Alice in Zombieland
Alice in Zombieland
Gena Showalter
First and foremost, I have to thank God. I became very sick after writing the first draft of this book. I couldn’t work for several months; I was simply in too much pain. I began to seek the Lord, and He healed me. During this time, a whole new world for Alice opened up and I saw the places I’d missed. Creating this ‘wonderland’ was challenging but one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
Next I want to thank the students of Marlow High School in Oklahoma for having me over, and Leigh Heldermon, Joyce and Emmet Harrison, Sony Harrison, Vicki Tolbert, Mike Tolbert, and Cathy Hazel for setting everything up. I also want to thank Jayson Brown, Justyn Brown, Autumn Jackson, Cassandra Howard, Allison Collins, and Austin Tinney for staying after and chatting with me. I had a blast!
I have to give a huge shout-out to Lauren Floyd for reading the rough draft and giving me honest feedback. She helped me shape some of the character voices, and I will be forever grateful.
I have to give another huge shout-out to Jill Monroe, Roxanne St Claire, Louisa Edwards, Kristen Painter, and Candace Havens, five amazingly talented and beautifully gorgeous ladies. (Yes, I said beautifully gorgeous.) I attended a writer’s conference with these jewels and it was one of the best weekends of my life. I’ll never forget the food, the conversations, and the love.
I must thank the people in my life—who have to deal with me on a daily basis. Max, Roy Showtime, Torrence Vee Merryweather, Haden Tolbert, Seth Tolbert, Chloe Tolbert, Nate and Meg Hurt, Parks and Finn Quine, Shane and Kemmie Tolbert, Christy James, Auston and Casey Dowling, David and Paula Dowling, Shonna and Kyle Hurt, Michelle and Cody Quine, Matt and Jennifer Showalter, Michael Showalter, Pennye and Terry Edwards, Mark and Cindy Watley, Mom and Dad, and Kresley and Swede Cole. (They are all beautifully gorgeous, too!)
And this dedication would not be complete without mentioning the awesome, the incredible, the truly spectacular Natashya Wilson. Her keen insight never fails to amaze me. She went over this book as many times as I did, and went above and beyond the call of duty. You are heaven sent!
About the Author
GENA SHOWALTER is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author whose teen novels have been featured on MTV and in Seventeen magazine and have been praised as “unputdownable.” Growing up, she always had her nose buried in a book. When it came time to buckle down and get a job, she knew writing was it for her. Gena lives in Oklahoma with her family and three slobbery English bulldogs. Become her friend on MySpace, or a fan on Facebook and visit her at GenaShowalter.com/young-adult.
Books byGena Showalter
available from
The Intertwined Novels
INTERTWINED
UNRAVELLED
TWISTED
The White Rabbit Chronicles
ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND
Coming in 2013
ALICE THROUGH THE ZOMBIE GLASS
Visit www.miraink.co.uk
A NOTE FROM ALICE
Had anyone told me that my entire life would change course between one heartbeat and the next, I would have laughed. From blissful to tragic, innocent to ruined? Please.
But that’s all it took. One heartbeat. A blink, a breath, a second, and everything I knew and loved was gone.
My name is Alice Bell, and on the night of my sixteenth birthday I lost the mother I loved, the sister I adored and the father I never understood until it was too late. Until that heartbeat when my entire world collapsed and a new one took shape around me.
My father was right. Monsters walk among us.
At night, these living dead, these … zombies … rise from their graves, and they crave what they lost. Life. They will feed on you. They will infect you. And then they will kill you. If that happens, you will rise from your grave. It’s an endless cycle, like a mouse running inside a barbed wheel, bleeding and dying as those sharp tips dig ever deeper, with no way to stop the lethal momentum.
These zombies feel no fear, know no pain, but they hunger. Oh, do they hunger. There’s only one way to stop them—but I can’t tell you how. You’ll have to be shown. What I can tell you is that we must fight the zombies to disable them. To fight them, we must get close to them. To get close to them, we must be a little brave and a whole lot crazy.
But you know what? I’d rather the world considered me crazy while I go down fighting than spend the rest of my life hiding from the truth. Zombies are real. They’re out there.
If you aren’t vigilant, they’ll get you, too.
So. Yeah. I should have listened to my father. He warned me over and over again never to go out at night, never to venture into a cemetery and never, under any circumstances, to trust someone who wants you to do either. He should have taken his own advice, because he trusted me—and I convinced him to do both.
I wish I could go back and do a thousand things differently. I’d tell my sister no. I’d never beg my mother to talk to my dad. I’d stop my tears from falling. I’d zip my lips and swallow those hateful words. Or, barring all of that, I’d hug my sister, my mom and my dad one last time. I’d tell them I love them.
I wish … yeah, I wish.
Alice in Zombieland
Gena Showalter
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
1
DOWN THE ZOMBIE HOLE
Six months ago
“Please, Alice. Please.”
I lay sprawled on a blanket in my backyard, weaving a daisy chain for my little sister. The sun shone brightly as puffy white clouds ghosted across an endless expanse of baby blue. As I breathed in the thick honeysuckle and lavender perfume of the Alabama summer, I could make out a few shapes. A long, leggy caterpillar. A butterfly with one of its wings shredded. A fat white rabbit, racing toward a tree.
Eight-year-old Emma danced around me. She wore a glittery pink ballerina costume, her pigtails bouncing with her every movement. She was a miniature version of our mother and the complete opposite of me.
Both possessed a slick fall of dark hair and beautifully uptilted golden eyes. Mom was short, barely over five-three, and I wasn’t sure Em would even make it to five-one. Me? I had wavy white-blond hair, big blue eyes and legs that stretched for miles. At five-ten, I was taller than most of the boys at my school and always stood out—I couldn’t go anywhere without getting a few what-are-you-a-giraffe? stares.
Boys had never shown an interest in me, but I couldn’t count the number of times I had caught one drooling over my mom as she walked by or—gag—heard one whistle as she bent over to pick something up.
“Al-less.” At my side now, Em stomped her slippered foot in a bid for my attention. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Sweetie, we’ve gone over this, like, a thousand times. Your recital might start while it’s sunny out, but it’ll end at dark. You know Dad will never let us leave the house. And Mom agreed to sign you up for the program as long as you swore never to throw a tantrum when you couldn’t make a practice or a, what? Recital.”
She stepped over me and planted those dainty pink slippers at my shoulders, her slight body throwing a large enough shadow to shield my face from the overhead glare. She became all that I could see, shimmering gold pleading down at me. “Today’s your birthday, and I know, I know, I forgot this morning … and this afternoon … but last week I remembered that it was coming up—you remember how I told Mom, right?—and now I’ve remembered again, so doesn’t that count for something? ‘Course it does,” she added before I could say anything. “Daddy has to do whatever you ask. So, if you ask him to let us go, and … and …” so much longing in her tone “… and ask if he’ll come and watch me, too, then he will.”
My birthday. Yeah. My parents had forgotten, too. Again. Unlike Em, they hadn’t remembered—and wouldn’t. Last year, my dad had been a little too busy throwing back shots of single malt and mumbling about monsters only he could see and my mom had been a little too busy cleaning up his mess. As always.
This year, Mom had hidden notes in drawers to remind herself (I’d found them), and as Em had claimed, my baby sis had even hinted before flat out saying, “Hey, Alice’s birthday is coming up and I think she deserves a party!” but I’d woken up this morning to the same old same old. Nothing had changed.
Whatever. I was a year older, finally sweet sixteen, but my life was still the same. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. I’d stopped caring a long time ago.
Em, though, she cared. She wanted what I’d never had: their undivided attention.
“Since today’s my birthday, shouldn’t you be doing something for me?” I asked, hoping to tease her into forgetting about her first ballet performance and the princess role she liked to say she “had been born to perform.”
She fisted her hands on her hips, all innocence and indignation and, well, my favorite thing in the entire world. “Hello! Letting you do this for me is my gift to you.”
I tried not to grin. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, because I know you want to watch me so badly you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”
Brat. But like I could really argue with her logic. I did want to watch her.
I remember the night Emma was born. A wild mix of fear and elation had seared the memory into my mind. Just like my parents had done with me, they had opted to use a midwife who made house calls so that, when the big moment arrived, Mom wouldn’t have to leave home.
But even that plan had failed.
The sun had already set by the time her contractions started and my dad had refused to open the door to the midwife, too afraid a monster would follow her in.
So, Dad had delivered Emma while my mom nearly screamed us all to death. I had hidden under my covers, crying and shaking because I’d been so afraid.
When everything had finally quieted, I’d snuck into their bedroom to make sure everyone had survived. Dad bustled about while Mom lounged on the bed. Tentative steps had taken me to the edge, and, to be honest, I’d gasped in horror. Baby Emma had not been attractive. She’d been red and wrinkly, with the most hideous dark hair on her ears. (I’m happy to say the hair has since been shed.) Mom had been all smiles as she waved me over to hold my “new best friend.”
I’d settled beside her, pillows fluffing behind me, and she’d placed the wiggly bundle in my arms. Eyes so beautiful only God Himself could have created them had peered up at me, rosy lips puckering and tiny fists waving.
“What should we name her?” Mom had asked.
When short, chubby fingers had wrapped around one of mine, skin soft and warm, I’d decided that hair on the ears wasn’t such a terrible thing, after all. “Lily,” I’d replied. “We should name her Lily.” I had a book all about flowers, and the lilies were my favorites.
My mom’s soft chuckle had washed over me. “I like that. How about Emmaline Lily Bell, since Nana’s real name is Emmaline and it’d be nice to honor my mother the way we honored your dad’s when you were born. We can call our little miracle Emma for short, and the three of us will share a wonderful secret. You’re my Alice Rose and she’s my Emma Lily, and together the two of you are my perfect bouquet.”
I hadn’t needed time to think about that. “Okay. Deal!”
Emma had gurgled, and I’d taken that as approval.
“Alice Rose,” Emma said now. “You’re lost in your head again, when I’ve never needed you more.”
“All right, fine,” I said on a sigh. I just couldn’t deny her. Never had, never would. “I’m not talking to Dad, though. I’m talking to Mom and making her talk to him.”
