Nevermore (Nevermore 1) - Page 80

Oh, please, be okay. Please be okay!

In the grass—it was still there. Thank God.

Isobel ran to crouch beside her backpack. It was covered in a spray of dew, the nylon wet but not drenched. Fingers anxious and fumbling, Isobel pulled open the zippers, pried the bag open. Fixing her hands on The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, she drew the book carefully out, turning it over in her grasp, feeling along the spine. She inspected the pages. It felt dry. It felt whole. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Isobel jerked the zippers closed. That was when she noticed the glittery goop on the front of the bag, right under her embroidered initials. Her eyes narrowed, following the trail of glitter that led up to her heart-shaped key-chain watch.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, picking the silver watch up with her fingertips. The glass in the middle, right over the face of the watch, had shattered, leaking decorative pink glitter goo from inside onto the face of the watch and down the front of her bag, like fairy guts. She must have broken it when she’d slammed her bag down last night, the weight of the book crushing her watch.

Isobel unclipped the watch from her bag and held it in her palm.

She stood, pulling her backpack onto one shoulder with her free arm while staring down at the broken trinket in her hand. She walked slowly back inside the house and dumped her bag by the front door, then wandered into the kitchen, where she slumped once more into her chair.

“What’ve you got there?” her dad asked, not bothering to fold down his paper.

“My watch. It’s broken.”

“Ohhh,” he said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, setting the watch aside on her place mat. She picked up her spoon and prodded her cereal.

“Well,” Danny said from his end of the table, half the milk in his spoonful of Lucky Charms sloshing back into his bowl, “next time you’ll know not to look at it.”

Isobel didn’t have the energy to quip back. It was already going to be a long day. She had practice that afternoon and with half of the crew, too. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was certain the day wouldn’t end without her running into Brad at least once.

Oh, no, she thought, looking up. Brad. How was she supposed to get home from practice?

Isobel glared down at the table, bracing a hand against her forehead. She felt like just giving up. Could she do that? Where was the eject button on life? It wouldn’t have to be this way if her parents would just go ahead and let her take her driver’s test instead of making her wait until she turned seventeen in the spring. Unfortunately, waiting and keeping a permit longer had been part of the deal when she’d first asked them for a car.

“Dad?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you pick me up today after practice? Around four thirty?”

“Don’t you usually catch a ride home with Brad?” he asked.

“He—his car is in the shop.”

“Oh? I thought he was pretty good with cars.”

Oh, come on, Dad.

“It’s just one of those things. Can you come?”

“Well,” he said, “I guess I could drop by on the way home from work. Does Brad need a ride home too?”

“No.”

That did the trick, and her father put down his paper. He eyed her before asking, “You two still getting along okay?”

“Fine, Dad.” She sighed, slouching. “Fine.”

“You sure you’re feeling all right, Izzy? You don’t look so good.”

“Hundredth time, Dad, yeah.”

Apart from losing all her friends in one weekend, being chased by phantom stalkers, and feeling like a sock puppet personified, she was just peachy, Dad, thanks for asking.

Tags: Kelly Creagh Nevermore
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