Premonitions

Chapter Three

The police car was particularly uncomfortable. The seat belt bit into my collarbone, leaving a red mark. The sun shone brightly in the midmorning light. The police car drove at a reasonable pace down the main road. As usual-well, actually, being in a police car wasn't a situation I'd tend to get in- I was sitting there, listening to my punk rock. Since I was in a police car, though, I only had one earbud in, which was unfortunate, because the sound of the guitar, drums, and the singer's voice was differing earbuds. One minute, I would hear the voice, then the guitar, then drum. This in itself was unfortunate, mostly because I was listening to the mesmerizing falsetto voice of Kellin Quinn, the lead singer of Sleeping With Sirens.
     As I sat back, my legs stiff, I tipped my head back and leaned it against the head rest.
     "So, what's your name?" The boy from Canton asked. He seemed intrigued by my presence somehow, as if he was judging me. He probably was.
     I grunted and rolled my eyes, exasperated. I didn't want to deal with him, a Canton prep boy, whose first thought about me was most likely that I was an antisocial freak.
He shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to me. "Talking's not an option, I guess. Well, how about sign language? Know any of it? I don't." He chuckled. How was he managing to laugh when I was giving him the cold shoulder?
     I flipped him off. Sign language.
     He ignored the fact that I had flipped him off, or he didn't see. He'd been looking out the window when I did it.
     "What are you listening to?" He asked me.
     I just pursed my lips, ignoring him again. Sighing deeply, I contemplated whether to show him what I was listening to. The song was Low, which wasn't Sleeping With Sirens's most hardcore or odd song. It also wasn't inappropriate; it had no swears in it, but the risk was still there. He might think I was a total freak.
     Wait-- But what did it matter what he thought of me? The boy wasn't important to me; I didn't even know him, much less care about him. Canton boys usually gave off that feeling-- the feeling, the inkling, that you should be careful around them, because they could get you framed for a kidnapping. Or worse. Anything could happen with those boys. They had enough money, enough stamina, enough charisma to get through the judicial system.
     With a stiff hand, I decided. My fingers shakily gripped my phone; my arm raised the screen to eye level (his eye level, not mine; he was about six inches taller than me). I turned around the phone, the light from the screen illuminating his face.
     "Cool."
     That was all he said.