The first sparkle of hope ignited. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
A brilliant smile bloomed, and her bouncing started up again. “Please, Alice. You gotta talk to her now. I don’t want to be late, and if Dad agrees we’ll need to leave soon so I can warm up on stage with the other girls. Please. Nooow.”
I sat up and placed the daisies around her neck. “You know the likelihood of success is pretty low, right?”
A cardinal rule in the Bell household: you did not leave the house if you couldn’t return before dark. Here, Dad had worked up “reinforcements” against the monsters, ensuring none of them could get in. After dark, well, you stayed put. Anyone out in the big bad world was without any type of protection and considered open season.
My father’s paranoia and delusion had caused me to miss numerous school activities and countless sporting events. I’d never even been on a date. Yes, I could have gone on a weekend lunch date and other craptasticly lame things like that, but honestly? I had no desire for a boyfriend. I never wanted to have to explain that my dad was certifiable, or that he sometimes locked us in the “special” basement he’d built as added protection from a boogeyman that did not exist. Yeah, just peachy.
Em threw her arms around me. “You can do it, I know you can. You can do anything!”
Her faith in me … so humbling. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is—Oh, ick!” Face scrunched with horror, she jumped as far away from me as she could get. “You’re all gross and wet, and you made me all gross and wet.”
Laughing, I lunged for her. She squealed and darted off. I’d run the hose over myself about half an hour ago, hoping to cool down. Not that I’d tell her. The fun of sibling torture, and all that.
“Stay out here, okay?” Mom would say something that would hurt her feelings, and I’d say something to make her feel bad for asking me to do this, and she’d cry. I hated when she cried.
“Sure, sure,” she said, palms up in a gesture of innocence.
Like I was buying that hasty assurance. She planned to follow me and listen, no question. Girl was devious like that. “Promise me.”
“I can’t believe you’d doubt me.” A delicate hand fluttered over her heart. “That hurts, Alice. That really hurts.”
“First, major congrats. Your acting has improved tremendously,” I said with a round of applause. “Second, say the words or I’ll return to working on a tan I’ll never achieve.”
Grinning, she rose on her toes, stretched out her arms and slowly spun on one leg. The sun chose that moment to toss out an amber ray, creating the perfect spotlight for her perfect pirouette. “Okay, okay. I promise. Happy now?”
“Sublimely.” She might be devious, but she never broke a promise.
“Watch me pretend I know what that means.”
“It means—oh, never mind.” I was stalling, and I knew it. “I’m going.”
With all the enthusiasm of a firing squad candidate, I stood and turned toward our house, a two-story my dad had built in the prime of his construction days, with brown brick on the bottom and brown-and-white-striped wood on the top. Kind of boxy, amazingly average and absolutely, one hundred percent forgettable. But then, that’s what he’d been going for, he’d said.
My flip-flops clapped against the ground, creating a mantra inside my head. Don’t. Fail. Don’t. Fail. Finally I stood at the glass doors that led to our kitchen and spotted my mom, bustling from the sink to the stove and back again. I watched her, a bit sick to my stomach.
Don’t be a wuss. You can do this.
I pushed my way inside. Garlic, butter and tomato paste scented the air. “Hey,” I said, and hoped I hadn’t cringed.
Mom glanced up from the steaming strainer of noodles and smiled. “Hey, baby. Coming in for good, or just taking a break?”
“Break.” The forced incarceration at night drove me to spend as much time as possible outside during daylight hours, whether I burned to lobster-red or not.
“Well, your timing’s great. The spaghetti’s almost done.”
“Yeah, okay, good.” During the summer months, we ate dinner at five sharp. Winter, we switched it up to four. That way, no matter the season, we could be in our rooms and safe before sunset.
The walls were reinforced with some kind of steel, and the doors and locks were impenetrable. And yes, those things made our futuristic dungeon known as “the basement” overkill, but you try reasoning with a crazy person.
Just do it. Just say it. “So, um, yeah.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “Today’s my birthday.”
Her jaw dropped, her cheeks bleaching of color. “Oh … baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean … I should have remembered … I even made myself notes. Happy birthday,” she finished lamely. She looked around, as if hoping a present would somehow appear via the force of her will. “I feel terrible.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll do something to make this up to you, I swear.”
And so the negotiations have begun. I squared my shoulders. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course.”
“Good, because Em has a recital tonight and I want to go.”
Though my mom radiated sadness, she was shaking her head even before I finished. “You know your dad will never agree.”
“So talk to him. Convince him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” A croak.
I loved this woman, I truly did, but, oh, she could frustrate me like no one else. “Because why?” I insisted. Even if she cried, I wasn’t dropping this. Better her tears than Em’s.
Mom pivoted, as graceful as Emma as she carried the strainer to the pot and dumped the contents inside. Steam rose and wafted around her, and for a moment, she looked as if she were part of a dream. “Emma knows the rules. She’ll understand.”
The way I’d had to understand, time and time again before I’d just given up? Anger sparked. “Why do you do this? Why do you always agree with him when you know he’s off-the-charts insane?”
“He’s not—”
“He is!” Like Em, I stomped my foot.
“Quiet,” she said, her tone admonishing. “He’s upstairs.”
Yeah, and I’d bet he was already drunk.
She added, “We’ve talked about this, honey. I believe your dad sees something the rest of us can’t. But before you cast stones at him or me, take a look at the Bible. Once upon a time our Lord and Savior was persecuted. Tons of people doubted Jesus.”
“Dad isn’t Jesus!” He rarely even went to church with us.
“I know, and that’s not what I’m saying. I believe there are forces at work all around us. Forces for good and forces for evil.”
I couldn’t get involved in another good/evil debate with her. I just couldn’t. I believed in God, and I believed there were angels and demons out there, but we never had to deal with the evil stuff, did we? “I wish you would divorce him,” I muttered, then bit my tongue in regret—but even still, I refused to apologize.
She worked from home seven days a week as a medical transcriptionist, and was always type, type, typing away at her computer. On weekends, like this fine Saturday evening, she acted like my dad’s nursemaid, too, cleaning him up, fetching and carrying for him. She deserved so much more. She was young, for a mom, and so dang pretty. She was softhearted and funny and deserved some pampering of her own.
“Most kids want their parents to stay together,” she said, a sharp edge to her voice.
“I’m not like most kids. You guys made sure of that.” There was an even sharper edge to my voice.
I just … I wanted what other kids had. A normal life.
In a snap, the anger drained from her and she sighed. “Alice, honey, I know this is hard. I know you want more for yourself, and one day you’ll have it. You’ll graduate, get a job, move out, go to college, fall in love, travel, do whatever your heart desires. As for now, this is your father’s house and he makes the rules. You will follow those rules and respect his authority.”
Straight out of the Parent’s Official Handbook, right under the heading: What to say when you don’t have a real answer for your kid.
“And maybe,” she added, “when you’re in charge of your own household, you’ll realize your dad did the things he did to protect us. He loves us, and our safety is the most important thing to him. Don’t hate him for that.”
I should have known. The good and evil speech always circled around to love and hate. “Have you ever seen one of his monsters?” I asked.
A pause. A nervous laugh. “I have refused to answer that question the other thousand times you asked, so what makes you think I’ll answer it today?”
“Consider it a late birthday present, since you won’t give me what I really want.” That was a low blow, and I knew it. But again, I refused to apologize.
She flinched. “I don’t like to discuss these things with you girls because I don’t want to scare you further.”
“We aren’t scared now,” I lashed out. “You are!” Calm down. Deep breath in … out … I had to do this rationally. If I freaked, she’d send me to my room and that would be that. “Over the years, you should have seen at least one monster. I mean, you spend the most time with Dad. You’re with him at night, when he patrols the house with a gun.”
The only time I’d dared venture into the hall after midnight, hoping to get a glass of water since I’d forgotten to bring one to my room, that’s what I’d seen. My dad clutching a pistol, marching this way and that, stopping to peer out each and every window.
I’d been thirteen at the time, and I’d almost died of a heart attack. Or maybe embarrassment, since I’d come pretty close to peeing myself.
“Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you. No, I haven’t seen them,” she said, not really shocking me. “But I have seen the destruction they cause. And before you ask me how I know they were the ones to cause the destruction, let me add that I’ve seen things that can’t be explained any other way.”
“Like what?” I peeked over my shoulder. Em had moved to the swing set and was now rocking back and forth, but she hadn’t dropped me from the crosshairs of her hawk eyes.
“That, I still won’t tell you,” Mom said. “There are some things you’re better off not knowing, no matter what you say. You’re just not ready. Babies can handle milk, but they can’t handle meat.”
I wasn’t a baby, blah, blah, blah, whatever. Worry had contorted Emma’s features. I forced myself to smile, and she immediately brightened as if this was now a done deal. As if I hadn’t failed her in this regard a million times before.
Like the time she’d wanted to attend the art exhibit at her school, where her papier-mâché globe had been on display. Like the time her Girl Scout troop had gone camping. Like the hundred times her friend Jenny had called and asked if she could stay the night. Finally, Jenny had stopped calling.
Pressure building … can’t fail this time …
I faced my mother. She still had her back to me and hadn’t abandoned the stove. In fact, she was forking the noodles one at a time, testing their flexibility as if the chore was the most important thing ever. We’d done this same dance before. She was an avoider, and she’d just hit her stride.
“Forget the monsters and what you have and haven’t seen. Today’s my birthday, and all I want is for us to go to my sister’s ballet recital like a normal family. That’s it. That’s all. I’m not asking for the world. But if you don’t have the guts, fine. If Dad doesn’t, whatever. I’ll call one of my friends from school and we’ll go without you.” The drive into the city was at least half an hour, so there was no way we could walk. “And you know what? If you make me go that route, you’ll break Em’s heart and I will never forgive you.”
She sucked in a breath, stiffened. I’d probably just shocked the crap out of her. I was the calm one in the family. I hardly ever lashed out, rarely went mental. For the most part, I accepted and I rolled.
“Alice,” she said, and I gritted my teeth.
Here it comes. The refusal. Tears of crushing devastation burned my eyes, splashed onto my cheeks. I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand. “Forget about my lack of forgiveness. I will hate you for this.”
She glanced back at me, sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”
All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.
She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.
Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.
Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.
Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!
“We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”
Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.
In a way, I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”
As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.
Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”
My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.
“Come on,” he snapped now.
My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”
“I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”
My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.
“Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.
