Rafe leaned over his chocolate milkshake, voice low. "It's all a conspiracy, you know."
Shara's expression blanked out, and she looked at me, hands freezing around her paper-cupped latte.
I shrugged. This was Rafe. According to him, there were not one, two, but seven conspirators in the JFK assassination, the world was made of tiny elephant-shaped particles in lieu of atoms, and - my personal favorite - Steve Jobs and the Google crew were teaming up to overthrow the government. "What is?" I said.
"Your parents being out of town so much, travelling around the world. They're spies." He calmly adjusted his black beanie. Edges of tin foil poked from the hem, and he tucked them back in.
"I thought that too, when I was seven." I said this in a matter-of-fact tone. Not that a patronizing tone would offend Rafe. Nothing offended Rafe. He'd been called a nut, looney, maniac, oddball, and loser. All the names bounced off him like tennis balls, probably scared senseless by his grin.
He leaned back in his wrought-iron chair and winked. "Trust me, sugar. You'll see the light one day."
I sighed. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?"
"I have a name."
"Meh. I like Sugar better than Emily." Rafe tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Yup. Sugar."
"Geeze, cut it out." I couldn't say it with much irritation. Mostly because I liked the nickname the same way I liked peppermint mochas - far too much. I mean, Rafe was mind-meltingly droolingly heart-beating-like-a-helicopter gorgeous. Lanky limbs, caffe latte skin, soulful brown eyes, swishy black hair, a face of subtle angles, and a smile that made girls swoon, until they realized it was...well, Rafe. He thought the Titanic was an early German U-boat attack, for heaven's sake. Did I like him? As a friend. Did I want to like him as something more? Yes, if he weren't batcrap crazy.
Rafe took a languid sip from his milkshake. "I only do it because of the irony."
I wadded a napkin and threw it at him. It nicked his left ear before falling to the ground. "Okay, Quixote." That was my retaliatory nickname for him. Pretty darn fitting, too. I checked my watch, did a double-take, and pushed my chair back so fast the legs scraped the concrete. "Holy crap, it's almost five."
"Erk." Shara winced at her sound of dismay, and started sweeping a collection of pink Post-it notes, sharpies, and notebooks into her purse. I don't know how it all fit. Rafe theorized she mugged Mary Poppins.
He took another long draw of milkshake, watching Shara and I clean up our studying supplies, none of which we'd actually touched in the last hour, except to re-enact a particularly good play in yesterday's soccer game. "You're actually going to class?"
"Yeah," I said, shoving my laptop into my backpack. "You should too. For once."
He lifted his shoulders enigmatically. "I do alright without."
Truth was, he had a better grade than I did, and I worked my butt off in that class. I sighed. Cute, ridiculously smart, and completely insane. I always fell for the impossible cases. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it off the table. "Huh. Thought Mom and Dad were still on the plane to Beijing." I aimed a finger at Rafe, who raised his eyebrows with a smirk. "Don't even start." I flipped the phone open. "Hello?"
"Emily, where are you right now?"
I frowned. At first, I thought my mother sounded controlled and angry, voice tight like a rubber band. "Heading over to Psych. What's up? I thought you were still-"
"You need to get out of town, now."
Rafe leaned in, mirth dropping from his face. I tried to glare at him, but that failed when I recognized the exact emotion in my mother's voice.
It was fear.
"Okay," I said. I slung my backpack over my shoulders. "What's going on?"
She released a breath. "There's a lot I can't go into right now, but you're in danger, and you need to run."
Across the table, Shara tilted her head. I shrugged, shaking my head. "That's pretty vague."
Rafe swore under his breath, standing, milkshake tipping sideways on the table. "Fantastic."
"Is that Rafe?" said my mother.
"Yeah," I said. "Look, what the heck's-"
"Just tell-"the line went dead.
I stood immobile, phone in my head. "Mom?"
The bell on the front door jingled, and two men entered. They looked like a couple young professionals in business casual attire, stopping in for coffee after work, except for the way they moved. The dark-haired one got in line to order, and the blond walked our way, casually. Something about it seemed rehearsed, like they'd done this a million times.
Rafe took my hand in his, and started walking toward the side door to the patio. "Come on."
I followed, bewildered. "What's-"
"You too, Shara. Leave the notebook, it doesn't matter right now." He dropped my hand and settled an arm over my shoulders as Shara trotted to catch up. "Don't look back, just keep walking. We just have to get to the car."
My breath lodged in my throat. I looked at Rafe as he pushed the door open with one hand. He looked no different for a moment, smiling like a loon, but his gaze was both a million miles away and assessing every detail of our surroundings. "You weren't kidding about-"
"No," he said. "Sometimes the windmills really do come alive, Sugar."
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Sorry. No real ending here, and this is not my best writing by any stretch, just a bit of a creative exercise.
