Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(10)

“What?” Gabby poked me lightly, presumably to get my attention. “Leo wouldn’t recommend someone to watch the house who isn’t trustworthy, would he? Plus, like I said, they’re best friends. Plus, like I said, Abram is super uptight.”

“And uptight is trustworthy?”

“Exactly. Just look at you.”

I grumbled but said nothing to that.

Earlier, Gabby had said, He was kind of a dick to Lisa, and yet she saw nothing wrong with this guy keeping an eye on Lisa?

Nothing about Abram, or spending the next week in the same house as him, sounded treat-like to me. Another almost-stranger my parents trusted with one of their daughters. Granted, this guy was Leo’s good friend, and Leo did seem to have better judgment about people than either me or Lisa.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, I was. We were about two blocks away now, I wasn’t a snitch, my sister needed help, and I’d promised. There was only one logical path forward.

But mostly, I refused to be another person in Lisa’s life who let her down. Gripping my bag’s strap tighter, I imagined the moment I’d have to hand it over to Gabby. Just the thought of trusting her with my backpack for any length of time was making my hands sweat.

“What?” She bumped me with her shoulder.

I shrugged, irritated I couldn’t wipe my hands on my pants. Wiping sweaty hands on leather just made for visibly wet leather and still sweaty hands, and wet leather was never a good idea. Never.

“What is that face you’re making?” She pointed to my face with her index finger, moving it in a circle.

“I don’t know, I can’t see myself.” There was just something about Gabby that grated, brought my emotions closer to the surface. Or perhaps it was this entire situation. Whatever it was, I couldn’t wait for this week to be over and return to the world I understood.

“Here, I’ll make the face you’re making.” Gabby caught my arm and I immediately maneuvered out of her grip. My reflexive reaction didn’t seem to bother her, or she didn’t notice. Regardless, she cleared her features of all expression except her eyes. She’d narrowed them subtly, and seemed to peer at the world with a hypercritical coolness. “This is the face,” she said robotically.

Trying to stuff my fingers into my pockets and failing—because the pockets were sewn shut—I scratched the elbow she’d grabbed and started walking again. “It’s just my face.”

“Well don’t make that face around Abram. Lisa doesn’t make that face.”

“Okay.” How the hell am I going to do this for a week? I pasted on a big, fake smile. “Is this better?”

“God, no. Don’t do that either.” She looked horrified. “What the hell was that? Was that a smile? Was that you smiling?”

I neither confirmed nor denied her speculation, keeping my attention forward as I twisted my lips to the side, trying not to smile for real. Gabby was a nebulous assemblage of unscrupulousness and exasperating nonsense, and we’d likely never be friends again, but she was undoubtedly charming when she wanted to be. There’d always been something about her timing, her delivery, that veered into the territory of funny.

“Okay, hand it over.” She touched my arm again, stopping me, and this time I had the wherewithal to not yank out of her grip. Instead, I removed my backpack with extreme reluctance, which elicited an eye roll from Gabby. “Oh, give it a break, Mona. Just hurry up. I have other things to do today.”

With continued extreme reluctance, I eventually handed her the backpack. She carried it the rest of the way to our brownstone while I continued to carry the makeup bag. Every so often, she’d pretend like she was going to toss my backpack in the road, snickering when I tensed.

“Relax, Lisa. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the happiness and well-being of my BFF.”

Gabby batted her eyelashes as I punched in the gate code, all nerves and thumbs. Our brownstone had a tall cast-iron fence facing the sidewalk. I wasn’t surprised by the lack of paparazzi. Everyone assumed the DaVinci family members people cared to gossip about—my parents and my brother mostly, me sometimes, Lisa only when she did something crazy—were elsewhere.

After three attempts, I finally got the code right and opened the gate for her. She preceded me up the stairs while I glared at the back of her head. When we reached the door, I reached for my backpack. She twisted away.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I need my keys to open the door.”

“No. Your keys aren’t in my ugly backpack, Lisa.” Gabby sent yet another meaningful look to the house.

Oh. That’s right.

Giving my backpack one more longing look, I stepped away from Gabby and rang the doorbell.

“Good.” She moved closer to me as we waited for this Abram person to open the door. “That face you’re making is very Lisa. Pouty. I approve.”

Before I could respond, the door swung open, revealing . . . well, revealing an extremely handsome guy. Upon my initial cursory inspection, I noted that he was tall, had brown hair and eyes, was both startlingly attractive and visibly displeased. One might go so far as to call him irked.

The guy—dressed in a faded black T-shirt and worn blue jeans—pushed a hand into a fall of shiny hair, lifting the long strands away from his forehead. Most men look sloppy in faded T’s and worn jeans. But he did not. He looked hot.