I threw her a glance over my shoulder. She had paled, those golden eyes too old and knowledgeable for her angel face. “Yeah.”
“What’s the damage?”
“Nothing too bad. You’ll still be able to venture into public without shame.”
“Then I consider this a win.”
Me, too.
People swarmed and buzzed in the lobby like bees, half of them lingering, half of them working their way to the doors. That’s where I found my dad. He’d stopped at the glass, his gaze panning the parking lot. Halogens were placed throughout, lighting the way to our Tahoe, which my mom had parked illegally in the closest handicapped space for an easy in, easy out. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, and his hair now stood on end, as if he’d scrambled his fingers through the strands one too many times.
Mom was still trying to soothe him. Thank goodness she’d managed to disarm him before we’d left the house. Usually he carried guns, knives and throwing stars whenever he dared to venture out.
The moment I reached him, he turned and gripped me by the forearms, shaking me. “You see anything in the shadows, anything at all, you pick up your sister and run. Do you hear me? Pick her up and run back inside. Lock the doors, hide and call for help.” His eyes were an electric blue, wild, his pupils pulsing over his irises.
The guilt, well, it stopped flickering and kicked into a hard-core blaze. “I will,” I promised, and patted both of his hands. “Don’t worry about us. You taught me how to protect myself. Remember? I’ll keep Em safe. No matter what.”
“Okay,” he said, but he looked far from satisfied. “Okay, then.”
I’d spoken the truth. I didn’t know how many hours I’d logged in the backyard with him, learning how to stop an attacker. Sure, those lessons had been all about protecting my vital organs from becoming some mindless being’s dinner, but self-defense was self-defense, right?
Somehow my mom convinced him to release me and brave the terrifying outdoors. All the while people shot us weird looks that I tried to ignore. We walked together, as a family, our feet flying one in front of the other. Mom and Dad were in front, with me and Em a few steps behind them, holding hands as the crickets sang and provided us with an eerie soundtrack.
I glanced around, trying to see the world as my dad must. I saw a long stretch of black tar—camouflage? I saw a sea of cars—places to hide? I saw the forest beyond, rising from the hills—a breeding ground for nightmares?
Above, I saw the moon, high and full and beautifully transparent. Clouds still puffed through the sky, orange now and kind of creepy. And was that … surely not … but I blinked, slowed my pace. Yep. It was. The cloud shaped like a rabbit had followed me. Fancy that.
“Look at the clouds,” I said. “Notice anything cool?”
A pause, then, “A … rabbit?”
“Exactly. I saw him this morning. He must think we’re pretty awesome.”
“Because we are, duh.”
My dad realized we’d lagged behind, sprinted the distance between us, grabbed on to my wrist and jerked me faster … faster still … while I maintained my grip on Emma and jerked her along. I’d rather dislocate her shoulder than leave her behind, even for a second. Dad loved us, but part of me feared he’d drive off without us if he thought it necessary.
He opened the car door and practically tossed me in like a football. Emma was next, and we shared a moment of silent communication after we settled.
Fun times, I mouthed.
Happy birthday to you, she mouthed back.
The instant my dad was in the passenger seat he threw the locks. He was shaking too hard to buckle his belt, and finally gave up. “Don’t drive by the cemetery,” he told Mom, “but get us home as fast as you can.”
We’d avoided the cemetery on the way here, too—despite the daylight—adding unnecessary time to an already lengthy drive.
“I will. No worries.” The Tahoe roared to life, and Mom yanked the shifter into Reverse.
“Dad,” I said, my voice as reasonable as I could make it. “If we take the long way, we’ll be snailing it along construction.” We lived just outside big, beautiful Birmingham and traffic could be a nasty monster on its own. “That’ll add at least half an hour to our trip. You don’t want us to stay in the dark, at a standstill, for that long, do you?” He’d work himself into such a panic we’d all be clawing at the doors to escape.
“Honey?” Mom asked. The car eased to the edge of the lot, where she had to go left or right. If she went left, we’d never make it home. Seriously. If I had to listen to my dad for more than thirty minutes, I’d jump out the window and as an act of mercy I’d take Emma with me. If Mom went right, we’d have a short ride, a short anxiety attack to deal with, but a quick recovery. “I’ll drive so fast you won’t even be able to see the cemetery.”
“No. Too risky.”
“Please, Daddy,” I said, not above manipulation. As I’d already proved. “For me. On my birthday. I won’t ask for anything else, I promise, even though you guys forgot the last one and I never got a present.”
“I … I …” His gaze shifted continually, scanning the nearby trees for movement.
“Please. Em needs to be tucked into bed, like, soon, or she’ll morph into Lily of the Valley of Thorns.” As we’d long ago dubbed her. My sis got tired, and she left carnage in her wake.
Lips pursed, Em slapped my arm. I shrugged, the universal sign for well, it’s true.
Dad pushed out a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay. Just … break the sound barrier, babe,” he said, kissing my mom’s hand.
“I will. You have my word.”
My parents shared a soft smile. I felt like a voyeur for noticing; used to be, they’d enjoyed these kinds of moments all the time, but the smiles had become less and less frequent over the years.
“All right, here we go.” Mom swung the vehicle right, and to my utter astonishment, she really did try to break the sound barrier, weaving in and out of lanes, honking at the slower cars, riding bumpers.
I was impressed. The few driving lessons she’d given me, she’d been a nervous wreck, which had turned me into a nervous wreck. We hadn’t gone far or cranked the speed above twenty-five, even outside our neighborhood.
She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and I watched the clock on my phone. The minutes ticked by, until we’d gone ten without a single incident. Only twenty more to go.
Dad kept his nose pressed to the window, his frantic breaths leaving puffs of mist on the glass. Maybe he was enjoying the mountains, valleys and lush green trees highlighted by the streetlamps, rather than searching for monsters.
Yeah. Right.
“So how’d I do?” Emma whispered in my direction.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You were amazing.”
Her dark brows knit together, and I knew what was coming next. Suspicion. “You swear?”
“Swear. You rocked the house hard-core. In comparison, the other girls sucked.”
She covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.
I couldn’t help but add, “The boy who twirled you around? I think he was considering pushing you off the stage, just so people would finally look at him. Honestly, every eye was riveted on you.”
The giggle bubbled out this time, unstoppable. “So what you’re saying is, when I tripped over my own feet, everyone noticed.”
“Trip? What trip? You mean that wasn’t part of the routine?”
She gave me a high five. “Good answer.”
“Honey,” Mom said, apprehension straining her voice. “Find some music for us to listen to, okay?”
Uh-oh. She must want him distracted.
I leaned over and glanced out the front windshield. Sure enough. We were approaching the cemetery. At least there were no other cars around, so no one would witness my dad’s oncoming breakdown. And he would have one. I could feel the tension thickening the air.
“No music,” he said. “I need to concentrate, remain on alert. I have to—” He stiffened, gripped the armrests on his seat until his knuckles whitened.
A moment of silence passed, such thick, heavy silence.
His panting breaths emerged faster and faster—until he roared so piercingly I cringed. “They’re out there! They’re going to attack us!” He grabbed the wheel and yanked. “Don’t you see them? We’re headed right for them. Turn around! You have to turn around.”
The Tahoe swerved, hard, and Emma screamed. I grabbed her hand, gave her another squeeze, but I refused to let go. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat beading over my skin. I’d promised to protect her tonight, and I would.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.
Her tremors were so violent they even shook me.
“Honey, listen to me,” Mom soothed. “We’re safe in the car. No one can hurt us. We have to—”
“No! If we don’t turn around they’ll follow us home!” My dad was thoroughly freaked, and nothing Mom said had registered. “We have to turn around.” He made another play for the wheel, gave another, harder yank, and this time, we didn’t just swerve, we spun.
Round and round, round and round. My grip on Emma tightened.
“Alice,” she cried.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted. The world was whizzing, blurring … the car teetering … my dad shouting a curse … my mom gasping … the car tilting … tilting …
FREEZE FRAME.
I remember when Em and I used to play that game. We’d crank the volume of our iPod dock—loud, pounding rock—and boogie like we were having seizures. One of us would shout freeze frame and we’d instantly stop moving, totally frozen, trying not to laugh, until one of us yelled the magic word to shoot us back into motion. Dance.
I wish I could have shouted freeze frame in just that moment and rearranged the scenery, the players. But life isn’t a game, is it?
DANCE.
We went airborne, flipping over, crashing into the road upside down, then flipping over again. The sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and pained screams filled my ears. I was thrown back and forth in my seat, my brain becoming a cherry slushie in my head as different impacts jarred me and stole my breath.
When we finally landed, I was so dazed, so fogged, I felt like I was still in motion. The screams had stopped, at least. All I heard was a slight ringing in my ears.
“Mom? Dad?” A pause. No response. “Em?” Again, nothing.
I frowned, looked around. My eyesight was hazy, something warm and wet in my lashes, but I could see well enough.
And what I saw utterly destroyed me.
I screamed. My mom was slashed to ribbons, her body covered in blood. Emma was slumped over in her seat, her head at an odd angle, her cheek split open. No. No, no, no.
“Dad, help me. We have to get them out!”
Silence.
“Dad?” I searched—and realized he was no longer in the car. The front windshield was gone, and he was lying motionless on the pieces a few yards away. There were three men standing over his body, the car’s headlights illuminating them.
No, they weren’t men, I realized. They couldn’t be. They had sagging pockmarked skin and dirty, ripped clothing. Their hair hung in clumps on their spotted scalps, and their teeth … so sharp as they … as they … fell upon my dad and disappeared inside him, only to reappear a second later and … and … eat him.
Monsters.
I fought for my freedom, desperate to drag Em to safety— Em, who hadn’t moved and wasn’t crying—desperate to get to my dad, to help him. In the process, I banged my head against something hard and sharp. A horrible pain ravaged me, but still I fought, even as my strength waned … my eyesight dimmed …
Then it was night-night for Alice, and I knew nothing more.
At least, for a little while …
2
THE POOL OF BLOOD AND TEARS
They were dead. My family was dead. Gone. I knew it when I woke up in a hospital bed, and the nurse standing over me wouldn’t meet my gaze or tell me where they were.
When the doctor came to spill the news, I just shifted to my side and closed my eyes. This was a dream. This was a horrible dream, and I would wake up. Everything would be okay when I woke up.
