Inquest (11 page)

As I flip
through the channels without really seeing them I can’t shake the
feeling that there is something dangerous lurking behind Milo’s
diktats.

Chapter 9

Jealousy

As promised,
Milo is waiting for me outside my room at seven-thirty on the dot.
I doubted his ability to get up early and show up on time when he
made the promise last night, but I am pleasantly surprised to find
out how wrong I was to question him. Today is already starting off
a million times better than yesterday. I smile as I climb into his
Corolla.

“Ready?” Milo
asks groggily.

“Yep.”

He jams the
gear shift in reverse. The car jerks back and then out of the
parking lot. His hair hides most of his face, and his sunglasses
hide the rest. Milo’s hunched shoulders and drooping head, plus his
utter lack of conversational ability, make me smile.

“Not much of a
morning person, huh?” Normally I’m not either. I rarely get through
a night without terrible nightmares, which means little sleep and
grumpy mornings. Nightmares still gave me an awful night’s sleep,
but actually having a ride to school this morning has put my usual
unpleasantness on hold. I was sure I’d be calling a taxi after
yesterday.

Milo merely
grunts in response to my question.

“Well, thanks
for picking me up.”

“No problem,”
he growls.

A chuckle
slips out before I can stop it. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

I smile even
wider. He doesn’t seem to notice. He does however speed up, ten,
fifteen miles over the speed limit. He darts in and out of traffic
so effortlessly that I doubt the likelihood of his one talent being
Perception. He fits right in with the rest of the Guardians the way
he’s driving. The rest of the trip passes in silence, with me
holding onto the door handle very tightly. We make very good time.
We have a full twenty minutes before the bell is due to ring.

“Well,” I say
when we’re safely stopped and my fingers are unclenched from the
handle, “that was interesting. If you wanted to get away from me
that badly you could have just said so.”

Milo finally
looks over at me. “What?”

“You were
speeding like a maniac. Were you trying to get rid of me as soon as
possible?”

“Oh. No, I
just wanted you to have enough time,” he says.

“For
what?”

He unbuckles
his belt and leans toward me. I almost start to say something, a
mixture of fear and curiosity at what he might do springing up
instantly, when he twists and reaches for a container I hadn’t
noticed, peeking out from under his backpack. He tugs it out and
hands it to me.

“I brought you
some breakfast. Wake me before the bell rings, okay?” Then, casual
as you please, he lays his seat back and closes his eyes. Within
seconds his chest is rising and falling in the steady rhythm of
sleep. Amazing.

I turn back to
my container with an amused shake of my head and work on prying the
lid off. The bagel, or buttered toast, I’m expecting isn’t there.
Lying in the blue plastic container are scrambled eggs, bacon, and
a sliver of cantaloupe. The eggs and bacon are still hot, the melon
protected from the heat by a couple of folded paper napkins. A
plastic fork is wedged between the edge of the container and the
melon. For several long seconds all I can do is gape at the food.
The last time anyone made me breakfast was five years ago. The
morning my dad died. My eyes still water every time I see blueberry
pancakes.

My fingers are
actually shaking when I pick up my fork and take a bite. It’s
positively silly that I should be getting so worked up over eggs,
but I can’t help it. The homemade breakfast warms me completely. As
long as it takes me to finish relishing the treat, there are still
ten minutes before the first bell when I’m done. I close the dish
back up and set it in the back seat. Before I can settle into my
seat to wait, my gaze lands on Milo.

His eyes dart
around under his eyelids as he sleeps. I wonder what he’s dreaming
about. I wonder if it’s me. Shaking my head, I push that thought
out of my mind completely. Any dream about me would quickly turn
into a nightmare. He’s probably dreaming about getting to sleep in.
Lying back in his seat, his hair has fallen away from his face. I
can actually see his face clearly without his hair there to get in
the way. Hidden behind his scraggly locks is a strong jaw line and
defined cheekbones. They go perfectly with his aquiline nose and
full, soft lips.

