Page 38 of Soul So Dark

“We’ll see,” he replies with a flash of his eyes.

After he drives off, I’m reminded that my brief escape with cheese fries and Diet Cokes are over and now I have to go home. Making my way to the back of the parking lot, I catch sight of Colson waiting for me and let out a groan when I also see Mason, Aiden, and Alex still at the Civic with him.

As soon as I arrive at the car, Colson’s eyes dart from me to the entrance of the lot. “Where were you?” he asks, squinting at Austin’s vehicle as it disappears down the street.

“Field trip,” I reply, strolling through the middle of their circle.

My arm brushes against Alex’s and he steps out of the way just in time before I knock into him on my way to the passenger side door.

Mason grins over his shoulder as I jerk the door open. “Bostwick finally shoot his shot off the court?”

“Bet he makes more of them thanyoudo,” I retort.

“Doubtful, but he’s persistent, isn’t he?” Mason shoots a smarmy look at the rest of them. “He’s been following Ole Dally around since when—kindergarten?”

I throw my bag inside, glaring at him over the door. “Maybe, instead, we should talk about whoyou’vebeen following around lately.”

You’d have to be living under a rock not to notice that whenever Sydney’s friend with the teal eyes shows up, Mason is soon to follow.

At that, Colson and Alex shift their gazes to Mason expectantly, smiles playing behind their eyes. Aiden’s eyes remain fixed on me like he’s studying a specimen, and making my skin crawl.

“Jealous?” Mason winks. “There’s plenty left for you, but you might need a step ladder.”

Like a light switch, the humor disappears from Colson’s face, replaced with a terrifying glare reserved only for those who’ve committed the worst of indiscretions. And as soon as he catches Mason’s eye, Mason flinches like he’s been startled.

“OK, OK, sorry,” Mason attempts to head him off, apologizing to Colson rather than me.

So, what else is new?

Before Mason can make himself look any dumber, their friend, Josh appears at his shoulder, chuckling to himself. “You all hear about Mrs. Johnson?”

“The Spanish teacher?” Mason asks.

“Check it out,” he stifles a laugh, “someone hijacked her screen during class and started broadcasting porn.”

“What?” Colson bursts out laughing.

“Swear to God. And then she couldn’t close it. A message popped up in Spanish before she pulled the plug, but someone took a picture before it turned off. It said—” Josh can barely keep it together, “it said to type,I’m a dirty lizard woman from a well, in English for it to stop. Like it was password-protected!” he barely croaks out before descending into fits of laughter.

Amid the boys’ howling, I stand behind the Civic snickering to myself and secretly wishing I’d been there to witness such a spectacle. But then I do a doubletake when I catch a pair of russet brown eyes staring at me. Alex raises his chin and casts me a mischievous grin. My smile fades for a moment while I read the nuance behind his eyes.

Did he do that?

I catch myself smiling, only to avert my eyes again. I duck into the car, hoping the window tint will mask the laugh threatening to escape my throat any second. I’m still angry with him. I need to stay angry with him…

When Colson and I are finally on our way home, I realize that three familiar vehicles trail behind us; a dark blue Chevy Avalanche, a sporty black Lexus, and an older white Lexus SUV, belonging to Mason, Aiden, and Alex. Normally, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but tonight is the first time they’ve been to our house since Evie was found.

The four of them disappear into the basement, emerging a couple of hours later at the same time I decide to come down from my own safe haven. Scott’s reclining on the sofa in the living room, dialed into the local news, fretting about gas prices and some scandal with the city council. My mom is at the other end of the sofa, peering at emails on her laptop through reading glasses that she only wears in the evenings. In addition to her black hair and scant height, I also got the bad eyes. She looks exhausted and, somehow, simultaneously wired. I’m not sure whether she’s working or dealing with more fallout, but she’s a realtor, so her odd work hours aren’t surprising.

“Eat the lasagna first,” she calls to the boys from the sofa, “I don’t want it to go bad.”

I linger next to her as the four of them start unloading the refrigerator and microwaving one plate after another.

“How are you doing?” she asks quietly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

I don’t respond, which isn’t like me, but I’m not happy with her. Or Scott, for that matter. But she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Have you eaten?” My mom always asks the same question following some kind of tragic event, and this time is no different.