I settled my backpack higher on my shoulder and tugged my snug tee down over the waistband of my jeans. "Trust me, you're not missing anything." If she knew the truth, her curiosity would no doubt give way to terror. Which was why I couldn't tell her.
But Emma would give us another ride, anyway, to make up for making us all nearly half an hour late to first period. I should have known she wouldn't remember a middle-of-the-night, sleep-foggy promise. She'd actually made it all the way to the school parking lot five minutes ahead of the tardy bell before remembering me and Nash. I would have texted her, but my dad left for work with my phone, and I didn't have her number memorized. Nor did Nash have it programmed.
We all three got unexcused tardies, which made a matched set with my unexcused absence from history the day before. Add to that the half-finished chemistry homework I'd spilled nacho-cheese sauce on during lunch, and I was starting to think I couldn't handle both school and bean sidhe business. Not to mention work.
"Hey, Emma," a male voice called from down the hall. We looked up to see Doug Fuller strutting with a huddle of football players in matching school jackets, Nash among them. "You got plans tonight?"
The cluster closed around us in a tall wall of broad green-and-white-clad shoulders, blocking most of the hall from view and effectively trapping us, though Emma didn't seem to notice the sudden suffocating lack of personal space. I stepped back and my bag hit the lockers. There was nowhere else to go unless I was willing to break through the offensive line and expose my confinement issues. Which would be like waving a red flag in front of a whole herd of bulls.
Nash must have seen the swirl of panic in my eyes, because he was suddenly at my side. I let my backpack slide to the floor, and he wrapped both arms around me from behind. His breath brushed my ear in a private, whispered greeting, and I relaxed into him as if the other ass-letes weren't even there.
They'd accepted me into their company easily enough—though I'd only hovered on the fringes before, thanks to Emma's various adventures in dating—because Nash and I were practically attached at the hip.
Or at the crotch, as the other guys no doubt assumed. After all, why else would he hang out with Emma's curve-less, penniless best friend, even if I did have a not-hideous face?
A very good question…
Nash had no more money than I did. Maybe even less. But he was wealthy in another currency: athleticism. He'd helped lead the football team to the regional play-offs—they were the heavy favorites for Friday night's game—and would do it again when baseball season arrived in the spring. That prowess, along with a face and body—not to mention a voice—few girls could say no to, kept him firmly anchored in the bright, shining kingdom of Social Acceptance, a world surely stranger and more frightening than anything I could stumble across in the Netherworld.
Emma had a free pass into that world, issued solely upon the basis of her flawless face and generous curves. She flitted among the chosen ones at will, lingering whenever a strong chin or bulging arm caught her eye. But it never lasted long. She bored easily—especially of guys with wandering hands—and would soon come back bearing tales of bumbling inadequacy unenhanced by enthusiasm.
Outside of school, it was easy to forget that Nash belonged to that world, too, and that he had a lot in common with his friends, minus the bumbling inadequacy part. But I'd rather walk the Netherworld alone, with my soul safety-pinned to my sleeve, than spend a few hours alone with any one of his teammates. Somehow, that seemed safer.
"Yeah, I have plans." Emma stood on her toes and pressed herself into Doug's chest so that her breasts flattened against his letter jacket, her nose inches from his chin. His hand slithered around her waist to spread at the base of her spine, fingers inching lower. "I have very interesting plans…."
His friends snickered and Emma stretched higher, letting her lips brush his jaw near his ear as his hand slid lower, gripping the upper curve of her backside. "Too bad they don't include you."
With that, she dropped onto her heels again and smiled up at him, one hand propped on the dramatic flair of her hip.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Emma's game was a bit like taunting an angry gorilla through a flimsy window screen, but what can I say? She was fun to watch.
"You'll change your mind." Doug grinned and winked, walking backward away from us to keep Emma in his sight. He was a much better sport than I'd given him credit for.
"Not likely." Emma turned to her locker and threaded the padlock through the holes in the latch, then snapped it shut as Nash waved off several summonses from his friends, so he could hang out with me. And his mother. "Come on, pedestrians, where am I dropping you? Your place or his?"
"His," I answered so quickly Emma's brows shot up in amusement.
"Trouble at home?" She shrugged her backpack onto one shoulder as I grabbed mine from the floor, and we followed her down the hall in the opposite direction of the offensive line.
"No more than usual, but I have a lesson this afternoon." I left it vague because she knew what I was talking about.
Nash climbed into the back of Emma's metallic blue Sunfire and I took shotgun. Her car was far from new—it was a hand-me-down from one of her older sisters—yet it made mine look like an antique in comparison. However, the major advantage to Emma's vehicle over mine was that she was actually in possession of her keys.
I buckled as she pulled out of the lot onto a side street, barely glancing in her rearview mirror before changing lanes right in front of the first stoplight. "Give me a hint." Em glanced sideways at me, when she really should have had her eyes on the road. "Just a little one. Is someone else going to die? Is it another cheerleader?"
I laughed at her lighthearted inquisition.
"Maybe you should tell her," Tod's voice said out of nowhere, and I jumped so hard the seat belt cut into my neck.
"Stop doing that!" Nash shouted, and I turned to see Tod on the bench seat next to him, one finger pressed to his lips in an exaggerated «shh» signal, while his other hand pointed at Emma.
"Sorry!" she snapped, assuming Nash was talking to her. She swerved into the right-hand lane without bothering to flick on her turn signal, and the driver of the car behind us honked, gesturing angrily. "It's not like I'm actually wishing for more dead cheerleaders. I'm just saying, if someone has to go…"
Tod snorted. "I like her!"
Nash elbowed him in the side, and Emma raised both brows at him in the rearview mirror. She'd seen the gesture, but couldn't see the reaper now holding his ribs, nor did she hear his oof of pain. "Sorry." Nash finally met her gaze. "I wasn't talking to you."
Her mouth opened, but I cut off a question I was sure we wouldn't be able to answer. "Em, go." I pointed out the windshield, where the cars in front of us had already driven through the intersection when the light turned green. The man behind us honked again, and Emma stomped on the gas. We lurched forward, and she forgot about Nash's odd behavior. At least for the moment.
"Does this have anything to do with Eden dropping dead onstage?"
I couldn't think of an answer fast enough, and Em's lighthearted smile died when she realized she'd actually hit the bull's-eye.
"Kaylee…" Tod said from the backseat.
"What's wrong?" I twisted so I could see all three of the other occupants.
"I just didn't see the light change." Emma slammed on the brake when the school bus in front of us slowed to a rumbling stop, the pop-out stop sign swinging away from its side.
Of course, I wasn't talking to her. I was talking to the uninvited, invisible reaper in her backseat.