Blair Silver

Part 8: Blair Silver?

I take the helmet uncertainly, glancing over my shoulder at the group of people who have stalled in their advance towards me and are now watching. I don't know who the motorcyclist is, but it seems like they could be the lesser of two evils, right? One unknown, potentially dangerous stranger versus, like, seven or eight unknown, probably dangerous strangers. Or is it worse, because then I'd be on a motorcycle and they could take me wherever-

"You choose now of all times not to immediately recognize me?"

That voice is familiar. Low and smooth and-

I squint. "Blair Silver?"

"Yes."

I take the helmet and tentatively come closer. I keep sneaking glances at the group of no-longer-approaching guys as I position myself on the back of the bike, helmet on, worried that they're going to suddenly run over and jump me or something. Instead, though, a few seem to be peeling off from the group to go lean on the building and smoke again.

"Arms around me."

I focus on Blair Silver again and scootch closer to him on the seat until I'm pressed against his back, and timidly wrap my arms around his waist. He doesn't move until I hug him a little tighter, then slowly maneuvers out of the bus lane. My grip on him only gets tighter after that, about proportionate to the speed we're going. After I forget about how terrifying the whole ordeal with the guys approaching me was, though, riding on Blair Silver's motorcycle is actually kind of fun. If I wasn't wearing the helmet, I think I would probably have rested my head against his back by now. We're so close together. It's incredible.

Once we're out of the sketchier areas, he pulls over again so we can talk without having to yell over the engine, turning to look over his shoulder at me. "You okay?"

"I'm okay. Thank you." I don't stop hugging him.

"Don't worry about it. Address?"

I tell him and we're off again, this time in the direction of my house. It doesn't take long to get there, and I nearly go limp with relief when I spot my house (I don't, though, because I'm still holding onto Blair so I don't fly off his motorcycle onto the road and die).

He parks (parks? Is it a different word for motorcycles? I don't know anything about motorcycles) in front of my house, and we both get off, me finally releasing his waist. I take off his helmet and give it back to him. He places it on his bike, his hair much more ruffled than normal but still attractive and cool somehow. I gape at him for a moment, before finally managing to get out, "Thank you. Like, a lot thank you. Much thank-you-ing- thanks. Thanks. You. Thank you."

He's giving me that slightly amused almost smile. "Don't worry about it."

I know that's probably my cue to leave and go into my house, like a normal person, but I don't want to stop looking at him. He runs a hand through his hair casually, smoothing it down again. I watch, entranced. Everything he does is just so cool.

"Theodore," he says softly, and I blink, startling out of my reverie.

"How do you know my name?"

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "My mom mentioned it after our staring contest in her classroom."

I blush a little. "Right. Well... don't call me Theodore. I mean, unless you really want to or something. It's just that it's long and it's easier to say Theo so you can call me that. If you want."

He's smiling a little bit now, and his dimples are killing me. "You don't like being called Theodore?"

I open my mouth, then close it because nothing comes out, then open it again to say, "I mean, I don't. I don't don't like it. Don't... not like it. Dislike it. I don't. I just... my friends call me Theo. Not that we're friends. You and I. Unless you think we are, then you're right. But- people call me Theo. Like, people. Just normal people. Like... people."