The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 4

"Hey," he said. His brows were furrowed, perplexed. "Did you miss the bus? Need a ride?"

I opened my mouth and spoke, but whatever I said was unintelligible. I wasn't even confident that they were verified words. I might as well have sneezed. In light of what had just happened - in the changing rooms, with Mona the capricious spirit - I was surprised I'd managed to utter a sound at all.

For a second, I expected him to snap the window shut and drive off before this encounter with a wild Saffy developed any further. I was surprised to see that, instead, a slight smile played at his lips, gently tweaking them upwards at the corners. I became intensely aware that I was wearing my blazer inside-out and that my hair was plastered to my forehead.

"Sorry, what? I didn't quite hear you."

"Oh, I said I'll be fine, thank you." My tongue felt like a bizarre new cog in my mouth that needed oiling.

Jet looked at me, amused. There was a faded plush monkey swinging from the mirror, I noticed.

"I mean, it was nice of you to offer, but honestly, I'll be alright. I could do with the fresh air." I made to start walking again, but he leaned over and clicked the passenger door open.

"If that's what fresh air does to you, count me out," he laughed, settling back in his seat. "Get in, I'll give you a ride into town."

I felt my skin burn, almost turning the beads of rain to steam on my cheeks. I bit my lip. It really was raining heavily, and my extremities were beginning to fade into non-feeling, one by one, toe by toe. The walk home would take well over an hour and a half, but a drive would cut it down to about twenty minutes or so.

"Well, okay," I said, "if you're sure."

"I'm sure," Jet said. "You don't look like a murderer or anything."

"That's exactly what the first victim in a horror movie would say," I said, climbing into the car next to him.

"Don't make me change my mind," he said, and then he pressed down on the accelerator. We set off up the lane, the windscreen wipers batting to and fro like an ancient, exhausted metronome as we went. "So, what happened? Did you miss the bus?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that," I said, and my gaze wandered around the cabin.

The inside of the Volkswagen was very much the same as the outside: old, positively wheezing with age. The only difference was that it was dry. Instead of rust and rain, there were moth-eaten chairs with springy padding and a smell that reminded me of tobacco. The stuffed monkey grinned down at me from the wing-mirror, having long since lost its scent. The back seat, I noticed, was taken up by an acoustic guitar, its soundboard adorned with what looked like little hand-made paintings of swallows and anchors and roses, a bit like a sailor's arm. Or Bev's, I pondered.

We passed a few minutes in pained silence. If my mind hadn't been reeling from the pile-up of events that had happened over the past thirty minutes, I probably would have felt awkward. Embarrassed, even, to be sitting in such mutual discomfort.

As it was, I just sat there and stared dumbly onwards.

Once we'd reached the main road and Jet had pulled us straight, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I know that I know you from class but I can't remember-"

"It's Saffy," I said, a little too quickly.

"Saffy! That's it. I knew it was an odd-" he began, and then his eyes widened, as though he'd surprised himself. "Sorry," he said. "My mouth runs ahead and then my brain catches up."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Although you can't say much, with a name like Jet."

He grinned, as though he appreciated the rebuke. "Alright, so we've established that we both have cruel parents."