Miss Me Not

"Hey, I was waiting for you," Dean said, startling me as he jumped down from the low wall by the school entrance.

I jumped slightly at his sudden appearance by my side. No one ever walked beside me, let alone held a conversation.

"You look nice," he added somberly. "Will you ride with me to the memorial service?" he asked, walking as close as he could beside me without touching. The other students stared at us in disbelief. I watched their faces as they tried to place me. My cloak of disguise had slipped and they were getting a glimpse of me for the first time in years. I knew it was only a matter of time before the rumors about me were once again unearthed. Would Dean be so willing to walk by my side if he knew the whole truth?

"You're seriously going to put a ding in your reputation by walking with me," I said, trying to give him an out.

"Mads, I seriously don't care what anyone says," he said, coming to a halt against one of the walls so he could face me. He used his body to run interference from anyone who might have jostled me as they hurried to class.

"Mads?" I asked, raising my eyebrow questioningly.

"I'll tell you what it means some other time," he said, wagging his eyebrows at me.

I placed my hands on my hips trying to bully him silently to tell me now.

He laughed outright, but wouldn't fess up. "So, will you go with me to the service?" he asked again.

"Dean, it's not a good idea," I said, darting my eyes around to indicate the other students who were studying us with morbid fascination.

"Madison, I don't care. Let them say what they want about us. It's none of their business."

"Um, hello, you have met the student body, right?" I asked, confused that we were even having the conversation.

"Who cares?" he said, leaning in close.

My breath hitched as he moved close to my lips. Panic seized me. It was wrong to yearn for the touch of his lips on mine. I didn't want them. I blatantly lied to myself.

"Let them look," he whispered a hair away from my ear. His breath fanned my hair and sent small shocks of awareness down my neck as they traveled throughout my body.

I needed to tell him to step away. He should know he was invading my personal space. Any words I may have uttered were lost somewhere between my brain that urged me to be sensible and my heart that felt we had paid enough for our crimes.

"Meet me in the student parking lot after third period," he said, disappearing down the hall before I could turn him down. Which really was my plan. Seriously.

I watched him until the students hurrying to class swallowed him up before heading off to Whore Cat's class myself. I slid into my seat just as the bell rang. Shoving my backpack under my seat, I tried to ignore the countless stares that bore into the back of my head. Ms. Jones was busy writing the day's assignment on the board when a crumpled up piece of paper hit me in the head before falling harmlessly to the floor. I debated ignoring it. It had been almost four years since the last paper ball had hit me in the head. They always had some kind of inane derogatory comment written on them. Using my foot, I scooted the ball of paper closer to me and reached down to pick it up. I smoothed it out and saw a crude drawing of a girl hanging upside down in some cave-like thing. "Go back to your bat cave, freak" was scrawled beneath the drawing. I fought the urge to snort. It was a shame that four years later they were still as unimaginative as they had been at thirteen.

Folding the paper in half, I slid it into my textbook so I could add it to all the rest. I was more than certain that it bordered on mentally deranged to keep all the "hate" notes I'd received over the years, but in truth, they kept me centered. It was almost comforting to get one now. I was forgetting all my unspoken promises. Dean was tempting me and the note in my book only highlighted that. I'd ride with him to the service today, but that was all. He didn't have a place in my life, and God knows I didn't have a place in his.

***

Dean was waiting for me at the end of third period by the entrance to the student parking lot as promised. The rain was still steadily falling, so he was waiting for me off to the side under a small awning. He looked at me somberly when I joined him.

"I didn't bring an umbrella, so we'll have to make a run for it," he said, looking at me for my input.

"I like the rain," I said simply, stepping out from under the awning. The rain cascaded down on me as I dashed across the parking lot, headed for his jeep. Dean caught up easily and grasped my hand in his as I leaped over a puddle in one of the countless potholes that littered the student parking lot. I skidded to a stop after clearing the puddle and looked down at our joined hands before looking up at him. I should have protested the contact. He knew I didn't like to be touched and yet that hadn't stopped him. His eyes held mine. Neither of us flinched as he held my hand loosely in his. I could have pulled away. I could have stuck to my resolve earlier. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around his and held on like I never had before. He smiled slightly before pulling me toward his jeep with my hand safely enveloped in his.

By the time we made it into his vehicle, I was soaking wet and shivering.

"The heat will warm it up in here in a few seconds," Dean said, cupping my chilled hands in his. He blew on them gently while never taking his eyes from mine.

"You know you're seriously breaking my 'no touching' rule," I stated.

"I figured since I'd broken the rules yesterday, I was now exempt from them," he said balefully, finally releasing my fingers so he could put the jeep in reverse.

I looked out my window, biting my lip so I couldn't break yet another rule. Being around him and sticking to my resolve were becoming more and more difficult.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. I was surprised and thankful he didn't ask about the touching thing. He could have. I knew I was a freak of nature. People didn't usually walk around with an invisible shield around them.

"Are you warm yet?" he finally asked, pulling through the open iron gates at St. Frances Cemetery.