I never woke up.
Turns out, the car wreck that killed my mom, my dad and my … my … I couldn’t think about her. I just couldn’t. So. Rephrase. The car wreck that killed my family had caused minimal damage to me. A concussion, a few cracked ribs, but that was it. And that just seemed so wrong, you know? I should have been slashed to ribbons, like my mother. I should have needed a total body cast. Something.
Instead, despite some minor aches and pains, I really was fine.
Fine. Yeah.
My grandparents from my mother’s side visited several times, crying for the family they’d lost. I’d seen them two weeks before, when my mom had taken me and my—My chin trembled, but I ground my teeth together to stop it. When she’d taken us to visit. We’d stayed only a few hours, though, just long enough to have lunch and a light, fun conversation.
Though Nana and Pops liked me and had always treated me well, I’d never been the favorite; I think I reminded them too much of my father, who had never been good enough for their only baby.
Still, they weren’t going to abandon me in my time of need, they said. I would move in with them, and they would see to everything.
So, I would now be living in a two-story just as unremarkable as my own had been, but one that was mostly unfamiliar to me. One my dad had not built—one that was not reinforced for my protection. But that was no big deal. I’d never even stayed the night with a friend, never slept in any bed but my own. But yeah, no big deal.
I should care, wanted to care, but I was tapped out … empty … nothing but a shell.
The doctors and nurses threw out a thousand I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Words like fine. Such meaningless words. They were sorry? So what. That did nothing to bring my family back. I would be okay? Please. I’d never be okay again.
What did they know about losing the only people they loved, anyway? What did they know about being alone? When their shifts ended, they would go home. They would hug their kids, share a meal and talk about their days. Me? I would never again enjoy something as simple as that.
I had no mother.
I had no father.
I had no sis … family.
Heck, I think I was even without my sanity. Those monsters …
Cops came by, and so did a social worker and a therapist. They all wanted to know what had happened. The cops, especially, were interested in knowing if a pack of wild dogs had attacked my parents.
Wild dogs. I’d seen no wild dogs, but that made a whole lot more sense than what I had seen.
I said nothing, though. We’d flipped and we’d crashed. The authorities knew that much, and that was all they needed to know. I would never mention the monsters; there was no reason to. The concussion was responsible for that little gem of a hallucination, surely.
I would never mention the fact that my mom had been in the car with me when I first opened my eyes after passing out. But the next time I’d opened them? Her body had been outside the car, the headlights spotlighting her just as they’d spotlighted my dad, her body jerking and writhing as the things dove inside her, disappearing for endless seconds before coming back up for air. Her skin had bubbled up, as if burned and turned black, before finally splitting open and welling with blood.
Though I’d tried with all my strength, I hadn’t been able to free myself and save her. My belt had been fused to my seat, locking me in place. And when the monsters had next focused on me, evil eyes piercing me, taking one step, two, toward the car, I’d panicked, desperate to protect my … other family member.
Before either of us could be taken—by the wild dogs, I told myself now—another car had come by, spotted us and sent the beasts running. Though running wasn’t the best word. Some had seemed to trip, some had seemed to glide. I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes. Bright lights shining in my eyes. Sounds, like metal grinding against metal, and men shouting at each other. Then a pair of strong hands lifting me, something sharp poking at my arm, something being fitted over my nose. After that, nothing.
“Hey. You’re Alice, right?”
I blinked out of the hated memory fog and turned my head toward the room’s only door. A pretty girl, probably my age, stepped inside. She had straight dark hair, large hazel eyes framed by spiky black lashes, and skin the perfect shade of sun-kissed. She rocked a long-sleeved pink T-shirt that read I’m With Genius with an arrow pointing up, and a micromini that barely wrapped around her waist. Actually, bathing-suit bottom might have been a better description.
Needless to say, my ugly paper-thin gown with uneven ties did not compare.
“I’m Ali,” I said. They were the first words I’d uttered in what seemed forever. My throat was raw, my voice hoarse. I just couldn’t let her call me Alice again. The last person who had was … never mind. I just couldn’t let her. “I’m Ali,” I repeated.
“Cool. I’m Kathryn, but everyone calls me Kat. And do not make any cat jokes or I’ll have to hurt you. With my claws.” She waved the long, blunt tips of her fingers at me. “Truth is, I stopped speaking meow a long time ago.”
Speaking meow? “I’m guessing calling you Pretty Kitty is out.” I don’t know where my burst of humor sprang from, but I wasn’t gonna fight it. All of my energy was needed fighting everything else. “But what about Mad Dog?”
Her lips twitched into the semblance of a grin. “Har, har. But now I’ll be disappointed if you don’t call me Mad Dog.” She shifted back on her heels, the movement graceful, fluid. “So, uh, yeah. About my visit. Let’s get the info exchange out of the way first. My mom works here, and she brought me with her today. She said you could really use a friend, or something equally tragic like that.”
“I’m fine,” I rushed out. There was that stupid word again. Fine.
“I know, right? That’s what I told her.” Kat sauntered over, pulled the only chair in the room next to my bed and plopped down. “Besides, people don’t open up to strangers. That’d just be weird. But she’s my mom, and you’re clearly in need of a shoulder to cry on, so what was I supposed to say? No? Even I’m not that cruel.”
Her pity wasn’t something I’d accept. “You can tell your mom I was rude and kicked you out.”
“Also,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “life’s way too short to wallow in sorrow, I know. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced, I’m stellar company. Oh, oh. And guess what? There’s an opening in my Fave Five—not those old lame phone commercials, but my actual inner circle—and I’m actively looking to fill the top spot. We’ll just consider this your interview.”
Somehow, her little speech caused that flicker of good humor to stir back to life. I couldn’t help but say, “Your top spot is a job, then?”
“Of course.” She fluffed her hair. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m very high maintenance.”
“Uh, I think low maintenance is what’s desirable.”
“Low maintenance is what’s forgettable. You might want to write that down, underline it, circle it and put a star by it. It’s golden.” With barely a breath, she added, “Now let’s find out if we’re compatible, shall we?”
O-kay. We were gonna do this thing, then. We were gonna go all the way. See Alice pretend everything is beyond peachy. “Sure. We shall.”
“So … you lost everyone, huh?” she asked.
Talk about kicking things off with a bang. But at least she hadn’t offered platitudes or tiptoed around the subject. Maybe that’s why I responded to her with a croaked “Yeah.” It was more than I’d offered anyone else.
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna eat that?” She pointed to the vanilla pudding someone had brought me earlier.
“Nope.”
“Awesome. I’m starved.” With a wide, white grin, she confiscated the pudding and the spoon and settled back in her chair. One taste left her moaning with satisfaction. “So check this out and tell me if you agree.”
“Uh, okay.” I had a feeling I’d be uttering “uh” many more times before this conversation ended. Even sitting there, she was like a whirlwind of energy I had no idea how to contain.
After another bite of the pudding, she said, “Here goes. See, my boyfriend and I decided to stay together for the summer, you know, even though he had to go visit some family in nowhereville. At least, that’s what he told me. Anyway, everything was fine at first, because you know, we talked every night, and then boom, he just stopped calling. So I called and texted him like the good girlfriend I am, and it wasn’t stalkerish, I swear, because I stopped after, like, the thirtieth time. A week goes by before he finally hits me back, and he was totally drunk and all, hey, baby, I miss you and what are you wearing, like no time had passed, and I was all, you so do not deserve to know.”
Silence.
She watched me, expectant, as she took another bite of pudding. I was tempted to search the room to make sure she’d directed the information overload at me. The few friends I’d made over the years had shared stories about their lives and their boyfriends, of course, but none had ever done so at minute one or with such a flare for detail.
“Well?” Kat prompted.
Oh, right. This must be the part where I render my verdict. Agree or disagree. “I … agree?”
“Exactly! And get this. He called me by the wrong name. Not during sex or anything like that, because if that had been the case, I would have killed him, and he would have been too busy being dead to try and explain, but on the phone, during our last conversation.”
Took me a minute of mind-mapping to wade through everything she’d said and find the X that marked the spot. “That sucks?” I’d meant to make a statement, but again I ended up asking a question.
“I knew you’d get me! It’s like we were separated at birth. So, anyway, he and I had just hung up—well, I’d hung up on him, a real nice slam I’m still patting myself on the back for delivering—and my phone rings again, and he’s all, hey Rina. I’m like, Rina? What are you doing calling Rina? He stumbles around for a lie, but I knew. He’s a dirty man-whore cheating he-slut and I’m done with him.”
“Good.” Well, well. What do you know? I was capable of making a statement. “Cheaters are scum.”
“Worse than scum. When school starts back up, I’m throwing down with that boy, and not in a good way. He promised to love me and only me forever and ever and even after forever ended, and he needs to pay for lying. Rina can just suck it raw and hopefully die of some terrible disease. She doesn’t deserve my precious time.”
School. Ugh. Here was another aspect of my life that would change. “Where do you go?”
“Asher High. You know, best school ever.”
“My parents went there.” Ugh again. Why’d I have to bring them up? I fisted the sheet, wishing I could snatch the words back. I could pretend to be normal, but only if the discussion stayed away from everything personal.
“How about you?” she asked, not pursuing my slipup.
Good, that was good. “Carver Academy.” Not anymore, though. My grandparents lived in … the Asher High district, I realized. Guess I’d be seeing a lot more of Kat after summer break. I opened my mouth to tell her, but just as quickly closed it. No reason to light that particular fire.
“An Astro Jet, huh?” she said. “We kicked your butt last year on the field and the court. Go Tigers! I’m sure you cried about it, so here’s your warning for this year. You’re gonna lose again, and you’re gonna cry again. Sorry. The sooner you get used to the idea, the faster you’ll heal.” She finished off the pudding and claimed my cup of water, tossing my straw aside and drinking from the rim. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
One dark brow arched, and lips that were coated with a clear, glittery gloss pursed. “Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Not about the girlfriend, though that would have been cool because you would have been my first lesbian friend and I would never have to worry about you stealing my man like that hobag Rina, but about the boyfriend. You could have set me up with one of his friends and I could have texted my ex pictures of our fake, steaming-hot love affair. So, hey, do you want me to steal a wheelchair and spring you? We can head down to the cafeteria and grab a burger. They aren’t the best, but after my pudding appetizer, I really need a meal. And, just for future reference, hunger makes me mental.”
