Nevermore

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.

“Humph,” he said, flipping his paper back up. He leafed noisily through a series of pages before snapping the paper straight again. “You’ve been acting kind of funny lately.”

“Hormones,” she murmured.

Danny slammed his spoon on the table. “Gross!” he shouted.

Her dad’s only response was a short “Mm.”

Then her mom came in. “You two ready to hit the bricks?”

Eager for an excuse to bolt, Isobel scooped up her broken watch. Pulling on her brown corduroy jacket from the back of her chair, she started for the door. She grabbed her backpack along the way.

“It’s still early. Who wants a ride to the bus stop?” her mom asked. “I think we even have time for drive-through lattes.”

“Me,” Isobel growled in coffee lust, while Danny shook his head and groaned.

At her locker, Isobel tucked a strand of her half-blow-dried, half-air-dried, pillow-crimped hair behind one ear and leaned down to pick up her binder. Next to her, she heard a furious rustle of papers, followed by books clunking. She looked over to see the weird skinny girl, her locker neighbor, on her knees, rooting through an impossible tangle of papers, bracelets clanking.

Wispy and long-necked, she reminded Isobel of a goose. She always wore long, flowing, flowery broom skirts with black leotard pants underneath and fitted sweaters layered over tank tops. She also wore oval-framed glasses and had straight, mouse brown hair so long she could sit on it. The girl usually secured her hair with a bandanna or a low ponytail tied at the nape of her neck.

She wasn’t someone Isobel would normally talk to, but for some reason, at that moment it struck her as kind of funny how they saw each other every day and had never spoken.

Didn’t having lockers together make you at least acquaintances? It was one of those situations where you had to be around someone you wouldn’t normally hang out with.