My thoughts
freeze. His soft lips? Where on earth did that come from? And why
am I still staring at his lips? Are they really soft? I bite the
inside of my cheek, but it doesn’t really help. I struggle to get
my thoughts back in order. I don’t need this right now. I have an
entire planet’s worth of people to convince I’m not going to kill
them all. Milo doesn’t seem to be one of those people, but I’m not
totally sure that makes him any less dangerous. He would apparently
be pleased as punch to see me shatter the world. I have enough
problems already without letting my hormones cloud things for me.
Distractions are the last thing I need. I have to stay focused or
I’m going to end up very dead.

Still, I can’t
help noticing there is a stray hair lying across his cheek, the tip
touching his upper lip. Telling myself that it probably tickles
being there, I reach up to gently brush it away. My finger touches
his skin and his lips briefly curl into a smile before settling
back into a sleepy frown. My own mouth turns up in delight despite
what I just told myself. Trailing my finger along his skin not only
rids him of the bothersome strand of hair, but elicits a few more
tiny smiles from his lips as well. I smother a laugh with my other
hand, tempted to repeat the motion a few more times.

But when a car
pulls into the space next to us I suddenly remember my job and
glance at the clock. I flinch at the time, three minutes until the
first bell. My fingers drift down to Milo’s shoulder reluctantly. I
shake him gently, and say his name barely louder than a
whisper.

His arms fly
out from his body as he springs up, one of them smacking me neatly
on the side of the face. I fall back into my seat with a groan.
“Ouch! Dang it, Milo, that hurt.”

He blinks
several times before his eye widen. “Oh, crap. Did I hit you,
Libby? I’m sorry. My parents usually just yell at me from a
distance. It’s safer that way. I should have warned you, I
guess.”

“You
think?”

With my eyes
closed, and my senses a bit scrambled, I don’t notice he has come
closer to me until he presses his hand against the side of my face.
My breath stutters under his touch. His pressing lightly on my
cheek stings, but I’m only vaguely aware of it. I’m not really
capable of noticing anything except for how close he is to me until
he pulls his hand back, though not completely.

“It’s all red.
I’m really sorry, Libby. I didn’t mean to smack you…again,” he
says. Concern and regret play together in his slate grey eyes. I
can’t make myself look away from them.

“It’s okay,” I
manage to mutter.

He leans
forward again, staring at my throbbing cheek. Tension bunches up
his shoulders. “You might want to keep your hair down for a while
until you’re sure it won’t bruise. I’m sorry, Libby. If a teacher
sees that they’re going to think someone hit you on purpose.”

“Like they’ll
even care. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” I say, making Milo
frown. I sigh. “I’ll keep my hair down if it makes you feel better,
though.”

“It will,” he
says. Evidently he doesn’t trust me. His fingers slide behind my
ear and free my hair to fall forward, pausing on my now covered
cheek. I lean into his touch without thinking.

My skin
prickles a split second before Milo pulls away from me. The
sensation passes too quickly for me to get anything from it.

“I think the
warning bell already rang. We’d better go,” he says flatly.
Something about his voice sounds off, rougher than usual. I
shouldn’t have let myself slip like that. It’s just that Lance used
to do the same thing. For a moment the sensation was too familiar
not to get lost in it. I have to be smarter. Milo is my friend, the
only one I have. I don’t want to lose that now by scaring him
off.

Stuffing away
my emotions, I grab my backpack and follow Milo out of the car. We
rush across the parking lot and push through the double doors a few
seconds later. The hallway is packed with students rushing to get
what they need out of their lockers and race to class before the
final bell rings. Nobody even notices us. Thank goodness. For
whatever reason, Milo follows me to my locker and plants himself
next to me as I yank it open and start loading up my books. I’m
done ten seconds later, shoving the stubborn door closed and
spinning around to find myself face to face with Jen.

She looks like
a deer caught in a car’s headlights.

“Jen,” I say
in surprise. “There you are. I couldn’t find you anywhere
yesterday.”

“L-Libby…I.”
Her eyes dart around nervously. “I’m sorry, Libby, but I’m late for
class.”

She drops her
eyes, practically running away from me. Her panicked flight catches
some of the other students’ attention. As she disappears into her
classroom, they all swivel back to me, staring, glaring at me like
I have just done something terrible. I just tried to say hi to my
friend. Someone I thought was my friend, anyway. What’s so bad
about that?

