Badly Behaved

My back hits the wall the moment I close the cops outside, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I hiss, flying into the kitchen, and begin to pace, my hands tearing through my hair, trying to think, when a flash of black catches my eye.

I whip around and my breath freezes in my throat.

The bay doors leading to the back are wide open, a light breeze carrying the curtains into the house, and just outside of it... Ransom.

His glare is heavy, angry, and tipped low.

Dirt lines his jaw, what looks like blood is dried to his right brow, and he’s wearing the same clothes from the day before.

His arm comes up, his hand opening, and inside his palm, dangling from one finger... my keys.

My eyes widen and I dart forward, but as I reach him, reaching for them, his fist closes.

He backs away and a lump forms in my throat. I’m about to vomit, or scream, but then he tosses them against my chest.

A clipped huff leaves me, and I jolt, prepared to run back, but as I get a better look at him, my bare feet root in place.

His face is pulled tight, his body rigid, as if he’s on the verge of... I don’t know what.

A hard tap sounds behind me and I blink, keeping my eyes on him a moment longer, before running for the front door.

Yanking it open, I muster a smile, swinging the keys in the air in faux enthusiasm, and set them in the questioning officer’s hand. The man at his side gives me a tight-lipped grin as if to apologize for his partner, and within ten minutes, they’re gone.

As soon as the lock is clicked in place, I take a settling breath, flattening my palm against my forehead.

I head out back, but Ransom is gone.

Staring at the still locked gate at the far side of my yard, I lean against the frame, confusion bringing a frown to my face.

I may not have realized it right away, but he saved my ass last night in a big way, and again just now.

He went out of his way and he did it without my asking, without reason and for zero gain. I pretty much depreciated the situation and still he pushed me to go, as if it was his place, as if compelled.

What’s most troubling, though, is the crestfallen look in his eyes, as if it killed him to do as he did. He tried to hide it behind anger and frustration, but I saw it.

Why did you have to go and help me, Ransom Rossi?

My shoulders seem to fall on their own, a long sigh leaving me.

Opening my palm, I run my finger over the golden J key chain my mom gave me for my birthday.

Shit, my mom!

I head back to my room to grab my phone, so I can let her in on what happened with my car, or the version the police provided me with.

I plan to talk to Ransom at school this afternoon, but I don’t get the chance, because he isn’t there.

None of the three are.

Not today, or the rest of the week.

It shouldn’t bother me that I don’t know where they are or why they stay gone, so I tell myself it doesn’t.

When Scott said wear white, I thought it was his way of being an ass and letting me in on how he connected the dots from the little ‘devil’ and ‘blank canvas’ nonsense at lunch on the first day of school, as if I hadn’t noticed then.

Sitting here at the party, however, I now know it was simply his way of being ominous, leaving me to assume his true meaning—a purposeful mind twister, or it would be, for someone who cared enough to obsess over it.

The party is literally a black light party, so everyone was instructed to wear white, something the girls had to fill me in on when they called me on FaceTime to let me know they were on their way from her parents’ dinner party—thankfully, my car situation gave me an excuse to get out of that. Had they not, I would have shown up in a hunter green dress.

So, I ran back into my closet and here I am, cloaked in white for the second day this week.

This time, though, it’s not a pantsuit, but a thigh-hugging dress. It’s not quite a mini, but I do have to bend at the knee rather than over at the hip to avoid a clear shot of what’s underneath. It’s a halter style that clasps around my neck, the thick straps crisscrossed over my shoulder blades.

Straps that Scott slips his fingers beneath and gives a gentle tug so that I give him my attention.

He smirks from his seat beside me. “Ready for a shot?”