Spellbound (11 page)

I stood there in shock. I scanned the crowd and saw Kristin, eyes narrowed, filming the whole thing with her cell phone. Clearly, this would be available on YouTube later.

“Fine, whatever, I didn't bang Ashley.” Anthony darted his eyes in my direction. He wasn't just shooting out daggers—his eyes were shooting out missiles, bullets, weapons of mass destruction. “But I could have hit it if I wanted to.”

“That's
not
what I want to hear,” Brendan growled, tightening his grip on Anthony's neck as he pressed his knee farther into his chest.

“Fine, fine, what she said!” Anthony cried, wheezing. “Just get off me.”

Brendan shook his head, a bitter look on his face. He got off Anthony, shifting his grasp to grab him by his collar. He deftly pulled Anthony off the concrete, but kept a steel grip on him.

“Get out of here,” Brendan said plainly, shoving him back with both hands. Stunned, Anthony stumbled backward. He paused to smooth out the front of his shirt and pop his collar—then Anthony's eyes locked on mine. They narrowed, and he took a step toward me. Brendan mirrored his movements, blocking Anthony's view of me.

“You try to hurt another girl again—and if you so much as
think
Emma's name—you're done.”

“Oh, is that another promise, Brendan?” Anthony scoffed.

“It's a guarantee,” Brendan answered, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were straining against his skin.

“This ain't over, Brendan. You picked the wrong guy to mess with, bro,” Anthony sneered, gesturing wildly. Anthony stormed away, kicking my backpack on his way out of the quad. Thankfully, there was nothing breakable in it. Unlike my reputation, which looked very fragile at the moment.

After the door slammed behind Anthony, Brendan turned to me, still immobile and shocked in the same spot against the door. My jaw had literally dropped. Brendan leaned down so he was eye-level with me. He tucked the tips of his fingers under my chin and shut my agape mouth, his eyes searching my face.

“Emma, are you all right?”

I nodded, then reached up and touched the back of his hand with just the tips of my fingers.

We stood there for what could only have been a second, but the warm feel of his hand under mine burned its way into my memory. He slowly slid his hand along the side of my face, cupping my jaw, and my hand tightened around his.

“Thank you,” I whispered, staring up into his eyes as his thumb stroked my cheek. I heard someone yell, “Yo, I think they're gonna do it!” The sound of laughter made its way through my pounding head.

Suddenly aware of his audience, Brendan straightened up and we both dropped our hands.

“No problem,” he said, cocking his head to the side. He surveyed the crowd the altercation had attracted and scratched his black hair, making it even messier.

He dropped back down to my eye level, crossing his arms.

“Are you going home now?” he asked me softly.

“I'm going to my cousin's,” I said. “I should at least tell Ash that her good name has been restored. And that she literally gets guys fighting over her.”

He smiled, then turned those intense green eyes on me. “I wasn't fighting for
her
.”

I just stared back, confused and thrilled by what Brendan had just said.

Then a look I couldn't quite identify flickered across his face. Slowly, he reached out his hand and picked up my charm, turning it over.

Brendan dropped it suddenly and, nodding curtly at me, whirled around on his heel and headed back inside the school.

Everyone in the quad was whispering and staring at me—the only one of the three left. I grabbed my backpack from under the bench and raced out of the quad, onto Park Avenue, and I didn't stop until I made it to Ashley's house.

She had already heard the news. Catharine and Vanessa were also in the quad, filming the whole thing and texting a play-by-play to my cousin. Between exuberant hugs that were wet with tears—this time, of joy—she kept returning to her laptop, where she was replaying one of several videos which had already been uploaded to Facebook.

“You have to watch this!” Ashley giggled, her eyes, puffy from crying, crinkled up in the corners.

“No thanks,” I said, not able to relive it; if I saw how close I came to having my face smashed in, I might lose all composure.

“I cannot believe you did that!” she marveled, shaking her head at me. I picked, absentmindedly, at the hem of my plaid skirt.

“I'm just tired of people like him,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “People who take advantage. I wanted the right person to win. For once.”

