Storm {A Light Novel}

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R

    "Get in, loser. We're going—" I start before the car fully brakes.

    He interrupts, "To infiltrate government headquarters and get ready to take over the world."

    "Um, I was going to say shopping, but that works too, I guess." I laugh.

    "Right and not only does it work but it sounds way more fun than shopping."

    I pull the car into gear. "As if. Enjoying world peace in my dream outfits would be way more fun than illegal activist escapades in spacesuits."

    "Spacesuits? What? Where'd you get that?" He chuckles, clicking his seatbelt. "I see the randomness and creativity hardly stops at the canvas."

    "Don't ask. But listen, get me a catsuit and I'm there, okay? World domination lookin' like a baddie? Yes please."

A smile remains on my face for the rest of the drive as we chat about this and that. I tell him about how yesterday's beach adventure with Maya, Paige, and Kyle ended in Kyle running butt naked down the middle of a street in traffic trying to chase Paige's favorite skateboard since childhood. We talk about shows we've seen, books we've read, and our favorite movies.

"Wait, no way!" I turn my head to look at him, dumbfounded. "You've seen The Boyflower?"

"Of course. I can't say— Road, Ryleigh." He points forward, redirecting my eyes by default. "I can't go saying willy nilly how much I dig indie films and not have seen that."

"You bring a valid point," I acknowledge. Discomfort wrenches up from my gut to my grip on the steering wheel as I pull into the driveway, remembering I hadn't finished cleaning up in the studio when Elijah texted and I left.

"Ryleigh?"

"Huh? Yeah?" I plaster a smile.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm perfect. Just..."

"Just..?"

"Just—" I put the car in park and slap my back against the seat, letting out a huff. "I was cleaning up the studio before you texted and I never finished. I have to do that before we go inside. If my parents come home and it's not how I found it, there'll be trouble."

"Yeah, no problem. Do you need help? You know, cleaning?"

I look at him, albeit a bit bashfully. Paint buckets weigh a ton. "Maybe a little. That'd be great." I pull my keys out of the car and we get out, heading towards the detached garage.

I skip sideways between my messy workspace and the shelves lining the walls. I toss the palette on the rickety table beside it and grab handfuls of paint tubes off the floor to dump into tubs on the shelf. Elijah helps by hammering the lids back onto the bigger paint buckets and carrying them over to the bottom shelf where all the heavy things reside.

"What were you working on?" He inquires, now distracted by a large textured canvas that stood in front of a stack leaning against the wall opposite the shelves.

My eyes go wide in alarm when he reaches to reveal the bright paintings behind it.

"No!" I shoot my arm out like a stop sign.

He jumps, then gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry."

He looks at me for permission to touch, and I delay a nod. Yesterday I had managed to experiment with drywall mud in order to achieve a spackle-like texture for the base of the canvas. You're meant to let it dry for at least 24 hours before any additional steps, but I doubt he plans to take to it like a wrecking ball.