Chapter | 3

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                                                            Chapter  | 3

        Tate Moore was absent for two days after our conversation. The latest rumors were that he went to Las Vegas for some big party with his younger brother. And also that he was in the hospital after crashing his car. I found the first rumor to be more believable considering Tate drove a rickety old motorcycle. 

        My brother, Oliver, skipped school this morning and gave me his keys. Apparently, he was taking his new girlfriend to a movie and the theater was just around the corner. It was Friday, and I was slightly surprised to find that Tate was still gone. The halls seemed louder with Tate not around to hear all that was said about him. People talked more freely.

        The day was long and Tate's name was imprinted in my head.

        "Did you hear that Tate Moore fucked a model?"

        " Tate Moore is fucking psychotic, I heard he killed a man."

        I was so sick of the gossip, I could not bare to even go to the vending machines outside of the cafeteria doors. I headed straight to the library. As I read, my eyes would flicker up to the seat Tate had once occupied, remembering the way he'd tilted his head at me curiously. I'd shake the memory from my head and flick through the pages in disinterest. 

        During fourth period, I glanced out the window, seeing giant droplets of water splatter across the glass. A symphony ensued and thunder struck so loudly that Mr. Addams paused in his lecture. Everyone turned to the window, concern etched across their faces. 

        My fingers tapped along my desk as the rain grew thicker. A haze of fog settled over the parking lot and the bell rang. I left first, throwing my bag over my shoulder and darting through the door. The hallways began to fill as I made my way to one of the exits. Bracing myself, I pushed through the door and into the storm. Droplets smacked across my skin, landing on my cheeks and nose as I found Oliver's car.

        I yanked the door open and slid inside, shedding my damp jacket as rain pounded the windsheild. I shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the heater with cold fingers. I flicked on the windsheild wipers before threading through the parking lot. 

        The windows steamed up as I reached for my brother's lighter and the pack of smokes he keeps in his cup holder. At a red light, I lit up and tossed the pack onto the passenger side. Cracking the window, I exhaled a long whisp of smoke and turned the corner into the sidestreets. 

        A drop of rain landed on my hand as I slowed along the quiet street. I saw a figure walking along the sidewalk, and as I grew closer - it began to look more and more familar. A slim teenager in a sopping white t-shirt and jeans. He was missing one shoe, and his hair was black as ink.

        Tate.

        I narrowed my eyes, blinking to make sure I was seeing correctly. 

        His shirt had gone see-through, allowing me to see the planes of his back and his bony shoulder blades. The tattoos on his arms gave him away.

        I considered passing him and leaving him in the rain, but then I thought about the cherries.

        "You think I don't see you, Poppy Dawson, but I do."

        I groaned, pulling up beside him and rolling my window down completely. He didn't spare me a glance, staring straight ahead as I idled beside him. 

        "Tate." I flicked ash off the top of my cigarette.

        He paused in surprise, finally turning to look at me.

        "Poppy?" His dark brows furrowed as I nearly choked at the sight of the blood stained bandage on his nose. He had a black eye and he looked like death.

        "Get in, Tate." I said, staring at my cigarette.

        A moment of silence, and then felt his presence leave my side. The passenger side door opened and Tate paused when he saw the pack of cigarettes before placing them in the cup holder and sliding in.

        He smelled like rain, and I began to feel anxious with him so close.

        "I didn't know you smoked." He said.

        "Well, now you do." I yawned, rubbing at my eyes. I could feel his stare on my face as I asked. "Where's your house, Tate?"

        When he didn't respond, I turned to look at him. His blue gaze was focused on my mouth.

        "Tate." I blushed.

        "Huh?" His eyes flickered to mine.

        "Where are we going?" 

        "Oh." He scratched at his jaw. "I don't know, Poppy."

        "That's a problem." I told him.

        "Yeah." We fell quiet after that. I examined him in the silence, his eyes on his the road. 

        Despite being wet and battered, he still looked like a model. And it made me angry that he had to be so attractive.

        "I don't want to go home." He said after a long time, finally looking up at me. 

        "Well." I said after a while. "You look cold, I'll take you to my place. Nobody's home, anyway." I said as I put the car in gear.

 

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