The familiar
brush of Lance’s emotions slices through me as he walks by. Seeing
his expression is just as painful. I take a step back under the
assault, bumping into Milo, who leans against a locker and simply
watches with mild interest. He’s not about to step in and save me,
but it’s clear he isn’t going anywhere.

Something
flashes in Lance’s eyes. It’s there and gone so fast I barely even
notice it, but the seething flow of jealousy rippling out from him
is telling enough. A very tiny part of me relishes the idea of him
caring. The rest of me has a different response. Irrational fury
boils under my skin. Jealousy? How dare he? He tried to kill me,
for crying out loud! He doesn’t get to be jealous anymore. Stupid,
hateful jerk. Only the rapt attention of everyone still in the
hallway keeps me from slapping Lance across the face.

The final bell
rings, breaking Lance out of his frozen stance and carrying him
down the hall to his class. Despite my anger at Lance, when he
disappears my whole body sags with relief. I have to lean against
the locker next to Milo to keep from dropping.

“You okay?”
Milo asks.

“Yeah, never
better,” I say. I just wish my hands would stop shaking. Milo’s
hands are rock steady as he pushes me away from the lockers.

“Told you he
was a prick,” he says.

I don’t laugh.
After seeing Lance in class yesterday, I thought I could deal with
him being around school, but that was more draining than I
anticipated. It’s hard to see such ferocity in the face of someone
you’ve been friends with your whole life.

My silence
sparks Milo to say, “Just ignore him. He can’t do anything.
Everything’s going to be fine.”

Inquisitor
Moore said almost the same thing to me before he started my
Inquest. I never believed him, and it turned out that he was dead
wrong. The situation hasn’t changed that much for me, but I believe
Milo when he offers the same reassurance. Inquisitor Moore couldn’t
help me. There’s no reason Milo, whose talents are practically
nonexistent, can help me any more than Inquisitor Moore could.
Something deeper than superficial knowledge convinces me that he
can. Somehow, Milo will make everything okay. Somehow.

“Thanks,
Milo.”

“I didn’t do
anything,” he says.

I smile up at
him. In a strict sense, he’s totally right, but in more general
terms he isn’t. “Yes, you did. And thanks for breakfast, too.”

Some kind of
eagerness glints in his eyes despite his bored expression. “No
problem. We ought to get to class, though.” He eyes the door Lance
went through, and I swear he looks excited to follow him in.

“Milo?” I ask,
my voice begging him to stay out of trouble. He may not be willing
to help me out much, but he’s already made it clear just how little
he likes Lance.

“Get to class,
Libby. I’ll see you later.”

He gestures
for me to get going and ambles over to the same door Lance went
through. I sigh and walk away feeling certain my day is about to go
from eggs-and-bacon happy to
my-only-friend-and-my-ex-boyfriend-fighting-in-the-hallway kind of
bad.

Chapter 10

Privilege

Nerves have me
tapping my desk relentlessly as I watch the door for Milo. I
haven’t heard anything in the halls or gotten any unusually
threatening looks yet. That’s promising, I think. At the very least
I feel confident one of them isn’t dead. I’m more worried about
Milo on that front, but traitorous concern for Lance has cropped up
a few times as well. It flares in me again. I shoved it out of my
head right away, telling myself he deserves whatever he gets, but
it is ridiculously hard to pretend seeing him dead won’t hurt me. I
close my eyes and hope the general monotone atmosphere is a sign
that no one got hurt. They’re both fine. Someone would have at the
least blamed me if something bad had happened.

That’s a
strangely hopeful thought. Or it might be if everyone didn’t fall
completely silent as soon as they saw me. Ms. Hernandez stands up
from her desk, ready to launch into another discussion about
Perception that I doubtlessly know more about than she does. Her
thin lips part to shush everyone as Milo saunters through the door,
hands in his pockets, head bobbing to whatever he’s listening to on
his iPod. Ms. Hernandez’s lips compress to the point of
disappearing completely, but she doesn’t say anything to Milo.