She grinned and I added, “At least your reputation is restored.”

The status of
my
reputation, on the other hand, was debatable. I was the girl who hung out with witches and picked fights with boys. I didn't care so much about what everyone at school thought of me. I only cared about what Brendan thought…and I couldn't wait to get to school the next day, in spite of the certainty that I would be the number one topic of conversation.

 

“I'm nervous,” Ashley confessed, looking at me cautiously as we walked the final stretch of blocks to school the next day. I knew how she felt—she didn't want to be the subject of discussion, the focus of hundreds of eyes. Why is it always when someone is wronged, they're suddenly more interesting?

“You'll be fine,” I said, trying my best to reassure her. “
You're
not the one who picks fights after school.”

“What are you going to do if you see Anthony?” she asked, worried.

“I'm avoiding him,” I said sheepishly. “Angelique already agreed to go outside for lunch with me indefinitely—as long as the weather cooperates.” I figured if I was out of the lunchroom—and left school through the annex—I could avoid any unnecessary Anthony encounters.

We crossed the street, and I noticed a familiar-looking figure leaning against the mailbox a few feet from the front entrance of the school. At first I didn't recognize Brendan, since he had his mop of hair tucked under a wool cap.

Ashley gave me a big grin. At that moment, a classmate ran up to her, squealing.

“Oh, my God, Anthony totally had his butt handed to him! I can't believe that cutie Brendan defended you!” Her giddy friend giggled, and I knew Ashley would be okay. She'd be the center of some good attention, for once. She gave me the thumbs-up, ran to the door—then whirled around and yelled, practically at the top of her lungs, “See you after school, Emma!”

Brendan heard my name and turned in my direction, lifting his chin in a nod as he had that first day in the quad. Nervously, I played with my necklace, dragging the charm back and forth on the chain. Finally I decided to take the first step.

I walked calmly toward him, feeling those green eyes pulling me in. I couldn't figure out the expression on his face. He looked relieved—happy, even. But he also looked troubled. No, troubled isn't quite right.
Melancholic?
I figured I should say thanks, again, for stepping in.

“I wanted to thank you again,” I said, staring up into his eyes, for once unobstructed by his dark locks, which were pulled back under his wool cap. Brendan's eyebrows were black, with just enough arch that they were dramatic. His green eyes were like glittering emeralds, fringed by those enviable black lashes. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the chilly weather, two spots of color in his otherwise pale face.

“You don't have to thank me again, Emma,” he said, shaking his head with that same puzzling expression on his face.

“Well, I want to.” I don't know how you could have described the expression on my face.
Hopeful? Pathetic? Falling in…something?

“I'm just glad I was there. I wish I had gotten there sooner.” I suddenly felt very shy, breaking his gaze to stare at my black
Mary Janes. He tucked his finger under my chin and lifted my face so we were eye to eye again.

“Emma, is there
anything
else you want to tell me?”

His tone wasn't nasty or rude, but I still felt like I'd been punched. “Should there be?” I asked, confused.

“I guess not.” Brendan sighed, shaking his head. “I'm just glad you're okay.” Turning away from me, he pulled open the door to the school and walked inside. I stood there dumbfounded. Wasn't
he
the one who had been ignoring
me
for the past week and a half?

I followed him into the building—but of course, I had to go to my dungeon, to the row of lockers reserved for unlucky freshmen and transfer students. And bridge trolls, which is what I felt like at this moment.

I was heading to class when I heard someone running behind me, furiously and quickly. I whipped around, fists up instinctively. Not that I had any idea what to do with them, but what if it was Anthony, coming for retribution?

“Emma, you didn't call me! I have to see it on Facebook? What the hell, dude?” It was Cisco, looking worried and happy and excited all at once.

“I'm sorry—I'm a terrible friend.” I gave him a weak little frown.

“But a great older cousin. Holy crap, that was amazing. I can't believe that you just went up there to him and called him out like that,” he said, breaking out in a short round of applause.

“Thank you.” I bowed, giving a toothy grin. “But I had help.”