Leave the room? Enter the world? “No, thanks.” I settled more firmly against my mound of pillows, forced a yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”
She held up her hands, palms out in innocence and understanding, reminding me of—no one—and stood. “Say no more. I feel you. I’ll take off and let you rest.” A few steps brought her to the door, where she paused to look back at me. “You know, I think I’m gonna like you, Ali Bell. I’ll need a few more visits to help me decide for sure, but yeah, I think we’ll be tight and you’ll soar to the top of my Five.” And then she was gone.
As it turned out, I stayed at the hospital only one more night. I didn’t see Kat for the rest of the summer, which was probably for the best. She was a nice girl, and I was bad company, and if she’d spent any more time with me she might have changed her mind about my acceptability. “Tight” would have become “please, please, please, never come near me again.” I doubted I would have even made her Fave Fifty.
Can you tell I was a depressed, neurotic mess?
To my consternation, my grandparents saw right through my “I’ll be okay” murmurs and spent hours, days, weeks, trying to cheer me up. They were wonderful people, they really were, but I know I frustrated them.
I should be crying, they said. I’d feel better. What I couldn’t bring myself to tell them was that my tears were on lockdown.
Every day I could feel the burn of them behind my eyes, but the droplets never formed, never fell. And to be honest, the lack didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to cry. Deep down I had accepted the fact that I deserved to suffer … to seethe on the inside.
Actually, I deserved worse.
When the day of the funeral dawned, I stunned everyone, including myself, by asking to skip it. I just … I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing where my family would spend the rest of eternity, rotting for years before disappearing altogether. And even though that would have counted as the “worse,” I still wanted to remember them as they’d been: alive and vibrant. But of course, my grandparents denied my request.
On the drive over, I sat in the backseat of their sedan. Today they were dressed in head-to-toe black, as was I. They’d bought me a fancy new dress. I really wish they hadn’t gone to the trouble or the expense. I would have rather worn a potato sack. This was a terrible day, and I would have liked my clothing to reflect that.
Anyway. I didn’t want to think about me. Nana had styled her shoulder-length brown hair into a loose bob that hid the paleness of her cheeks. She clutched a tissue in her shaky fist and continually dabbed at her watery eyes. She’d lost family, too, I reminded myself. I wasn’t the only one suffering. I should try to help her with her loss, should act the way she wanted me to act, but … I just couldn’t.
“Do you want to say a few words honoring the, uh, deceased?” Pops asked after clearing his throat. His graying hair had receded so much at the sides that he had a major widow’s peak. The rest was thinning and yes, he sported a cringe-worthy comb-over. How my mom had loved to tease him about that. “Ali?”
I didn’t need to think about my reply. “No, thank you.”
Nana twisted to face me. Her eyelids were puffed, the skin underneath splotched with red and her makeup streaked. I had to look away. Those golden eyes were too familiar, the pain inside them too … reflective.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I know your mother would have wanted—”
“I’m sure,” I rushed out. Just the thought of standing in front of everyone and sharing my favorite memories caused a cold sweat to break out on my skin. No way. Just no way.
Her tone gentled as she said, “This is your chance to say goodbye, Alice.”
Gonna be sick. “Call me Ali. Please. And I … I can’t say goodbye.” I wasn’t ever going to say goodbye. Part of me still clung to the idea that there was a chance I’d wake up and discover all of this was simply a bad dream.
A weary sigh left her, and she returned her attention to the front. “All right. I don’t think what you’re doing is healthy, but all right.”
“Thank you,” I said, relief causing me to wilt against my seat belt.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, only the occasional sniffle to be heard. What I would have given for my iPod. I’d play Skillet or Red and pretend I was dancing with—myself. But I hadn’t gone home to pack my things. I hadn’t wanted to go home. Nana had done that for me, and technophobe that she was, she’d probably had no idea what that little Nano could do.
At last we reached our destination and walked to the grave sites. There would be no church service. Everything was to be done here. Which wasn’t right. My mother had loved to go to church, and my dad had hated cemeteries, had died at the edge of one—of this one, to be morbidly specific—and they were going to bury him here? That was wrong on so many levels, and ticked me off.
He should have been cremated. But what did I know? I was just the daughter who’d helped kill him.
Now, in the daylight—or what should have been daylight—I studied the place that had destroyed my life. The sky was dark and drizzly, as if the world wept for what it had lost. While I was right on board with that, my dad wouldn’t have approved. He’d loved the sun.
The hilly stretch of land was treed up just right, with a few bushes growing around some of the headstones and flowers of every color thriving in every direction.
One day there would be bushes and flowers around my family’s headstones. Right now, there were just three big, empty holes, waiting for those closed caskets to drop.
Once again I found myself the recipient of too many I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Screw them all. I retreated inside myself, tuning out everything that was spoken during the ceremony, simply looking around.
People around me wept into their tissues. There was Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan, my former neighbors, and their son, Cary. He was a cute boy, a little older than me. I can’t remember how many times I’d thought that if I was a normal girl, with a normal life, I’d be sitting at my window, staring out at his house, imagining him closing the distance and asking me out on a date. Imagining we’d go to dinner, he’d walk me to my door, and kiss me. My first. Imagining he’d tell me that he didn’t care how crazy my family was, that he liked me no matter what.
I never had. He never had.
Now he cast me a sad smile, and I looked away.
When the pastor had finished, when my grandparents had said their piece, everyone stood and gathered in groups, talking, swapping stories. Too many of them congregated around me, patting my shoulders and giving me hugs. Actions I didn’t appreciate or return. I just didn’t have the strength to put on a dog-and-pony show so that I wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
I wanted to be in my bed, buried under the covers, pretending I had my old life back.
“She was such a happy child, wasn’t she?” said someone at my side. A woman I couldn’t quite place but knew I’d seen before was peering at the smallest casket, tears streaming down her red cheeks. “We’re going to miss her. I remember this one time …”
On and on she talked. I stood there, suddenly unable to breathe. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but the words wouldn’t form. I tried to walk away, but my feet were rooted in place, as if someone had poured concrete over my shoes.
“And then there was the time, in class, when she helped …”
A loud ringing sprouted in my ears and I couldn’t make out the individual words. Didn’t matter. I knew who she was talking about, and if she didn’t get out of my face, I was going to lose it. Already I was spiraling into an abyss, screaming silently.
“… and the other girls utterly adored her …”
Argh! Spiraling … spiraling out of control …
I deserved this, I reminded myself. This was part of my “worse.” My words, my insistence, had killed my family, had put them in those boxes. Had I done anything differently, a single detail, they would still be alive. But I hadn’t, and so here I was. There they were.
“… her talent, her spirit, were rare and glorious and I …”
The abyss threw me one way, then the other, cutting me up bit by bit, destroying me. The woman had to shut up. She just had to. Shut. Up. My heart felt pinned against my ribs, warping the beat, and if she didn’t shut up I would die. I knew I would die.
“… used to tell me she wanted to be just like you when she grew up. She admired you so much….”
Shut up, shut up, shut up! But she kept talking and kept telling me all about my … sister….
… about Emma.
… Emma … gone … my lily … gone …
I’d promised to keep her safe. I’d failed.
A scream ripped from my throat, followed right on the heels of another and another. I lost track of everything around me, clutched my ears to stop from hearing the utter horror in my voice, and fell to my knees.
No, not just to my knees. I fell down, down, down, the abyss, a never-ending pit of despair, still screaming, screaming, consumed by grief, flooded by sorrow.
Hands patted at me, but I didn’t calm. I screamed so loud and so long my voice eventually broke. I gagged and choked, tears pouring down my cheeks, pooling around me, a lake of misery. I cried so hard my entire body shook, and my eyes swelled shut. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe anymore. Dying would have been a relief.
I don’t know what happened after that. For the second time in my life, I lost consciousness. Maybe I would never wake….
But of course, I awoke. In the days that followed, I tried to take comfort in the fact that the worst thing that could ever happen to me had already happened. Big surprise, that didn’t help. But at some point, I finally accepted that this wasn’t any kind of nightmare. This was my new reality, and I had better learn to deal or the tears would never stop flowing.
Each night I sat on the ledge seat in front of my room’s only window, looking down at my new backyard. There was half an acre of trees, hills and flowers, and a stockade fence that marked the property boundaries. Beyond the fence was a hill spotlighted by a golden sliver of moonlight, but because of the steepness of the incline, I couldn’t see anything more than thick, towering trunks.
I was tired, but I wouldn’t be sleeping. Any time I drifted off, I dreamed of the accident. I preferred to spend my time searching for my dad’s monsters, not sure whether I wanted to prove they existed or that they didn’t, remembering all the times I’d caught my dad doing the same thing.
Dad had carried a gun, though I’d never heard him shoot it. Now I had to wonder if a gun would actually help. The monsters had slipped past human skin … like ghosts … or the demons I’d been so unsure about.
This is ridiculous. The monsters weren’t real.
And yet, a few times since the accident, I was certain that I’d spied one.
As if on cue, the bushes swayed. I leaned forward until my nose pressed into the glass. Probably the wind, I thought, even as I watched tree limbs stretch toward each other. Limbs, not arms, surely. And those were leaves, not hands. Surely.
A flash of white caught my attention, and I gulped. That wasn’t a woman with stooped shoulders darting between the trees but a deer. Had to be a deer, but …
Deer didn’t wear wedding gowns, did they.
I pumped a fist into the pane, rattling the entire window, and the woman—deer—darted away, swiftly hidden by the trees. I waited several long minutes, but she—it—never came back into view.
By the time the sun rose, my eyelids felt like sandpaper against my eyes. I had to stop doing this, had to stop torturing myself. Otherwise, I’d have to throw in the towel and admit I’d inherited my dad’s crazy.
And wouldn’t that just be irony at its finest?
With that thought, I didn’t laugh with bitterness, cry, or even crawl into bed. I began planning the next night’s watch.
3
EERILY CURIOUSER AND EERILY CURIOUSER …
Summer break passed far too quickly, and the first day of my junior year finally arrived. Asher High was on the outskirts of Birmingham, only a ten-minute drive from my grandparents’ house. Go Tigers. The bus turned the ten-minute drive into forty. But you know, I was glad for every one of those extra minutes. Like I’d told Kat that day at the hospital, my mom and dad had graduated from Asher, and all I could think about was whether their pictures were hanging in any of the display cases.
