Neither of them was looking at me they both were staring at the car. Two men stood beside a fancy SUV with brand-new kayaks tied to the top. "Yeah, who cares what they think," I muttered under my breath. Besides my dad and mom, did it really matter what people were saying about my engagement? About my new car? About my mysterious acceptance into an Ivy League college? About the shiny black credit card that felt red-hot in my back pocket right now? It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and I knew that. At times like this, sensing the eyes on my back, it felt as if the ring were pulsing like a neon sign: Look at me, look at me. It wasn't bright out - a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington - but I still felt like a spotlight was trained on me, drawing attention to the delicate ring on my left hand. They ticked by sluggishly, almost as if they were doing it just to annoy me. Of course, there was nothing I could do to make the numbers on the gauge pick up the pace. Moving as if I were in a race, I got the hatch open, the cap off, the card scanned, and the nozzle in the tank within seconds. I was going without a lot of things these days, like Pop-Tarts and shoelaces, to avoid spending time in public. If I hadn't been running on vapors, I wouldn't have come into town at all. I managed to reach my goal, the gas station. With the toe of my shoe, I gently nudged the gas pedal down one half millimeter, and the car shot If there had been any doubt as to who was driving this car before, it was gone now. I couldn't bear to look around at the reaction. The car lurched to an absolute standstill anyway. Keeping my head, I merely tapped the pedal. "Arg!" I gasped as I fumbled for the brake. The light turned green and, in my hurry to escape, I stomped on the gas pedal without thinking - the normal way I would have punched it to get my ancient Chevy truck moving.Įngine snarling like a hunting panther, the car jolted forward so fast that my body slammed into the black leather seat and my stomach flattened against my spine. At least he didn't have his nose pressed up against the glass. Marshall was gawking through the plate-glass window of his little souvenir shop. Two pedestrians were frozen on the sidewalk, missing their chance to cross as they stared. I tried to take some comfort in the fact that she wasn't really staring at me, just the car.
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Then I remembered that these windows were so darkly tinted that she probably had no idea if it was even me in here, let alone that I'd caught her looking. It was still considered rude to stare at people, wasn't it? Didn't that apply to me anymore? Her eyes bored into mine, and I flinched back, wondering why she didn't drop her gaze or look ashamed. Weber had turned her whole torso in my direction. No one is staring at you.īut, because I couldn't lie convincingly even to myself, I had to check.Īs I sat waiting for one of the three traffic lights in town to turn green, I peeked to the right - in her minivan, Mrs. No one is staring at you,I promised myself.
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