“I know,” he replied, giving me a suspicious smile. “What
was
that whole Brendan thing about? Is there something going on that you haven't told me?”

“Cisco, until that moment, he hadn't spoken to me in a week and a half,” I said, raising my right hand. “I swear.”

“I don't know if I believe you,” he replied, continuing to walk up the stairs to class. “That boy flew across the yard. Flew! And knocked Anthony straight down. That's not just chivalry.”

I shrugged, thankful that I had to leave and go into history. I waited in the hallway until about a second before the bell rang, racing to my seat behind Jenn. She turned around and mouthed to me, “Oh. My. God. We. Have. To. Talk.”

I just nodded and put my head down on my desk. I didn't want to talk about the fight. I couldn't even think about something so…inconsequential. What was all that about this morning? What did Brendan want me to say? What did I do wrong?

Jenn peppered me with a barrage of questions as we walked to English class.

“Were you scared?”

“No, I wasn't thinking, I just reacted. I was angry.”

“Did you tell Brendan what you were going to do?”

“No, I just reacted, Jenn.”

“Anthony admitted he was lying! I can't believe it. How did you know you could get him to admit it?”

“I didn't know. I just reacted.” I sounded a little exasperated on that last one.

“Oh,” Jenn said, it finally sinking in that I didn't have some master plan cooked up. “So, you and Brendan, huh?” She gave me a thumbs-up and raised her eyebrows up and down.

I sighed. I wished there was a “me and Brendan.” I even liked the sound of our names together. Brendan and Emma. Emma and Brendan. If we were a celebrity couple, we'd be Bremma. Or Emden. No, Bremma. That sounded better. Too
bad it was impossible since I'd apparently offended him this morning.

“No, Jenn. There's no me and Brendan.” I tried to hide my mopey tone.

Once at my seat in English, I dropped my backpack and rifled through it for my notebook, trying to keep my eyes from staying glued to the door for when Brendan walked in.

He sauntered in a few minutes later. My eyes followed him, and they weren't alone. The entire class followed his movements, eager to see what our interaction would be. They hadn't seen our little tête-à-tête in front of the school. My classmates needed hobbies. Jeez, learn to knit or bowl or something.

He walked to his desk and faced it, his eyes down. Brendan dropped his backpack and slid into his seat, sitting sideways. I could feel such a pull to him, and unconsciously, my hand slid up across my desk, closer to him, where I brushed the back of his chair with my fingertips.

Brendan turned to me, taking note of the attentive audience of juniors.
Seriously, people, CityVille, even!

“Look, Emma,” he started, his voice full of the same soft tone he had used in front of the school.

“Class, class, let's get started,” Mr. Emerson cut in, clapping his hands and walking in. I actually jumped a few inches in my seat, and then forced my eyes to stare at my textbook. At the end of class, Brendan bolted out of the room.

I desperately wished I had my iPod with me so I could muffle the voices of my gossipy classmates as I walked down the halls. Thankfully Angelique could care less about the fight—all she could talk about during lunch was that her mom had just returned from giving a lecture at Georgetown and promised to bring me some books on ancient medieval symbols that she was borrowing from a colleague. Angelique had talked to her mom, and Dr. Evelyn Tedt was positive that
my necklace somehow factored into the whole supernatural shebang. Like I could even focus on exploding streetlights. How could I worry about spirits when I couldn't even seem to manage to get along on this normal plane?

 

Wednesday morning arrived—and I was a tired mess. My eyes didn't just have bags—they had five-piece luggage sets. I tossed and turned all night. I dreamed I was walking through New York, the way I had seen it in movies about the early 1900s. I swished through the dirty streets in a shirtwaist dress, my hair neatly pulled back under a wide brimmed, feathered hat. Oddly, my hair was blond. I was in a wrap-style wool coat, lavishly trimmed with braid, and I carried a large dress box. The twine on the package caught on the oversize silver brooch pinned to my coat, ripping the pin from the fabric. I tried to chase the brooch as it rolled down the street, but I was weighed down by the large box. I didn't know what exactly was in it—I just knew it was precious and I couldn't put it down.