Tabby

Later that night, after my parents had turned in, Corey knocked on my door. It wasn't a huge surprise, he had a few manners when it came to girls, nor did I find it strange that he wanted to know something. That was what he always showed up in my path for; Corey was addicted to getting in things that didn't include him.

"Come in," I said quietly, so as not to wake Mom or Dad. I knew he would have yelled, had it been me interrupting him at this time of night. He stepped in and immediately shut the door - rather loudly - his hands behind his back and an awkward, uncomfortable look on his face.

"What do you want?" I snapped irritably. It was my turn to be the asshole. I had no idea where my sudden confidence was coming from, but he didn't seem to pay it any mind.

Corey was dead wrong if he thought he always ran the show.

"Exactly what were you doing with Lance?" he asked immediately, his mouth set in a frown. I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side in mock confusion. He'd soon learn the rules of karma.

"Hm...I don't really recall. When?" His hands fell to his sides in frustration and he sighed, making fists as if he'd actually consider hitting me over something as unimportant as a conversation between Lance and I. I rolled my eyes.

"You know when, Tabitha. You're not fucking stupid."

"Oh, really? Because you sure seem to make me out as nothing other," I retorted, feeling my anger start to flare. Corey gritted his teeth, looking up at the ceiling in irritation before replying.

"C'mon, seriously. Why did you go outside with him?"

"He wanted to tell me something," I said, looking down and flipping through pages in the book I held. This seemed to anger Corey even more and he cracked his knuckles, something I'd noticed he'd always do when I was getting on his last nerve. It didn't seem to phase me now.

"And what was that?"

I didn't even hesitate. "That you weren't worth bothering with." Corey's expression changed from murderous to astonished all in the same moment, and I held back a laugh.

"I find that hard to believe," Corey said, his voice completely giving him away. I shrugged.

"Don't believe it then."

"Fuck you, Tabitha," he spat, turning around and yanking open my bedroom door with such force, I was sure it would be ripped off its hinges. He hesitated though, and it stayed intact, swinging into the wall. I sighed, ready for the conversation to be over.

"That's nice. Four for you, Glen Coco. You go, Glen Coco. Now get out." I pointed towards the swaying door, not bothering to watch him leave as I flipped back to my original spot in my book. My sudden sarcasm had come out of nowhere and it was starting to puzzle me a bit. I'd always been so easy to beat down, and now I was telling my own bossy brother off. It was a change, but I was finding that it - like my new nickname - was a decent one.

No less than thirty minutes after my brother's angry episode, my eyes started to droop and I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over. I hated going to bed early, but it was Sunday night anyway. I should have been asleep by now, it was 12:00 AM and I had school tomorrow. I figured Corey would ditch it, as usual, but for once I didn't care. Let him blow it off, I thought as I reached over to my bedside table to turn out my light. His life, after all.

No matter how many times I tossed and turned throughout the night, I couldn't find it in me to really let my mind rest. I had predicted this would happen and while I had thought I'd use the extra time to really decode everything Lance had said and done in the past few days, nothing was coming to me.

I'd never met him before Friday. I'd been the outcast in a group full of hormonal, sport-obsessed guys, and as far as I was concerned, I still was. For all I knew - and I didn't know much - Lance was just messing around. Maybe he and Steven really didn't care about me at all, and they had just concocted a plan to mess with Brummer's little kid sister.

But if that was the case, why was Lance doing all the work? Why was he talking about Corey behind his back, saying he wasn't worth worrying over? What had made him take such an interest in me that he'd morphed from the guy that liked to set people on fire, to the guy who talks to total strangers about their siblings and gives them nicknames?

None of it made too much sense, and I was almost sure it wouldn't until I saw Lance again. I wondered if I'd judged him too quickly, but then remembered everyone would judge if they saw him setting fire to some poor kid in the middle of the street. I decided that until I knew him better - and God knew if I'd even have that chance - I couldn't form a real opinion about him. There would be no more immediate suspicions or assumptions. I wouldn't demand explanations for the reasoning behind questions he'd ask me and I would refrain from acting like the kid sister they all seemed to think I was.

Which left me with the same thing I'd been wondering before; why was Lance even bothering with me after he'd said all of those awful things that night at the park? None of it made a bit of sense, and after another hour of restlessness, I settled on the fact that I had no idea who he really was, therefore I couldn't gather an answer.

I wondered if he was dangerous, if he did more than smoke. I knew my brother did, and Lance seemed to be a little more experienced in the world of torture and stupid ways to mess your life up than he did. Corey had bought home girls in the middle of the night, he'd come in drunk at 6 AM, he'd sworn on his life that he'd hidden his weed in my room, though I knew there was no way he could have found a messy spot to store it in. Part of me felt extremely intimidated by Lance and his seemingly cold lifestyle of not caring, but a bigger part just wanted to know exactly who he was.

I replayed his smile over and over in my head, tried to pinpoint the exact color of his eyes, and just where his piercing was located under his bottom lip. I closed my eyes and attempted to picture what his hair looked like when it was wet, when he woke up, when he was running. I tried to imagine just how it would feel to hold his hand, but then realized that I was taking my thoughts a bit too far.

I'd never really been one to daydream about the impossible, yet that seemed to be all that my dreams consisted of when I finally drifted off to sleep.