Butterfly Kisses | ✓

03 | begonia

B E G O N I A

[begonia obliqua] ➳ caution.

ACCORDING TO LEO, I WAS the only eleventh-grader at Newberry Secondary with a perfect attendance record.

Skipping fourth-period pre-calc would not have been the end of the world, but Leo tugged me back when I tried to ditch through a side door. I smothered a groan as he dragged me by the skateboard in my hands and pried it from my grasp.

"Ren," he said sternly, holding the board hostage. Its spotty surface looked ridiculous against his minty polo shirt. He dressed conservatively, but made up for it with outlandish expectations for every other aspect of his life. "We have a pop quiz today."

"That's not how pop quizzes work," I told him, yanking the board from his grasp and tucking it under my arm. "Why do you always know this stuff?"

He shrugged. Leo spent his evenings shelving library books and grading quizzes, which inevitably meant reading tests dates off sticky notes on computer screens or even getting intel from the teachers themselves.

That appeared to be the case today. "Apparently it's only one question," he told me. "Come on."

I sighed. Truthfully, I was willing to sacrifice my streak if it meant avoiding not only a quiz, but a white t-shirt and sunlit hair, which would probably look golden in the afternoon. 

Leo, though, was clueless. He pulled me along past vending machines and blue lockers until we were standing at the entrance to the only class I shared with Isaac Marshall.

I steeled my gaze before stepping inside. Leo sat us in the front row because he was the epitome of trying too hard, from the tips of his gel-spiked chestnut hair to the soles of his spotless running shoes. He had taut arms and talked with his hands, which made him a more interesting tour guide than conversationalist. Which had worked back when he'd been assigned to show me around the school on my first day. 

"Did you do the homework?" he asked, producing a pencil case from his backpack. I wasn't paying attention, too busy scanning the back of the classroom. Though long windows and towering shelves framed the final row of desks, their chairs remained empty.

"Ren?" Leo repeated. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I swivelled back, lifting my eyes to the question Mr. Davis was writing on the whiteboard. "Yeah, I did it."

I copied the problem onto a blank sheet of paper. Clearly, this quiz wasn't as big of a deal as I thought—otherwise Davis would've waited until the whole class was here to start.

The question was a simple case of completing the square, so I finished within seconds of the bell. Even Leo had yet to hand his paper in by then. I stood up, scrawling my name in the top margin before placing it squarely onto Mr. Davis' desk.

When I angled back toward my seat, Isaac came through the door.

He wore the same shirt as always and plopped his bag onto the desk by the window, brushing back his hair. He took out a binder and a pencil and made a move to pull out his chair. But my gaze settled on a sliver of white and we both hesitated before sitting down.

In the pocket of his backpack that most people used to hold water bottles, Isaac was carrying flowers.

They were unmistakably my own white tulips, their stems bunched up and stuffed into the side compartment of his bag. I was sure that I had checked the garden before leaving for school this morning. I had checked yesterday, too, in case Isaac had returned after the incident on Saturday.

But for forty-eight hours, my garden had been pristine. Empty. Untouched. 

Isaac stared at me a moment longer, his expression a dare in itself. Then Leo got up with his quiz in hand, brushing past me on his way to the teacher's desk. I swallowed hard, pressed my brows together—a warning—and quickly slid into my seat.

I could feel Isaac's eyes on the back of my head.

Class went by painfully, partially because I had already learned about radicals at my old school. My mind raced in the wrong direction. It was possible, I reasoned, that Isaac had bought the flowers at a shop—but the bouquet wasn't wrapped in fancy plastic, and judging by their irregular lengths, the stems were untrimmed.

I snuck another glance at the back of the room. Maybe he'd stolen the flowers from someone else.

But how many people here grew white tulips?

When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, I scrambled to gather my belongings. Leo waved me goodbye, probably on his way to the library or the running track. I smiled back, keeping a careful eye on the desk by the window as I jammed my pencil case into my backpack.

Isaac left the room quietly. I waited exactly eight seconds before trailing after him, keeping a safe distance as he navigated the corridor. He didn't stop in any of the classrooms or even the bathroom before heading out one of the fire escapes at the back of the building.

The door slammed behind him, catching a tulip petal. It fluttered to the floor as I held my breath, counting to eight again before following him into the cloudless afternoon. 

I didn't need to know where Isaac Marshall lived or what he did in his spare time. The rumours were countless and half of them involved drug dealers. The other half required pretty girls, and though I was fond of my full lips and hazel eyes, I wasn't sure I wanted to fit the bill.

But if he was going somewhere with the flowers, I deserved to know where, and why. 

While my skateboard was usually my means of getting home, I couldn't risk Isaac hearing my wheels against the pavement, so I followed him past an overgrown shrub and trees with rustling leaves. He hurried up the concrete stairs that led off school grounds, taking the steps two at a time and widening the gap between us. 

I picked up the pace. It was considerably harder to run up the stairs with a board in my hands, and when my feet found the pavement again, I realized I'd never been this way before. The street was empty, since the drop-off zone and my own route home was in the opposite direction. I shivered despite the warmth coming down through the spaces between the trees. 

Isaac took a sharp left around a towering hedge. I swallowed hard. A lone car sped down the road, well over the limit, then disappeared into a drive-through. Curling my hand into a fist and using my skateboard as a shield, I turned.

He had stopped around the corner, his phone between his hands and a notch between his brows as he tapped furiously at the touch screen. I sucked in my breath and swore silently, about to whirl back towards the school. 

Then Isaac looked up. 

He slid his phone into his jean pocket, his gaze not leaving mine as he approached. The wind flapped his shirt and his smile revealed his laughter lines. Like me, he had creases under his eyes, and like me, he didn't seem to know how to react to being victim of a petty crime. 

"Renata," he started, his voice hoarse with swallowed laughter. "Are you stalking me?"