Read Online The Everafter by Amy Huntley - Free Book Online Page B

Gabe’s eyes when he looks at me. The green streaks flecking the blue seem to play hide-and-seek whenever the light changes.
    I find my keys, pull them out of my purse, then clutch them firmly in my hand.
    “I’ll get it cooled off in here pretty quickly,” Gabriel promises as he swivels one of the vents to blow straight at me.
    Put those keys back, I tell myself. Put them back in your purse right now before you lose them.
    Can he tell how hard I’m gripping them?
    Gabe’s fingers begin to tap out a rhythm in double time against the steering wheel. I’d take that for nerves, except I know it’s not. He’s a snare drummer in the band’s drum line. Translating life into rhythm seems to be as much a part of Gabriel as breathing is for the rest of us mere mortals.I recognize the cadence from football-season games. He deftly beats out a fight song as he battles the traffic getting out of the student parking lot.
    Some guy driving a Honda Civic is taking too long to make a left-hand turn. When twelve feet of space opens up in the right-hand turn lane next to us, Gabe takes advantage of the split-second opportunity, swings into that lane, and makes a left from there. As the Honda honks at us, I say, “I didn’t know you were so…determined.”
    He glances at me and smiles. “You should.”
    Yeah. I guess I actually do. He hasn’t given up on me yet.
    Then again, maybe he’s just confident. When he showed up at my locker after school and said, “How about a ride home?” I must have taken a little too long to reply, because he pulled my jacket off the peg, handed it to me, and closed my locker. “C’mon,” he said, and started off down the hall with the expectation I would follow. And I did. It was like I was attached to him by a string. He moved forward, I moved forward…all the way to his car.
    Now he’s talking about school—not exactly complaining (he doesn’t really do that, I’ve noticed, about anything), but as close as he comes to it. He’s talking about how much homework he has and whether he thinks he can manage to get it all done on time.
    “You always somehow do,” I remind him. “You have a perfect 4.0.”
    I, on the other hand, do not. My grades are not too bad: My GPA is a 3.5. But the only subject I have a perfect 4.0 in is English. I’ve always been in accelerated English. It’s because words are just so much a part of me. I can’t seem to separate them from who I am or what I think.
    I’ve just never been very excited, though, by any other subjects in school, so I don’t put a ton of effort into homework for them. As long as I’m getting at least Bs, I’m fine with that. I’ve never felt like I had to prove myself to anyone by getting perfect grades. Sandra, on the other hand, always has, so I can understand the mind-set. And I can tell Gabe has it.
    “Okay,” he says. “I know when I’m being told to shut up.”
    I look at him in surprise. Obviously, he doesn’t.
    “That’s not what I’m saying,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to reassure you that you’ll get it all done.”
    He glances at me in surprise and then returns his eyes to the road. We come up to a stoplight, where he looks at me more carefully. “Sorry. I guess I’m just used to people being all…I don’t know, competitive…about the grade thing, I mean.”
    I do know what he means. There’s this little world in the upper echelons of the GPA ranking where everyone pretends to support one another, but actually they all see one another as a threat. Somehow, they think their A’s mean lessif other people earn them, too.
    Not a game I play, but Sandra does. She feels like she has to make her mother’s life easier by being the perfect child. I wonder who Gabe is trying to prove himself to.
    “Hey,” he says as the light turns green, “it’s a beautiful day. Wanna go sit by the river for a little while before we go home?”
    Alone?!
    “Uh, sure,” I say.
    He grins at me and takes a right turn