After the mall closed, they crossed the parking lot to prowl the aisles of Best Buy. A rogue group of goth teens, they touched everything and picked up albums to make fun of the cover art. She palmed Bon Jovi's Cross Road and slipped it into a cargo pocket on her voluminous pants.
As the group geared up to take their last lap of the store, you grabbed her arm. She followed you without a word. To the front of the store, past the empty checkout lanes, to the large glass doors. They opened automatically and the two of you sailed through. She hid her relief that the alarm stayed silent.
You drove her almost home, her curfew was still thirty minutes away. You parked at the side of a dead-end road and began adjusting the radio dial. Nothing was on. The silence was thick and awkward until you heard a rustling from the passenger seat.
She sloughed the plastic wrap from a CD in her hands. She slid it into the console without you seeing the cover, a coy smirk on her face. The song started, coming faintly through the speakers, but you didn't turn up the volume; you just listened harder. You surprised her by tapping the bass line on the steering wheel. You don't miss a beat.
Her smirk disappeared as she watched your fingers. You considered stopping, but the music won't let you. She began to sing under her breath. Her voice was surprisingly sweet coming from a girl you've never seen smile.
From the outside, the two of you are barely visible, and you like it that way. A dark car parked on a dark dead end with two people dressed all in black, long dark hair like curtains over their faces.
297 words
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