Midnight

9

Celestine

I had to force my jaw shut when I awoke to an expensive midnight violet colored car parked in front of my house.

I nearly fell down the stairs in a hurried mess, my shoes untied, hair wild, my bag slipping from my shoulder. I peaked out the front window to get a better look, to see a very grumpy Everett in the front seat.

I hesitated, what would I tell my mom?

I rushed into the kitchen, scared Everett's patience was running low. I ravaged the pantry, settling for a granola bar.

Back out I went, booking it for the front door before my mom could question me.

"By mom, love you!" I shouted as I closed the door.

I tied my shoes in record breaking speed on the front porch, combing my hair with my fingers as I bounced down the steps, the granola bar in my mouth.

I knocked on the passenger window before I took the breakfast bar from my mouth to hold. Everett rolled the window down.

"Why are you here?" I questioned, beginning to pick the granola apart.

"What's it look like?" He grumbled, not bothering to look my direction. "I told you not to worry about riding with your mom, remember?"

"Oh, right," I took another bite.

"Well?" Everett reached across the middle console, grabbing the door handle and pushing it open. He looked uncomfortable almost, awkwardly positioned to keep his eyes forward, out the windshield. "What're you waiting for?"

I flushed, popping the last bits of the bar in my mouth. I dusted my hands, then ducked into his car.

It was ironic to me, how easily he could make me turn red with things I shouldn't mind. Just a few days ago, he held my face and gently brushed the blood away from my Cupid's bow, and—thinking back on it— I'm surprised I didn't completely faint from the close contact.

Everett was wearing silhouette-pleasing jeans, a thick and large leather jacket today—not his usual letterman.

Whenever he drove I found myself analyzing his habits, how he drove with one hand today, the other remaining on the gear stick, occasionally tapping his finger to an imaginary beat.

He was always quiet when he drove, but today he felt angrier than usual. Well, it seemed everytime we were in a car together he was angry.  I wasn't sure how to interpret this, I was anxious I could make it worse.

When he pulled into the parking spot everybody knew belonged to a deep purple Ferrari, I was struck with our argument yesterday with Damon.

As I gathered my bag, Everett circled his car, opening the door for me. When I stepped out, I wondered where Damon could be now, how much of yesterday he had seen.

Everett seemed to sense my sudden anxiety. I went tense, my shoulders raised, eyes wide as he reached out to rub my back.

"Stop thinking about him," He murmured softly.

The gesture was insanely reassuring, I wanted to fold into his leather jacket, to huddle into him and stay there forever.

But he wouldn't look at me, as in physically turn his head to face me, just like when he opened the car door at my house.

"What're you hiding?" I blurted, unable to stop myself, my tone joking but my curiosity honest.

"What do you mean?" He dropped his hand from my back, his eyebrows back to that angry furrow.