Bright Before Sunrise(40)

“They’re talking about Shriek 3.” At the last second I manage to strip the scoff and sarcasm from my statement.

“Yeah, I know. I heard you at the counter.” She smiles and gives her head a silly-boy shake that Mike and Zeke eat up. “It’s more than two hours, and it’s set in the desert—you’ll need drinks, trust me.”

Their thanks and intros take precedence over my “You’ve seen it?”

But after introducing herself with, “I go to school with Jonah,” she answers me, “I saw it last Friday.”

Carly won’t even watch previews for movies like that. I’m annoyed Mike and Zeke are looking at Bright with respect and interest. Why does she fall into conversation with them so easily when she and I are magnetic opposites?

“So, who’d you send to fetch your drink?” I want to expose her for the princess she is, but preferably without looking like a complete jerkwad.

“Jeremy North,” she answers nonchalantly, and both Mike and Zeke sigh—like they’ve forgotten all about the “girls.” I’m not much better, going through my mental Cross Pointe roster and identifying the center of the basketball team. That’s whose party she was talking about? “But only because Amelia wouldn’t let go of my or Peter’s hands. I don’t know why she goes to scary movies; she never sleeps afterward.”

“And you do?” I challenge, as Mike says, “Not so easy to scare, Brighton?”

“It’s just a movie—they don’t bother me.”

“So, what’d you think?” Zeke asks.

Ha! This is where she’ll expose herself: Bright doesn’t have opinions and they haven’t seen it, so she can’t just agree. I lean back and wet my lips.

“It’s hard to go wrong with a Lewis Marsh movie,” she says. A nice, vague, Brighton-type response. “But I hope he wraps up the Shriek films sooner than later. He dragged out the Gore series far too long. There’s only so many times a character can not be dead.”

She’s really seen them. And knows her stuff.

“I know, right? Six movies, and the plot ran out after four.” Mike nods and leans in toward her. “You know, you’re not half-bad for a Cross Pointer.”

“Gee, thanks?” Bright laughs and they join her. I’m analyzing her posture, her voice, her body language. She’s not flirting. She’s just … charming. And they’re thoroughly charmed.

“You want to come with us?” Zeke asks. At least he has the decency to aim the question at both of us.

I don’t realize how I’m standing until Bright puts a hand on my arm while answering. My muscles are tense, my posture’s rigid. “Thanks for asking, but we’ve got plans and Jonah’s pizza’s getting cold.”

My muscles unlock under her brief touch, melting whatever the hell’s wrong with me so I can say, “If you make it to Jeff’s, catch up with us, ’kay?” and wait for her to murmur, “Nice to meet you,” before returning to the table where my pizza is indeed cold and unappetizing.

She clears her throat and I brace myself for I-don’t-even-know-what she’s going to say about Mike and Zeke. Or the fact that I stopped being a functional person after she joined our group.

“It’s too bad you don’t have OnStar,” she mutters.

Only a spoiled brat would think OnStar is standard. Paul and Mom got me a car to erase their guilt about the move—or rather, they gave me her old car after spending days pouring over Consumer Reports and buying Mom the one with the highest crash-test ratings so Sophia would be safe. I only have AAA because of the time my battery died. Paul hadn’t appreciated driving out to the State Park in Hamilton at one a.m. to give me a jump. After that night Mom got me AAA, and I insisted Carly and I leave the dome light and music off when the car is parked.

I glare at the table. “Yeah. Too bad.”

“Because then you could’ve had it unlocked with a phone call and you wouldn’t be stuck here. With me.”

I choke on an ice cube and she hands me a napkin.

“This was a mistake, Jonah. I’m not sure why you invited me, but you don’t want me here—and I’m not saying that so you’ll disagree. Not that I think you will. Just take me home. You don’t even have to show up at the library on Sunday.”

“What makes you think I don’t want you to come to the party with me?” I’m asking purely to be difficult and because I’m pissed that she has the guts to admit it’s a mistake when I don’t.

She stares at me. Raises her eyebrows in a look that dares me to contradict her.

“We’re already here. Just come.” We’re so close. Even if we just stay for five minutes, it’ll be enough to replace whatever Carly’s saying with my own story.

“Two slices of cheese?” The guy who brings the plate winks at Brighton. He’s totally checking her out. I recognize him from Hamilton High—I want to say he’s on the wrestling team, but who knows—Hamilton’s three times the size of Cross Pointe. Ironically, it would be easier to be anonymous at the school where I was anything but.

The possible-wrestler is still hovering. “Let me know if you need anything else. Anything.”

He drops a napkin beside her plate, his name and number bleeding in black ink. I’m bothered and that bothers me. Why do I care? She’s not my girlfriend—we’re not on a date. Except—we could be—this punk doesn’t know we’re not. Neither did Zeke and Mike. No one has questioned my place across the table from her. What, they don’t think I’m competition? And this loser thinks Brighton’s in his league?