I wasn’t ever going to look. If I saw them, I’d probably have a breakdown right there in the halls, something that hadn’t happened since the funeral. Yeah, I liked to think I was stronger now, more in control, but I wasn’t taking chances.
I sat in front, just behind the driver, and kept my head down during the ride. I spoke to no one, and I was the first to exit, my steps quick as my backpack thumped against me.
I paused in front of the building, my eyes wide and my stomach churning. So. Many. Kids. Some were tall, some were short. Black, white. Boy, girl. Rich, poor. Preppy, stoned. Skinny, not so skinny. Clothed, practically naked. Each one huddled in a group, beyond excited to be together again. Everyone seemed to be talking over someone else and laughing.
The building itself was sprawling and kind of creepy, because wow—Tigers took their school colors seriously. Never had I seen so much black and gold. Black brick was interspaced with gold brick. There was a wealth of trees, the trunks painted black and the leaves painted gold. There was a cement walkway, and black-and-gold tiger paws led to the front doors, where metal detectors stood guard. Someone had anchored tiger ears on the sides and whiskers in the middle to give the detectors faces.
Note to self: Never talk badly about jungle cats. I’d probably get my head dunked in the toilet.
I stopped by the front office and asked for a map, only to be sighed at and pointed to a fat stack of them on the counter. I grabbed one and muttered, “Thanks.” I had my schedule already, so it was just a matter of finding my way. I’d never been good with directions.
As I was walking away, a woman strode out of the back office, spotted me and changed her course, heading straight for me.
She held out a well-manicured hand. “You’re Alice Bell.”
“Ali,” I said as we shook. Her grip was strong. Too strong.
“I’m the principal here. Dr. Wright. And do not think you’ll get away with calling me Ms. Wright, Wright or Hey Lady. I earned my title and you will use it. Understood?”
“Yes.” I looked her over as discreetly as possible. Dark brown hair framed a pretty face. She had olive-toned skin, brown eyes that practically flashed the words I mean business, and a cupid’s bow mouth.
“If you need anything,” she said, already moving off, “don’t hesitate to let one of my assistants know.”
“Thanks. I will—”
She didn’t hear me, because she was already gone.
I made my way into a hall that was plastered with Tigers Rule posters and majorly congested, kids rushing in every direction, a (black-and-gold) beach ball being tossed around, laughter echoing. I must have been walking too slowly, because several people tried to mow me down.
In an act of self-preservation, I pressed into a wall of lockers. Soon the crowd would thin and I could navigate my way without incident. As I waited, I tried not to think about my old school and the fact that, after my last class, I wouldn’t be walking to the nearest elementary school to pick up …
Nope, not going there.
“Ali?”
My gaze shot from the floor to a beautiful brunette, who stood front and center in a group of girls. “Kat! I mean, Mad Dog.” I was so happy to discover a familiar face, I did something I hadn’t done all summer. I smiled.
She smiled back, looking genuinely happy to see me, and waved me over.
I closed the distance, and she threw her arms around me as if we were long-lost friends. “Well, well, look what the Kat dragged in. Get it? Of course you do. I only make awesome jokes. But enough of my brilliant banter. I’m so glad you’re here!” Her gaze slid over me, and she gave me another grin, this one sly. “Look at you, total chili pepper hot. I love it!”
A lie, surely. I had on ratty sneakers, ripped jeans and the oldest tee I owned. The fabric was so frayed, I looked like I—gag—wore fringe. I just hadn’t felt like getting dressed up, as if I had something to celebrate.
The therapist my grandparents had made me see would have said I was punishing myself for living when the rest of my family had died. (If she had uttered those words just one more time, I would have hacked off my ears and left them with her.) I’d already figured that out on my own, thank you. That didn’t change how I felt.
“Well?” Kat prompted. “Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look?”
My gaze roved from top to bottom. “You don’t look good. You look amazing,” I added before she could pout. She wore glittery shoes, Miss Me hip-huggers and a skintight black top. Dark hair fell in pretty waves over one shoulder.
“Gold star for Ali,” she said. “Now, then. Allow me to make introductions. Ladies, this is Ali, a very special friend of mine.”
I stiffened, thinking she meant to tell them where we’d met, but she didn’t and I could have hugged her all over again.
“Ali, this is Reeve, Poppy and Wren.”
O-kay. No Janes, Beths, or Kellys here. “Hello,” I said, sounding as lame as always. The girls were as flawless as Kat, with stunning faces you’d usually find only in magazines. They wore drool-worthy outfits, also found only in magazines.
Magazines. Yeah. That’s the only thing that made any sense. Kat had picked each girl out of Flawless Friends Forever, I’m sure. In comparison, I felt frumpy and way outclassed, like I’d been selected from Homeless Dogs Weekly.
“Nice to meet you,” said Wren, a gorgeous black girl with the most amazing caramel eyes.
“Any friend of Kat’s …” said Poppy, a freckled redhead surely destined to marry a prince or something.
“I’m throwing a party this weekend.” Reeve flicked her dark hair over one shoulder. Her features were striking, bold, and her skin the most beautiful sun-dusted color of bronze. “Just a little get-together to celebrate surviving our first week of school. Well, our first three days.”
Why did school always start in the middle of the week?
“You have to come,” she added.
“I, uh—hmm.”
I’d never been to a party, but I’d certainly heard a lot about the ones my friends had attended. Therefore I knew that 1) I’d be stuck in an overcrowded house with people I barely knew, 2) I’d be stuck in an overcrowded house with drunk people I barely knew, because there would be drinking—not only had my friends told me about that part, but my mother had forced me to watch enough after-school specials to fry a thousand brain cells—and 3) it would take place at night.
Once, all I’d wanted was to go out at night. I would have given anything for a simple moonlit stroll. Arm? Leg? Why not my soul?
Now? Even the thought terrified me.
“She’ll definitely be there,” Kat said. “I’ll make sure of it. Now, get, get. Ali and I need private time to catch up.” She kissed each girl on the cheek and sent them all on their ways before returning her attention to me. “So, you received your schedule, yes?”
I ignored the fact that she had just guaranteed my party attendance. No reason to hurt her feelings with a belligerent (and childish) never, ever, you can’t make me go! “Yes.” Having memorized the blocks, I rattled off my classes and prayed we had at least one together.
“Rock on! We’ll have lunch and last block to plan our takeover attempt on the school. I’ve already decided. Me and my girls are ruling. Now, I’ll walk you to first period. You’re two buildings over so it’s gonna be a hike.”
“Are you over there, too?”
“Nah. I’m here.” She hitched her thumb at the door only a few feet away.
I glanced at the clock at the far end of the hall. We had six minutes until the tardy bell rang. “Won’t you be late to your own class?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry.” Grinning that sly little grin of hers, she twined her arm through mine. “This is my humanitarian deed of the day. Besides, you’ll owe me. And yes, I always collect. Ask anyone. There’s not a single person in this school who doesn’t owe me a favor. True story.”
As tiny as she was, she had no problem pushing her way through the crowds, telling people off or flipping them off when they did or said something she didn’t like. But she kept up a steady chatter with me, telling me everything I “needed to know to survive.”
“She’s a skank. He’s a player. He’s cute but almost OD’d last year, so he’s a bad bet. She’s a two-faced, lying, cheating witch. That’s right, Trina, I’m talking to you,” she shouted. “By the way,” she added just for me, “Trina cusses, which means cussing is trashy, which means my golden rule is to never cuss. I have class. Unlike Trina, the skank of Birmingham.” That last part was, of course, shouted.
I half expected the pretty but, well, somewhat masculine Trina to fly across the hall and introduce Kat’s teeth to her fist, but Trina just fronted and moved on with a glare that promised vengeance.
O-kay. New note to self: never mess with Trina. Her tank was regulation, but still managed to show off her muscular arms and tats. Her hair was chopped to just below her ears, and there were scars stretching across the back of her neck. Like, scars that resembled teeth marks.
And I really needed to stop rubbernecking, or I’d paralyze myself.
“He’s gay but in denial,” Kat continued, as though nothing had happened, “so just a heads-up not to try and tap that. Now his friend over there is loaded, but he’s a total douche. Oh, and she’s so snotty you’ll need Kleenex just to talk to her. Actually, just pretend that entire group has the plague, and you’ll be the better for it. She’s not bad. He’s—crap!” She ground to a stop, forcing me to do the same. “Laugh like I just said something amazingly hilarious.”
Laugh? Seriously? Did I even remember how?
She slapped my arm and whispered fiercely, “Laugh!”
Okay, so I forced out a laugh. I’m embarrassed to admit I sounded like a frog had jumped into my throat and played bongos on my voice box. Even Kat was horrified, her mouth hanging open so wide that I could see her tonsils.
She recovered quickly and tossed her hair over her shoulder, throwing off her own magical laugh. It was like an angel played the harp on top of a rainbow. So not fair!
“Why are we doing this?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t look now, but that’s my ex over there.”
Surely I’m not the only one who takes “don’t look now” as “there’s no better time than now.” I looked.
“Bad Ali!” Another slap to my arm. “Bad, bad, bad Ali! Have you no self-control?”
“Sorry.” I rubbed away the sting. Did I stop looking, though? No. I stared. Hard.
To the right of us was a group of eight boys. If I’d ever needed a visual definition of serial criminal, I now had one (or eight). They were tall, all of them, and they were stacked with muscle. Most sported tattoos on their arms and piercings on their faces. A few wore chains around their waists, as if the metal links were belts, but on those bodies they could only be weapons.
Proof: two of them had house-arrest anklets on display over their dirt-caked boots.
They were shoving one another, laughing and punching each other on the arms. One of them even rubbed his fist into another’s hair, holding the guy by the waist and forcing him to stay hunched over and take the abuse while others pointed and called him the worst kind of names.
“There used to be more of them,” Kat said. “Two died last year from some disease that turns your blood into a toxic sludge, basically causing you to rot from the inside out. It’s not contagious or anything like that, or so the proverbial ‘they’ say—pamphlets were sent out to all the students because everyone was totally panicking—but it’s weird that two guys got it at the same time, you know.”
