Chapter 1: Car Issues
Love is the slowest form of suicide ~ Anonymous
The cold prickled my skin as goosebumps popped up, like a miniature version of the Adirondack Mountains that were whizzing past my window. I didn't remember upstate New York ever being this cold in late September. Wishing I had worn something other than my Canada t-shirt and worn-out jeans, I slumped down in my seat and turned the heater up.
Clayton Brooks, my chauffeur and one of my best friends, glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow. "You cold?"
"Just a little."
He shot me a heart-stopping smile; I felt the muscles in my face stretching as I automatically smiled back. I knew it was too cliche for me to love my best friend, especially when he already had a girlfriend. Not for the first time, I wondered what he saw in Beth Hadginson, the uber-slut cheerleader. Of course, I wouldn't say that to either of their faces. Clayton deserved better than that size-zero cheerleader, who I knew was cheating on him, along with every other guy who was stupid enough to look at her twice.
I shivered again and wrapped my arms around myself. I loved Clay's vintage Tokyo purple Voltswagen bug, but the heater wasn't exactly the greatest in the world. I twisted around in my seat and reached into the back of the car, grabbing one of the jackets that were thrown about haphazardly. As I slipped it on, I realized that it was one of Clay's old ones, infused with his smell; the smell of the maple syrup factory that his father owned. I drowned myself in the sweetness of it.
"Must we go back to the hell that people call school?" Clay inquired in a depressed tone.
"School is prison for those who committed no crimes" I mused bitterly.
"Especially for people like us, who are smarter than the teachers" Clay muttered under his breath.
Says you, I thought. Mr. I'm-dating-a-cheerleader-'cause-I-need-a-reality-check.
But even with the impending doom called school and the devil idiots call Beth, I had to smirk at Clay's adorable pout. The guy could be a male model, but he was too smart for that. Actually, he's too smart for earth; he should move to Pluto and rendez-vous with the aliens. 'Cause, you know, at least they have those little gray things in their skulls known as brains. I was snapped out of my Clay-induced mental rant by the sound of his ringtone blasting out the guitar solo from "Sweet Child of Mine".
He pulled out his Verizon Chocolate, which looked extremely edible to my starving self. He stared at the caller ID as if he wished that it would blow up into a million pieces. With his Cupid's-bow-lips set into a hard, grim, line, Clay tossed it back onto his dad's fancy attache case.
Being my awesomely nosy self, I instantly questioned him upon the identity of his mystery caller.
"Beth," he practically growled, his eyes fixated on the open road.
"What happened?" I asked, doing my best to sound sympathetic, although, in reality, I was doing backflips in my head.
"There are rumors," he said in a monotone.
"As there have always been and will always be."
"Exactly."
Clay frowned slightly as his eyes misted up.
I just couldn't stand that expression of torment from him, so, impulsively, I reached over and gave him a hug. The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
"Break up with her!" I insisted.
"I don't know, Rach. I just don't know," he mused.
I stared into his emerald eyes, reveling in the smell of maple syrup that wafted from him.
Suddenly, the VW veered off the road as the tires screeched against the asphalt. I instinctively grabbed Clay and he shielded me as we crashed into one of the trees. For a moment, we didn't move and stayed locked together. His wondrous face was the last thing I saw before everything faded to black.
.
