Brianne & Dannon

3: side road

There's a secluded side road which leads to Roslow Academy that no one pays much attention to. It's a glorified foot path, too thin for more than a single car, made of packed dirt, lined by towering pines.

Brianne clocked it while on the required tour during the application process. The tour guide didn't spare it a single glance, but Brianne recognized it for what it is: the best way to arrive on campus unnoticed.

And it has been. Since Freshman year, Brianne's taken this path to avoid being seen entering the grounds on foot rather than in an expensive car, and it's worked. No one—no one—comes down here. The ground doesn't even have tread marks.

So imagine Brianne's surprise when she's full-on jump-scared by a black electric Audi.

It's the near-silent engine. The stupid ass car has too much time to sneak up on her before making itself known. Brianne doesn't even have time to contemplate throwing herself behind a tree before her head turns and spots the ruination of her entire day.

Air punches from her lungs as she snaps her head forward. It's too late. The most she can do is shield her face with her hair. Thank god she had the foresight to leave it down today.

But then the car stops at her side, and her head turns automatically. She's tempted to keep walking, but the window's rolling down, and she's bending slightly to see more clearly before she can tell herself not to—stupid curiosity controlling her stupid limbs.

Her fingers curl into fists. She wants to hit something. Or maybe collapse. And die. You know, for good measure.

"Hi," Dannon says. He leans forward on the steering wheel, and his jean jacket rides up, revealing a white Tee. Why isn't he wearing a uniform?

Brianne scans him. He looks about the same as he does on TV: lean, muscular, sharp jaw. The only differences are the lack of a suit and an even bigger smile. That grin is wrong on so many levels, because this guy sucks as a human being, and also it's so early in the morning. Who the hell smiles like that this early in the morning?

"You go to Roslow, right?" he asks.

Is he joking? Her hair isn't obscuring her face as she'd like. He should know who she is, unless he retains absolutely nothing Kennedy tells him about her own life. Which, actually, wouldn't surprise Brianne in the slightest.

So instead of pointing that out, she glances at her cropped navy jacket hugging her pinafore skirt, then back at him. She arches a brow. Duh.

He chuckles and sweeps a hand through tousled brown hair. Nervous. Good, she thinks nonsensically. "Does you being here mean I'm going the right way?" he asks.

"Next street over is better." She glares. It's not intentional—it's just. How dare he stumble upon her like this? And then talk to her like that's okay? Yes, she's going to have to become okay dealing with him on the daily pretty fucking quickly, but still. She was supposed to have another ten minutes of peace. "Leads right to the parking lot. But, yeah, you can go through here, too."

"Thanks." He drags the shifter back into Drive. He faces the road, his lips pressed, before turning back to Brianne. "You want a ride the rest of the way?"

She blinks. "No." She resists the urge to add thank you. Dicks don't get platitudes.

"Alright."

With another smile, he's off, he and his traitorously quiet engine slipping down the street.

Brianne's unhurried pace switches to a near-jog. Her time on the track makes it easy to maintain her breathing, but it doesn't do much for her pulse.