I caught a note of … something in her voice. “Did you know them?”
“Yeah, and I thought I’d cry forever. And this might be horrible to say, but I’m kinda glad they went together. They were best friends and you never saw one without the other. And wow, this little chat became morbid. My apologies.”
“No worries,” I said—even though I was worried. I never wanted to think about death and blood again, much less talk about them. “So which one is yours?” I asked, changing the subject back to the living boys.
She snorted with disgust. “The blond, and he was mine. Was. He’s not anymore and won’t ever be again.”
I scanned the crowd. Two were black, one had a shaved head, two were brunettes, one had jet-black hair and two were blond. I wanted to look over the blonds, I really did, but once I spotted the one with hair so black it was almost blue, I was stuck.
He wore a bright red baseball cap. There was writing in the center, but I couldn’t make out the words. He was the only one not horsing around. With his back pressed into the lockers and his arms folded over his chest, he watched his friends with lazy amusement.
He was gorgeous, and I absolutely, no question, had to be drooling. After a quick and hopefully stealthy check—big shock, I wasn’t!—I found myself wondering what color his eyes were. Brown maybe. Or even hazel. Either way … wow, just wow. Deer? Headlights? Hi, I’m Ali.
“Yo, Kitty Kat,” someone called. I forced myself to stop staring at Red Hat and glanced—at one of the blonds. “Come over here and give me a proper hello. You know you want to.”
“What I want is for you to go to hell,” she called back.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be that way, baby.” He was the taller of the blonds, with cold brown eyes and a face that would have made the devil hide in a shadowed corner, sucking his thumb and crying for his mommy. Even though I couldn’t imagine him winning a girl like Kat, I could imagine him cheating. He had to be the ex. “You love me, ‘cause you just can’t help yourself.”
“I hope Rina gave you an STD.”
The boys around him snickered, and the fact that he maintained his grin—rather than murdering Kat—surprised me.
“That’s harsh, baby. I was just teasing when I called you by her name.”
“Both times?”
Yep. The ex. Sooo Trina the “two-faced, lying, cheating witch” had to be the very same Rina he’d messed around with over summer break. And, honestly? That totally blew my mind. Kat was one of the prettiest, most feminine girls I’d ever met, while that Trina person was hard-core.
Although, so was the ex. Besides that I’m-totally-a-serial-killer face, he had black bands tattooed around his wrists and brass knuckles tattooed over his … well, knuckles.
“I’m not mad, though,” Kat said. “You lied to me, and I lied to you. We’re even.”
Finally he lost the grin. “When did you lie?”
She gave him a Sweet’N Low smile, as if his amusement had been poured into her. “Every time we messed around. I didn’t actually enjoy myself, if you know what I mean.”
“Burn,” one of his friends said.
He shoved the boy away. “Don’t be that way,” he pleaded to her, and I would have bet he was only halfway kidding. There was a desperate gleam in those dark eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do. And by the way, I’m not teasing when I do this.” Kat flipped him off times two, and all of his friends erupted into a fresh round of snickers.
His confident facade faded, but still he said, “I’ll change your mind and I’ll win you back. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Actually, it’s just a matter of time before I feed your balls to my dog.” In an aside to me, she said, “Remind me that I need to buy a dog.”
The black-haired one finally glanced over at us—yeah, I’d returned to staring at him—and I forgot all about Kat and her problems. Violet, I realized. Those eyes of his were the most amazing shade of violet. I’d never seen so beautiful a color.
Had to be contacts. Right?
He gave Kat a once-over and grinned a hello. I barely stopped myself from chewing on one of my nails, a disgusting nervous tic I’d broken years ago. Would he look directly at me?
Answer: yes.
The moment our eyes met, the moisture in my mouth dried up and I lost focus of my surroundings. He was all that I could see, all that I wanted to see. And in the span of a single second we were no longer across the hall from each other—
—we were pressed together, his arms wrapped around me, my arms wrapped around him, and we were kissing. Miracle of miracles, he was five inches taller than me, practically dwarfing me. I loved it! And oh, glory, I loved what we were doing….
I had never been kissed before, but his tongue was definitely in my mouth, and my tongue was definitely in his, and we were practically eating each other’s faces.
“Ali,” he breathed as he drew me closer, squeezed me tighter.
“Cole,” I breathed back. I couldn’t get enough of him and never wanted to stop. He was so warm. So very warm, when I’d been so cold all summer. No matter how many blankets I’d piled on top of me, I’d been cold. I wanted to stay here, just like this, forever.
My fingers tangled in his hair, knocking off his cap. He angled his head, taking my mouth deeper, harder.
“You taste good,” he rasped. He smelled of sandalwood and something fruity, like a strawberry lollipop just freed from its wrapper.
“Talk later. Kiss now—”
“—Ali. Ali!” Kat stepped in front of me. She was frowning, waving. “Hello? Anyone home?”
I blinked and realized I was in the same spot I’d occupied before. And with that realization came another. I’d never crossed the hall, never met the boy in the hat halfway—Cole, I’d called him—never plowed my fingers through his hair. Never touched him, and absolutely never kissed him, yet my lips tingled and I was having trouble drawing air into my lungs.
“You okay?” Kat asked, her concern evident.
She was so short I had no trouble peeking over her shoulder at the group of boys. Nearly everyone else had abandoned the hallways. Maybe because the tardy bell had been ringing—and was only now fading. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. How long had I been staring at that boy?
At least he was staring at me, too. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. He was scowling at me, and it was the kind of scowl you saw on a guy in a dark alley just before he crunched your face into the dirt and stole your purse. One of his friends was tugging on his arm, trying to get his attention.
Red Hat snapped his teeth at me and turned away to stomp out of the hall. His remaining friends traveled after him, one of them muttering, “Mind telling us what that was about, my man?”
I leaned against the lockers to find my balance. Only then, with distance between us and his gaze unlocked from mine, did I manage to catch my breath. “The one with the hat,” I said to Kat. “What’s his name?” I probably should have assured her of my mental competence first, but I craved info about him too badly. And really, could I assure anyone of my mental competence just then?
Kat’s head fell forward, as if suddenly too heavy to hold up, but her penetrating stare remained on me. “Why? Are you interested in him?”
My mouth floundered open and closed. I was interested in knowing what had just happened. How I had just … envisioned kissing him. How that vision had seemed so real that I’d felt his heat, his strength. So real that my body had reacted physically.
“Just curious,” I finally said, trying for a nonchalance I didn’t feel. But my words were the straight-up truth. I was curious.
She wasn’t buying. “That’s Cole Holland, and girl, you so don’t want to date him. Trust me.”
Shock blustered through me. His name really was Cole? But … how had I known that?
You heard someone else call him Cole, that’s all. A subconscious thing.
Maybe. Probably. “Why?” I croaked.
“Because I’m totally trustworthy. Hello, you’ve met me, right?”
If I hadn’t been in such a state of upheaval, I would have rolled my eyes. “Not why should I trust you. Why don’t I want to date him?”
“Oh. Well, for starters, because you’re intimidated by him.”
“I’m not intimidated by him.”
She rose on her tiptoes to pat the top of my head, and said, “Since you won’t admit that little truth, how about this one? Because he’s the leader of that rabid pack of animals and he’s totally dangerous.”
Dangerous. Yeah, I got that. “You dated one of his friends.”
She spread her arms, as if I’d just made her point for her. “And look where I ended up—cheated on and brokenhearted.” The soft snick of closing doors filled the hall, and she glanced around. “Come on. Let’s finish this on the way to your class.”
Now that the halls were deserted and I could move freely, I should have relaxed. But I felt like I’d been plugged into something. A battery, maybe. I had energy. And there was a soft buzzing sound echoing in my head. Even the lights in the hallway seemed brighter.
“Cole’s, like, the worst of the lot,” Kat said. “He speaks, and the rest of them jump to obey. They skip school a lot, and do … well, your guess is as good as mine. No, probably not as good, but close. And yeah, you’d think I’d know for sure, but Frosty was stellar at keeping secrets. Obviously. Anyway, they’re always wounded, so you know they like to throw down in the nastiest way possible. And did I mention that they’re secretive? Cole is the worst, but Frosty is second in line for the title of The Vault, I promise you.”
“Frosty?”
“My ex.”
“I got that, but his name is …”
“A nickname, yes. He accidentally locked himself out of his house one winter. By the time he was found he was covered in ice and completely frostbitten. They nearly amputated all of his limbs. True story.”
“Really?” Because I hadn’t noticed anything missing, and if they’d nearly amputated all of his limbs, surely they would have taken a few of his fingers, the most vulnerable part of the hand.
“Fine, he only lost a toe, but frostbite is treacherous. Anyway, the only girls who get to hang with them on their private little adventures are Mackenzie Love—Cole’s ex—and Trina, who you had the misfortune to meet earlier.”
Cole still hung out with his ex? That had bad news written all over it. Not that I cared. Or wanted to, I don’t know, go on a date with him, marry him and have his babies. I just wanted answers. Really.
What had happened in that hallway—or rather, what had not happened—was freaking me out. I mean, I’d always had a strong imagination, as evidenced by the monster in the wedding dress I was convinced I’d seen, but this little mind-vacay of making out in the hall with a strange boy I hadn’t officially met far surpassed anything else I’d ever thought up.
“Just a warning,” Kat said. “If you hang with them, Mackenzie will corner you and threaten your very existence. Oh, and your friends will drop you and you’ll be known as trouble.”
I could handle the name Trouble. Again, not that I was considering doing anything with Cole. “Were you dropped when you dated Frosty?”
For a moment, only a moment, she radiated sadness. Then she flipped her hair over one shoulder, grinned and said, “I’ve always been known as big-time trouble, and though no one has yet realized, I’m more trouble now that Frosty and I—Or is it Frosty and me? I can’t ever remember. Whatevs. I’m more trouble now that we’ve spilt, but you’ll learn to appreciate that part of me, I’m sure.”
“Already do,” I said, and I meant it.
We reached a red door, and she stopped. She hitched her thumb at it and said, “This is you.”
I peeked into the classroom through the small window on the door and wanted to run. Or vomit. No, both. Kids were everywhere, and there were no empty seats. The teacher was at the front, already lecturing. The moment I walked inside, silence would take over and every eye would find me.
