Chapter 7 Too Many Looks

The pasta arrived, and I ate it without tasting a single bite.

Jace had gone quiet. Like he was lost in deep thought.

Like something was bothering him.

"So," Jace said, spinning his fork. "Aren. You never told me why you wanted to come tonight."

Aren didn't flinch. "You said dinner. I was hungry."

"You said it was important."

"Eating is important."

Jolie choked on her water and covered it with a cough. I stared at my plate and wished I could disappear into the checkered tablecloth.

"Right." Jace's eyes slid to me, then back to him. "Isa, you're not eating."

I'm eating, I signed, and shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth to prove it.

Aren's boot nudged mine again under the table. Barely. I almost dropped my fork.

"You okay?" Jace asked me.

I nodded too fast.

"You're red."

It's warm in here.

"It's twelve degrees outside."

Then it's the spice, I signed, and Jolie was squeaking, probably trying to muffle her laugh.

Jace set his fork down. For a long second nobody spoke, and I felt every look, every breath at that table.

Then Aren leaned back in his chair and smiled at my brother, unbothered and calm, as if there was nothing to hide. Well...There's nothing to hide; maybe I'm the paranoid one.

"Relax, Jace. I'm just here for the free food."

"Uh-huh." Jace picked his fork up again, but his eyes stayed on Aren. "You've been eating my sister's side of the table since you sat down."

Aren had, without me noticing, slid the bread basket toward me and moved the butter to my side.

I had never told him I liked butter either.

My face burned.

"Jace," Jolie said brightly, "tell us about your midterm."

"I will in a second." He didn't look away from Aren. "Isa, can you go get us some water? Jolie, go with her."

It was so obvious that Jolie raised her eyebrows at me.

He wants to talk to Aren, she mouthed.

I know, I signed back.

We stood. At the edge of the table, I hesitated and glanced back.

Aren was already watching me, and he gave me the smallest nod. It's fine, it said. Go.

I didn't believe him, but I went anyway.

At the water station, Jolie gripped my arm. "Okay. He knows."

Knows what? I signed. Nothing happened.

"Isa."

Nothing happened!

"You blushed three times in ten minutes, he moved your butter, and your brother is about to put him through a wall." She tilted her head toward our table. "Look."

I looked at the two boys in our table.

From here I couldn't hear them, but I could see. Jace leaned forward with his elbows on the table. Aren sat straight, his face serious now, the easy smile gone. My brother said something short. Aren answered even shorter.

Then Jace sat back, jaw tight, and stared at him.

Aren held the stare without blinking.

My stomach dropped.

"What are they saying?" I whispered, and it came out as a breath, barely a sound, but Jolie heard it. Her eyes went wide.

I pressed my lips together, horrified.

"It's okay," she said quickly, squeezing my hand. "It's okay. I won't say anything."

When we came back, the water pitcher shaking a little in my grip, the table was silent.

Jace stood, folded his napkin, and dropped a few bills beside his plate.

"I have an early practice," he said. His voice was flat. "Jolie, I'll walk you back. Isa, you're with Aren. He'll drive you."

What? I signed.

"You heard me." He held my eyes for a long moment, and I saw something there that wasn't anger. It was like a worry. "I'll see you at the game tomorrow."

Then he put his jacket on and walked out, with Jolie hurrying after him, throwing me one last helpless look over her shoulder.

The door shut.

The restaurant noise rushed back in, plates and laughter and a song I didn't know. I stood there with the pitcher in my hands.

Aren stood slowly.

"He didn't punch me," he said. "That's good."

I stared at him.

"I told him I wouldn't hurt you." He took the pitcher out of my hands and set it on the table, gentle, as if I might break. "He didn't believe me. I don't blame him."

Why would you say that? I typed on my phone. My hands trembled. There's nothing to hurt.

Aren looked at me for a long time.

"Isadora," he said quietly, "Will you wear my number at the game tomorrow?"

My breath stopped.

What has gotten to this man? Is he high?

I don't even know if I will go yet. I typed on my phone

"I've seen you. Front row, every time, every single game..." He gave me a light smile. "Your brother is lucky to have a faithful supporter like you. I'm actually jealous."

I couldn't move.

He picked up my coat from the back of the chair and held it open for me. "Come on. I'll take you home."

I should have said no. I should have run.

I put my arms into the sleeves instead.

And as we walked out into the cold, with his shoulder an inch from mine and my heart loud enough to hear, I knew tomorrow's game wasn't going to be like any other.