The Gift

Chapter 35

Wisty

'SCUSE ME as I wipe drool from my chin…

Normally, I might just be talking about the fact that I've ordered a cheeseburger with pickles, shoelace fries, and a black-and-white shake. But today I'm double drooling because I'm sitting with Eric, Bionics Drummer Boy. How could his five o'clock shadow at eleven thirty in the morning and deepened undereye circles make him look even more gorgeous? But they do. He simply defies all laws of nature.

We place our orders with the ridiculously efficient waitress who is typical of the help in N.O. eateries.

"Too bad you're not as fast as she is," Eric quips. "Where the heck were you anyway? I'm, like, on my fifth cup of coffee, here."

"Did you miss me?" I opt to say, instead of Sorry, but I was busy playing guitar in an old witch's kitchen.

"Actually yeah," he says. He levels his gaze at me, and I notice a glint of vulnerability in his eyes. "How come you look so crazy beautiful? You couldn't have had much more sleep than me."

Crazy beautiful? Never before has Wisteria Allgood been described as such. Crazy, yes. Beautiful…?

This is so nice. I'm so not used to the attention.

"Must be the wig," I mumble, and glance down. He's still staring at me. I can feel it. He's reaching across the table… toward my hand…

"Listen, Wisty," he says. His fingers interlock with mine, and the cool metal touch of his insignia ring against my skin is exhilarating. I feel as if my spine has been replaced with an overcooked noodle.

"I'm really sorry," he says. I look up at him, and suddenly there's only pain in his eyes now. Poor thing, taking this drumstick incident so seriously!

"About the stick? It's nothing -"

I'm interrupted by a commotion at the door, and we both turn to look.

Oh, kill me now. It's my big brother with the savior complex.

"Wisty, it's a trap! Get out of there! Now!" Whit yells as a bunch of rock star-looking dudes appear from out of nowhere-and attempt to pin him to the wall.

I try to jump to my feet, but Eric forcefully grabs my wrist.

"I'm so sorry, Wisty," he's whispering. "I had no choice in this."

"What? What is this?" I demand to know.

The Bionics singer and guitarist are standing at the opening of the booth now. And they're chewing on unlit cigars.

It can't be. But I'm afraid it is.

"Eric?" I ask, tears starting to spill from my eyes. But Drummer Bum only shrugs and looks away. Is he doing what I think he's doing? How could he have been so wonderful one minute, and now he's turning me over to the New Order?

I'm wrong about people sometimes, but I've never been this wrong. I slump forward on the table, feeling as if I've just been stabbed in the chest.

What is wrong with me for walking right into this trap?

I look up into the face of my crush of five minutes ago. I'm searching for a clue, for any of the signs I missed.

But all I see is his near perfect face, and genuine-seeming contrition.

"I had to, Wisty. Don't you see? You're The One Who Has The Gift."