The Tower

Three: Rowyn

Three: RowynI made damn sure I was ready by the time Reed got to my house to pick me up that weekend. I was still annoyed about having to sit around the bonfire at Full Moon in a towel, and I was absolutely not making good on my promise about releasing him from his post on the stairs after that. Or ever, really.

This time, he was the one taking forever even though it was because he took the time to answer a pretend telephone when my brother handed it to him. Tristen was a little bit hard to resist.

“Would you come on? Rose is probably holding hands with Jared at this very moment. Who knows what those crazy kids will get into without us? There could be nose-grazing involved.” Reed rolled his eyes, but his silence signaled agreement, and he followed me down the steps and out the front door after my mom distracted Tristen with some sort of organic candy. “I'm driving again, by the way,” I informed him. There was no asking this time.

“Not likely. You didn't even keep your promise from the last time.”

“Well, you'll have to get here earlier. I can't help it that I was punctual.”

“Sure. That's you, always on time.” He shook his head at me knowingly, and I was glad it was already getting dark and I could pretend it didn't make me flush, thinking about whatever he was thinking about.

“You threw me in the lake. I'm driving.”

“We're still on that?”

“It was only two days ago, Reed.”

“Fine. You can drive, but you're not allowed to be mad at me about the lake anymore.”

“Deal.” I smiled. Winning was fun. The grin died a little bit when I remembered where we were going. He placed the keys in my hand and sighed longingly. Dramatic much?

I glanced back at the porch of my white cottage house with its yellow gingerbread trim. I was certain many a joke had been made in town about our house luring in children like Hansel and Gretel, people being so original and all. But I loved it.

There was to be an awkward double non-date of sorts that evening. Rosalyn was seeing a painfully mundane football player named Jared, which annoyed me to no end. Despite his reputation for being a good ol' boy, anytime I was around him, the guy seemed like he was moments away from developing a pretty serious eye twitch. I was fairly certain he was waiting for me to suck out his soul and turn it into a horcrux. Never mind that Rose had just as many talents as Reed and me; no one ever bared their cross necklaces at her in the eighth grade or hung garlic on her locker. Some people honestly need to be put down for the good of the modernized world. Images of Bobby and his pinch-faced mother flashed in my head. People called Rose a “healer” or an “herbalist.” Except she was a witch. A pagan. But she was blond and adorable and a lot nicer than me. At least I wasn't bitter about it.

We were headed to the drive-in, which was one of three semi-local attractions. In a town of 1600, excitement was a difficult commodity to come by.

“Remind me again why we're doing this,” Reed complained.

“Because Rose is our best friend, and she asked us to. And neither of us can say no to her.”

“But with Jared Simpson? He looks like he's going to piss his pants anytime we're in the room.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Wait, what?” Reed asked, though from his laughter I knew he got the gist. “Rose will kill you.”

“Meh.” I shrugged.

* * *

Rose's house came into view. It was actually in town - a phrase that only meant something in places with one main road - and sat on the outer edge of the park. Despite the rampant xenophobia and general boredom-inducing nature of Elizabethtown, we had a nice park. I honked the horn when we pulled up in front, and yet no one appeared on the porch. “Is she seriously going to make us go in?”

“Oh come on, I bet there'll be cookies.” Reed grinned as he stepped lithely out of the vehicle. Rosalyn had a bit of a baking problem. She had a way with mixing unconventional ingredients and everything coming up, well, roses. So, if she offered a sea salt and cardamom scone-crepe, you ate it. When I baked, Frisbees came out of the oven.

Reed grabbed my hand on our way up the walk, and I readied myself for one of those nights. There was no point in explaining to him that we were friends. He would insist he was holding my hand in a friendly manner. He had a nice hand to hold, anyway- it was large and warm and not too soft. As much as I gave Reed a hard time, he was sort of the calm yin to my short-tempered yang. Or something like that. He took more than his fair share of s**t from guys at school for being one of us. Being a male witch did not exactly scream masculinity to outsiders, and before he was built enough to hold his own, people were less than kind. He took it in stride though. It didn't hurt that the girlfriends of the guys who gave him the most crap had a difficult time keeping their eyes off of him. He was kind of pretty.

“Hellooooo,” I called once we let ourselves in. One didn't knock at the Stone's. It would be considered rude. My skirt jingled as we made our way towards the kitchen. Their house was small but warm, cozy. It smelled like freshly baked cinnamon something-or-other, so Reed was correct about the cookies. I had to admit that I felt my mood lift just being in the house. Rose's happiness was contagious when she was baking.

“In here!” Rose called. Upon entering, we found her looking like the second coming of Martha Stewart, pink frilly apron and all. “Sorry, we're ready, honestly, I was just packing some snacks.”

“What kind of snacks?” Reed asked, having let go of my hand to rifle through a literal picnic basket on the worn butcher-block counter. “Hey, Jared,” he added as an afterthought to the clean-cut boy sitting uncomfortably at the island.

“Hey, how's it goin'?” The response was rhetorical. Jared was the sort of guy who would be a leading man in a soap opera or Sweet Valley High novel- cropped blond hair, blue eyes, medium build, and an easy smile. His name really should have been Todd. For some reason I always felt like generic white males should be called Todd.

“Okay, okay, let's go,” Rosalyn stated, slapping Reed's hand away from the basket. “Are you driving?” she asked him.

“Nope! I am!”

“You're letting her drive the Jetta?” she called back to Reed.

“Eh, she promised to let me watch her get dressed, I threw her in the lake, it's a whole thing.” Rose dug her nails into my palm, forcing me to look at her disapproving glare. It said Don't be stupid. I silently said back I know, sorry. But I really wanted to drive.

Hunter Stone, Rose's older brother, came sauntering through the front door as we were headed towards it. I swore that he carried with him the most powerful red aura I'd ever seen. He was like a pagan poster-child in all of his thick haired, well-muscled, pierced and tattooed glory. He was also kind of an ass. He looked me up and down with sobering dark brown eyes before wordlessly brushing by on his way to his room.

“Good evening to you too,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Rose just shook her head at her brother's typical demeanor before continuing out the door.

We piled into the car, and I found my favorite playlist on Reed's phone. I sang loudly, and maybe slightly off-key, while Reed played with the ends of my hair.

“So, what are we seeing again?” I asked, having not paid attention earlier when we made the plans.

“Oh, they're doing their end-of-summer series, I think tonight is Dirty Dancing,” Rose informed us. The girly part of me got all fluttery and excited.

“Blarg.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Just, the dancing, and the music,” Reed complained.

“You will go, and you will like it.”

“I do like it when you're bossy.” I said my shut up with my eyes this time.