The Candace Clique

Chapter Seven

Bridget let her grip linger on the steering wheel, her car parked directly in front of the school’s entrance. She watched obediently as the mass of students walked in and out of the double doors she had innumerably pushed open, being greeted by the salty tang of teenagers and the mounds of varsity players clapping her shoulders like she was a dude. But today, everything was going to change for her. She had spent the morning doing her hair and applying the said make-up that Candace had bought her, and now she was sitting inside her car, biting her lip stick colored lips, her fingers idly tracing her dark curls. She glanced at herself at the mirror, her eyelids coated with eyeliner—but not too thick that it obscured her eyelids, her cheeks were a flush pink, giving color to her already tanned skin, her lips seemed puckered up, due to the lip stick she had on, and her hair was a massive curl of ravens, falling into a wonderful mess around her beautifully sculptured face. She was the perfect description for beautiful. She let her fingers escape the steering wheel and grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, and before she knew it, she was stepping out of her car, her heels click clacking as she walked over to school entrance. Bridget didn’t have to look at them, she knew they were staring, whispering, even when she was only a mere inches away from the double doors. She bit her lip as her fingers enclosed on the handles of the doors, then with a loud thud of her heart, she pushed them open, the gust of teenage atmosphere engulfing her. At first, people didn’t bother looking, but as one of them turned to look who it was that walked through the school, the rest of them followed. Some were gaping at her, the others turned to their friends to whisper and some giving her a once over—mostly the girls who were in the in-crowd. She tightened her grip on the handle of her bag as she passed through the group of varsity players looking at her, shocked. It was just her luck that her locker was right where theirs were and she had to stop where they were to grab her books. She stopped in the midst of all the eyes on her, her eyes drifting over to Patrick Bentley’s grey ones, she offered up a smile that seemed to baffle them, “Hey,” she licked her lips as their shoulders tensed up, “I need to grab my books,” she made a move to slither in the space between Patrick and Brook Anderson when Patrick spoke up, his fingers achingly close to her hair, “Bridget?”

“Yes?” she turned to him, her eyes trained on Patrick’s elevated hand, only inches away from touching her—probably to cup her cheeks. But Patrick dropped his hand and Bridget’s heart caved in.

The other’s audible gasps echoed around her, but Patrick’s eyes strained to get a glimpse of a little bit of everything of her, “You’ve...changed.”

“In this universe,” she answered, matching the codes on her lock and effortlessly shoving the metal door open, taking a grab of her books, “change has been always constant.” Before she could step aside, to close her locker, she caught Brook’s surprisingly blue eyes lingered over her, like the way she had always caught him staring at her during practice—all these years, but now just close up. She had always been friendly to him and he to her, but the closest they got out from each other were small talks and the stolen glances Brook had, even when she had not yet thought of changing.

Without warning, Patrick’s hand slipped carefully around Bridget’s waist, making her tear her gaze away from Brook’s, forcibly looking up at the intense greys of Patrick’s eyes, “I like it.”

Bridget took a sharp intake of breath, her own heart audible to her and probably to the others around craning their necks to steal a glance. His lips were parted into a smile, his cool fingers brushing against her thin waist. Embarrassed, Bridget let a small smile crack across her face, looking through her lashes over the boy she had been crushing on, but she kept her hands to herself, careful not to touch him, careful not to wave the magic away. Patrick was so close—too close and she wasn’t used to it. She moved her head to the side, away from Patrick’s predatory stare, only to see Brook walking away to the opposite direction, his eyes a mixture of something unreadable.