Rimwick

Isaac

In the morning, Mom's already in her studio working. I grab my school things, gulp the smoothie left for me on the counter, and slip out the door. Someone is waiting for me.

I stop, standing on the gritty path, staring.

Isaac shifts his backpack over his bony shoulder blades. His school-kid white and black converse weren't made to walk on this road, and he looks out of place, with his neat jeans coated in dust.

"I came to say thank you," he says, holding out my navy peacoat. "For Sylvia.'

I nod mutely and take the coat. The Lamarr's raised their kids to be polite. An angel of a lady and a gentleman in converse.

"And to apologize." His back is straight, tone as stiff as the starched linen of his button down shirt. He risks being called "nerd" or "Mama's boy" dressed like that. The buttons will come undone at school, along with his apology.

"I'm sorry for my part in what happened in the woods yesterday. What we said... it was cruel. Please forgive me."

Forgive him? No way. Not now. It's too late.

"I forgive you for what happened in the woods yesterday," I lie, perfectly in tune with the little script we're playing out. But Isaac flinches. He knows what I mean- I forgive him for yesterday. But not for all the other times. Not for everything else he's done, or listened to, or watched.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "For... for that, and for... you know. I'm sorry. I'd like- I'd like to fix things."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem, Isaac," I say. "You can't fix what you completely destroy."

He holds my gaze steadily with dark brown eyes. "I know, Riley. You can't."

It's my turn to flinch.

"Are you coming to school?" Isaac asks, demeanor shifting back to his usual courtesy.

"Not today, actually," I decide. He looks confused, but I don't care, so I turn and walk back in the house.

Mom is waiting for me.

"And where do you think you're going, Riley Merope Fey?"

"I'm... sick."

"No you aren't. What's Isaac doing here?"

"Apologizing. Mom, I am sick. I'm staying home today."

"Apologizing? For?"

"...Stuff."

"Such as?"

"Just stuff, Mom!"

"Oh, look! He's waiting for you!" Mom waves through the curtain, which I yank shut.

"He isn't waiting. I told him I'm not going to school today."

"Why did you tell him that?"

"Because I hate him! I hate Isaac! Him, and everyone else at that ENTIRE. DUSKED. SCHOOL!"

A gust of wind blows through the kitchen, accentuating my words.

A gust of wind...?

I turn, and behind me, Isaac stands in the doorway. He gives me a two-fingered wave.

"Nice to know how you really feel, Riley."

My cheeks turn bright red. Why did he have to hear that?

"Well, if you can tell me, you can tell everyone else," Mom says briskly. "Now. If you two don't get a move on, you'll be late for school."

"But-"

"Don't even start, Riley." She kisses me on the cheek and whispers, "I love you. Remember: things are never the way they seem at first. Neither are people." She smiles crookedly. "Now go."

Isaac smiles as we start down the dirt path that winds its way towards school.

"Your Mom's really nice."

"Oh, shut up," I say.

There's silence, with only our feet crunching on the gravel.

"Do you really hate everyone?" Isaac asks.

"Do you really blame me?" I reply.

"No," he says, softly.

There's more silence. A storm, dark and foul to match my mood, stirs in the sky overhead.

"I have a scale," I blurt out before biting my tongue. I don't want to talk to him.

"A scale?"

"Of how much I hate people. Daria Holden and Jay Atkins rank highest."

Isaac nods. That's gallant of him, to fake interest. "And who's next?"

"Well..." I hesitate. "You."

"Oh." He looks at the ground, but then brightens. "Only you can't hate me that much. Not if we're walking to school together, I mean."

"We aren't walking together," I snap. "We happen to be on the same path, that's all."

Isaac looks right at me. His eyes burn like fire against my angry words, like he doesn't even care. "I know you haven't forgiven me. Not for yesterday, not for what happened last year, not for anything. But I'm going to make you."

And then he turns away, and the rest of the walk is silent.