If he waits until then, though, the mystery will be over on the first day. She’ll guess that it’s from either him or Zach. The only other guys who work on Mondays are Mr. Marrana and the dishwasher, both of whom are married.
After the last bell, he detours several times past Brianna’s locker and her friends’ lockers. No sign of her, or of them. Now running late for practice, he stops by his locker to grab his jacket and gym bag, brooding. Maybe this was a stupid idea all along. Maybe he should just forget the stupid gift, and Brianna, too.
He slams the locker door, turns around, and nearly crashes into Zach Willet.
“Sorry,” Mick mutters, and starts to move on.
“Hey, Lou, you okay?”
“Um, not really.”
“What’s wrong?”
Mick turns to face him. “Are you sure about that college guy?”
“What college guy?”
“The college guy!” he repeats, wondering how Zach can possibly be so ignorant. “The one Brianna’s seeing!”
“Am I sure what?”
“That she’s seeing him!”
“Stop shouting at me, Mick.” Zach never calls him by his real first name, and he looks irritated.
Well, that makes two of us.
“You know what? Forget it.” Mick turns and walks away.
“You know what? I will,” Zach calls after him.
In the gym, the coach gives him extra laps for being late. Before he starts running, Mick says, “I just want to let you know that I have to leave early today for a doctor’s appointment.”
The coach nods but he looks a bit suspicious, probably assuming it’s a ploy to get out of running the extra laps. To prove that it isn’t, Mick runs them hard and fast, and succeeds in purging some of the frustration that’s been percolating all day.
Ninety minutes later, as he covers the few blocks from the school on Battlefield Road to Brianna’s house on Prospect Street, he belatedly realizes that this wasn’t a great plan after all. Now he can’t catch the late bus with the rest of the team, which means he’ll have to walk all the way home. Plus, if Mom shows up at the bus stop again like she did last Monday, she’ll freak out when he doesn’t get off.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, deciding to send her a preemptive text. He can say that he’s getting a ride home with one of the seniors on the team, or—-
No, he can’t. His phone battery is dead.
He’ll just have to deal with the consequences. Tomorrow, he’ll make sure it’s charged—-and come up with a better plan for delivering Brianna’s gift.
Prospect Street runs along the south side of the Village Common, parallel to Church Street and perpendicular to Market Street and Fulton Avenue. East of the Common, it climbs into a hilly residential enclave known as The Heights. Mick’s parents both grew up in that neighborhood, Mom on State Street right around the corner from the Armbrusters’ two--story yellow house with black shutters.
Dusk is falling. The lights are on in some of the houses he passes, and there are even a few Christmas trees glowing in front windows.
Not at Brianna’s house, though. The first floor is dark, and there are no cars parked in the short driveway beside the front walk. Both her parents work up in Albany, Mick knows. They probably aren’t home yet.
He looks to make sure no one is around before he stops to stare up at the light spilling from a second--floor window. Is that Brianna’s room? Is she there right now, getting ready for work beyond the drawn blinds? Is she . . . dressed?
He promptly pushes that tantalizing notion from his head, telling himself that it’s probably her kid brother’s bedroom anyway.