Resentment(2)

I make it to the parking lot and head straight for the after-school bus stop, muttering and cursing under my breath.

“Mia?” Dean calls after me from behind. “Mia?”

I say nothing. My mind is still stuck on the fact that he purposely stole my notebook; that he was in class the day I pleaded for everyone to keep a look out for it and let me know if they knew anything.

Asshole...

“Mia...” He suddenly grabs my shoulders from behind and spins me around to face him. “Mia, I know you can hear me.”

“I really can’t. I’m completely deaf to assholes who steal things, assholes who steal things on purpose.”

“Look. I tried to give your notebook back weeks ago, but you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you stealing my notebook is my fault?”

“It’s fifty percent your fault. I did try to give it back.”

“The only thing you said to me was, ‘Hey, what’s up!’”

“Exactly. If you would have answered, I could have told you.” He gives me that trademark gorgeous grin and I almost smile back—that’s how charming he is. I quickly come to my senses, though, and snatch my arm away from him.

“Thank you so very much for stealing my notebook and having the decency to give it back,” I say. “Now, if you would please continue to leave me the hell alone for the rest of the day—No, the rest of the year, I’d really appreciate it.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I rush to the bus stop and lean against one of the posts.

A slight drizzle begins to fall and I look down the street, hoping that the headlights of a yellow bus will soon appear.

I take out my earbuds and turn up my music. It’s going to take me a minute to return to my original happy mood.

Just as I’m starting to calm down, I see a black Camaro pull in front of me. It’s Dean. Again.

I turn around and give him a great view of my back. I turn my music up louder, just in case he tries to talk to me, but my headphones are the cheap, flimsy kind and they don’t have outside sound block.

“Let me take you home to make up for stealing your notebook, Mia,” Dean says, actually sounding sincere.

I ignore him and start nodding along to my music, hoping he’ll just go away.

I knew I was right for hating him...

“Mia...” He speaks again. “Mia, have you noticed that you’re the only one at the bus stop? The last one left ten minutes ago.”

I glance at my watch and groan. I’ve forgotten that the new after-school bus schedule starts today.

Shaking my head, I turn around and start walking. There’s a city bus stop six blocks down.

I expect Dean to go away, but he doesn't. He stays on pace with me in his car, driving alongside me as I stride up the sidewalk.

Whenever I speed up, he speeds up. Whenever I cross streets, he makes a U-turn and does the same. And when I reach a crosswalk with a pedestrian stoplight, he tries his luck again.

“Look, Mia,” he says, leaning over the passenger seat. “Let me take you home.”

“Not interested.”

“Well, at least let me take you to the next bus stop.”

“A four block ride? No thanks.”

“So, you’re really going to walk all the way home in the rain?”

I hesitate, now realizing that the slight drizzle has turned into actual rain, and from the look of the skies above, it’s about to get even worse.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I guess I really am going to walk all the way home in the rain. Thank you for your concern. Goodbye.”

He parks his car and gets out, walking over to me. Without saying a single word, he puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me to his car, opening the passenger door.

“Get in, Mia.”

The pedestrian light turns green and I want to back away, but hatred of Dean or not, I know I’m not going to last four more blocks in the rain.

I slip inside, and he shuts the door behind me. He returns to his place behind the wheel and drives through the light.

“Where do you live?” he asks, looking over at me.

“The corner of Seventh and Broadway.”

“Okay.” He turns on the radio, and I’m surprised to hear my favorite band blasting through the speakers. I almost compliment him on his good taste, but then I remember he’s a thief.

Thieves do not have good taste.

Neither of us speaks as he drives through the suburbs and onto the backstreets, obviously taking the scenic route. I can feel the tension building between us; I can even feel butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. Every so often, I catch myself staring at him, admiring his profile. I can’t help but turn away every time he glances back in my direction; him being so close to me has my body at full attention.