one. Several times Mason leaned forward to get a better look.
