Free Velvet by Temple West Page A

running as I grabbed the helmet from his hand and swung on behind him before he’d even had a chance to put the kickstand down.
    He frowned. “Everything all right?”
    “Just go,” I said, and crammed the helmet on.
    He looked at me a moment, glanced at the house, then drove away. I spent the entire ride feeling stupid, feeling angry, feeling exhausted and drained and then angry again, and sad and desperate and hollow. I just wanted to sleep, but I had to go to school. Learn. Do homework. Bullshit, brain-dead work.
    We arrived at school, and he parked the bike.
    “I brought your dress,” he said, swinging off the Harley.
    “Damn it!” I muttered, setting the helmet down forcefully against the seat.
    “What?”
    “I forgot to bring your clothes.”
    “It’s fine. I don’t need them anytime soon.”
    “I know; but they’re yours, and I forgot and I—” I couldn’t finish the sentence I was so angry at myself. I didn’t even know why I was angry, but I was, and it felt good.
    “It’s not a big deal.” He smiled. “Hey, I heard it’s your birthday soon.”
    I stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”
    I grabbed the bag of clothes out of his hands and walked toward my homeroom. Before I’d gotten three steps, he grabbed my arm and spun me around, face set in a hard line.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I’ll bring your clothes tomorrow.”
    I wriggled out of his grip and walked to class, choking back tears.
    By seventh period, I was composed. I managed to reach the library ahead of Adrian and went back to my little nook and moved the second chair to another table. A moment later, Adrian walked up to me, staring at the place where he usually sat.
    “Are you angry at me?”
    “No,” I said, shrugging, but I could feel another wave of rage coming on.
    He arched a brow. “You sure about that?”
    “Don’t mean to burst your bubble, dude, but not everything’s about you. Bring a chair over, don’t bring a chair over, I really don’t care.”
    I flung open a book and leaned back. He looked at me and I felt something in the vicinity of shame crawling up the back of my throat, but I just stared right back and kept the cool look on my face until he nodded, backed away, and left.
    I spent the rest of study hall trying not to cry.
    When the bell rang, I walked outside and got on Adrian’s bike like nothing had happened. He came out of the library a second later and stopped when he saw me sitting there. Slowly, he walked over and got on in front, saying nothing. The only sound I heard on the way home was the angry hum of the bike and the mutinous beat of my own heart. He pulled to a stop in front of the ranch and took his helmet off, turning to me.
    “You might want to hide the clothes in your backpack. Your aunt and uncle might wonder otherwise.”
    I crammed the clothes in my backpack. Before I was done, he was already driving off.

 
    6
    SEVENTEEN ON THE 17 TH
    My birthday was a week away. Adrian had started picking me up in his truck because the roads were too icy for the Harley, and even if they weren’t, the wind chill made it miserable. We’d sit there in silence, sometimes with his phone plugged in playing music, but otherwise in silence. I honestly didn’t know why he kept showing up—it certainly wasn’t for my witty banter. I was low on banter.
    Any day, the snow would start. I was waiting. Waiting for the weather to change, waiting for my birthday, waiting for it to stop hurting every time I opened my eyes and remembered that my mom was gone and I would never, ever, ever see her again. I knew it was possible to make new friends, to build a family from scratch, to “start over”—but I didn’t want to. It was much easier to want nothing than it was to want something, and I was scoring major points as a beginner nihilist.
    School dragged on. I dozed off in all of Mr. Warren’s classes; I refused to sing in choir. I simply wouldn’t turn in homework for anything but art, and study