Maybe I’d turned green or shuddered, because Kat said, “Nervous?”
“Yes, but only a little … lot.” I’d always had difficulty lying. “Want to ditch?” I asked hopefully. We could start fresh for block two.
“No, I don’t want to ditch, and I’m not even going to attempt to figure out what a little lot is. I want to make an entrance in my own class. After all, the center of attention is the best place to be.”
Uh, no, no it wasn’t. I backed up a step. “I’ll wait for you outside, then.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said, merciless. “They’ll love you. And if they don’t, well, let me know who I need to punish. That’s a specialty of mine, just FYI. So is tough love.” She patted me on the butt. “Now go get ‘em, baby cub.”
“Kat, wait. I—”
“You heard the part about tough love, right? And P.S. In a few months, you might graduate to a full-on tigress, but until then …” She opened the door and gave me a push inside the room. “You’ll have to endure the growing pains.”
I survived first block with only a splash of humiliation. The “teacher,” and I use the term lightly, made me stand at the front of the class and tell the students a little about myself and why I was late. Apparently there were to be no breaks for anyone. Not on the first day, and certainly not for first timers who should know how to read a map.
My thinking on the matter: Mr. Buttle—whom I would forever call Mr. Butthole—was on a power trip, but whatever. I got through without any internal scarring because a very cute boy with puppy dog brown eyes smiled encouragingly at me, then made the universal jerk-off sign the moment Mr. Butthole turned his back, sending everyone into peals of laughter, thereby taking the attention away from me.
Second block took place in the same hall but third was in another building. Still, I made it on time and the class proved to be a breeze. No one tried to talk to me except the short, rotund Ms. Meyers. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun. Her glasses were too big for her face and continually slid down her nose, but she wasn’t unpleasant to look at.
“I’m so excited to begin a brand-new year with you,” she said, clapping, “and I know you will be too when you hear what I’ve got planned! By the way, this is Creative Writing, in case anyone accidentally wandered into the wrong room. Anyone? No? Great. On with our stories!”
I propped my head on one hand, and I meant to pay attention, I really did, but my mind drifted. I’d like to say I pondered my future, ways to improve my general state of mind, something, anything useful. But, no. My brain hopped the train to Colehollandville and refused to detour.
One question after another formed. What had happened out there in that hallway? Had Cole experienced anything when he looked at me? The way he’d snapped his teeth at me, as if I’d bewildered him without saying a word … maybe. But then again, maybe that had been a gesture of irritation. I’d basically eye-raped him.
And what if I tranced out (or whatever you wanted to call it) the next time I saw him?
Desperate to know, I’d searched for him after both my first and second classes. I’d looked through numerous passageways, along the stairs and, okay, yes, I’d even slowed down in front of both the boys’ bathrooms I’d passed, but there’d been no hint of him.
Maybe that was a good thing. He intimidated me.
There. I’d admitted it. He was big and bad and obviously well-acquainted with violence. I’d had enough violence in my life, thanks. Besides, there were only three possible outcomes if the two of us actually spoke.
1) He’d tell me to ~bleep~ off.
2) He’d tell everyone I was ~bleeping~ insane.
3) He’d ask me who the ~bleep~ I thought I was because he’s positive he’s never seen me before.
I didn’t know him, and yet I easily imagined him cussing. A lot. Kat would so not approve.
“—I think you’ll find her work symbolic of—”
Ms. Meyers’s voice intruded, trying to claim my attention, but my dilemma quickly returned to center stage. I sooo wanted to talk to my mom about Cole and what had happened. Because of my dad, she’d understood weird in all its varying shades and degrees. She wouldn’t have laughed at me. She wouldn’t have rushed me in for an emergency therapy session. She would have sat me down and helped me reach a conclusion that satisfied me.
I missed her so much and wished, so badly, that I’d been nicer to her there at the end.
Well, well. What do you know? My mind could go somewhere other than Cole Holland today.
No way would I mention any of this to Nana and Pops. They’d freak—not that they’d ever show me. For me, they would smile and pretend all was well, never realizing I’d once caught them whispering in their bedroom.
Poor thing. Therapy isn’t working. Will she ever recover, do you think?
Not sure. All I know is that I hate that she’s hurting so badly, but there’s nothing I can do. She won’t let me.
I know. I’ve never felt so helpless.
They’d tried to get me to go to the movies, ice-skating and shopping, things kids my age supposedly liked to do, but my answer was always the same: no. Each time, they had kissed me on the forehead and said, “Maybe next time.”
Refusing to worry them further, I’d swallowed back the words Maybe never. I spent most of my time in my room, and that’s the way I liked it.
I had a routine. I spent my mornings reading The Iron Fey series. I spent my evenings listening to the mix tapes my dad had made for my mother. (I was staying in her old room and had found her old cassette player.) I spent my nights searching for monsters. On weekdays I left the house for school and on weekends I left for church. That was it.
The bell rang, shattering my thoughts like a fist through a mirror, and I bolted upright. Ms. Meyers was stacking books on her desk. Kids were already filing out of the classroom. I gathered my stuff and rose to do the same.
“Alice Bell,” Ms. Meyers called before I could leave.
Our gazes met, locked. “I prefer Ali.”
She nodded and offered me a warm smile. “I looked over your transcript from Carver Academy and liked what I saw. With straight A’s, I’m guessing you didn’t sleep in class.”
Ouch. “I wasn’t sleeping, I promise.”
Her smile grew, letting me know that she wasn’t offended. “I know reading and writing aren’t everyone’s favorite thing, but give me a chance tomorrow, okay? If you don’t like what I’m saying, if I fail to engage you, fine. Sleep or daydream or whatever you want to call it.”
Fair enough. “You have my word.”
“Good.” She motioned to the door with a tilt of her chin. “Go on. You’ve got places to be, I’m sure.”
I stepped into the hall—and prayed the world would suddenly end. Frosty and one of his more feral friends were waiting for me. Clearly. Their gazes zeroed in on me—arrow, meet bull’s-eye—and they leaped into motion, closing the distance between us. I bet they were here to warn me away from Cole.
How humiliating! I kept walking, and they kept pace beside me, flanking me. Testosterone walled me in, neatly shutting out the rest of the world.
“S’up. I’m Frosty,” the rough-looking blond said. Up close, I saw that his eyes were not completely brown but a pretty blueberry with flecks of chocolate.
My stomach growled. Okay, so I was hungry, and that was probably why his eyes reminded me of delicious food. So what. An appetite was a good thing, and I’d been without one all summer.
“This here’s my boy Bronx,” he added when I failed to respond.
“I’m Ali.” Either I hadn’t noticed Bronx earlier—so not likely—or he’d been running late. “Bronx, huh? Is that where you’re from?”
“Nope,” Frosty answered for him.
Bronx said nothing, but oh, did he stare. For a guy with barbells in both of his eyebrows and hair dyed an electric blue, that stare bypassed demon-dark and went straight to devil-damned.
“Okay,” I said. What else was I supposed to say?
A group of jocks passed us. To my surprise, they practically flattened themselves against the row of lockers to get out of the way of my giant, muscled bookends. I could even smell their fear, an acrid scent coating the air between us, stinging my nostrils.
So weird.
At my old school, jocks had ruled, their word law, and the only thing they’d worried about was the next game. Different schools, different worlds, I guess.
“Boys,” I heard Dr. Wright say. I picked up the clack clack of her heels before I spotted her at the end of the hall. “You’re not manhandling Miss Bell, correct?” She spoke as she walked toward us. Her gaze remained locked on Frosty. “I’d hate to have to ruin the rest of your day with detention.”
“No reason to ruin, Dr. Wright,” he said with military precision at the same time I said, “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t satisfied. “What do you want with her?”
Frosty smiled, all innocence. “Just to talk, what else?”
“Why?”
Were all principals this nosy?
“Because she’s cute?” Frosty replied, a question rather than a statement.
In that moment, I could have fallen flat on my face and experienced less embarrassment.
Dr. Wright’s suspicions were not assuaged, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, but she briskly passed us without trying to stop us. “Just make sure you watch your mouths or I’ll have to call your guardians,” she threw over her shoulder.
Frosty shuddered. Bronx saluted with mock respect.
“So how do you know Kat?” Frosty asked me, jumping back to the conversation. As determined as he looked, he was done with distractions.
I relaxed. They weren’t here for Cole, and they weren’t here because I might be—or might not be—moderately attractive. “We ran into each other during summer break.” Hopefully that was the right thing to say. I wasn’t sure about proper etiquette when dealing with a friend’s ex.
“Where at?” he asked, pretending an ease those M&M eyes failed to project.
“Well, uh … hmm.” How could I answer that without spilling info about myself?
The two boys “guided” me around a corner by pressing their shoulders into mine and steering me. I’d wanted to go the other way, to my locker. Whatever. I could deal. I might not want anything to do with violence, but I could handle myself, even with bruisers like these. My dad had made sure of that.
In fact, I’d taken my dad down a time or twelve, flipping him over, popping his eye and once even breaking his nose. Every time I’d bested him, he’d smiled, so wonderfully proud of me.
A burning in my eyes … a tremor in my chin. Dang it, I needed to concentrate on the here and now.
What had Frosty asked me? Oh, yeah. “If you want to know where I met Kat, you’ll have to ask Kat.” There. An answer without being an answer. Meanwhile, I’d be pulling her aside the next time I saw her and asking her to mentally torch the details.
Frosty acted as if he’d just been stabbed in the gut. “Cruel, Ali, so cruel. At least give me a hint. Pretty please with cherries on top of me.”
Charming. But I couldn’t forget that he’d cheated on Kat. Thinking fast, I said, “Okay, here’s a hint. A lot of people were there. There was some screaming, definitely some writhing. A looot of touching.” Doctors were very hands-on.
In the next instant, I was given a deeper glimpse of the criminal-in-the-making Frosty was. That mask of affability fell away, revealing hard, dark eyes and lips compressed with rage. “Did she touch anyone? Did anyone touch her?”
Dude. You left her for the entire summer. “It’s been nice talking to you and everything, but I really need to—”
We rounded another corner and I slammed into something solid, losing my concentration as I stumbled backward.
Bronx caught me, righted me and then let go of me as if I’d just given him third-degree burns.
“I’m sorry,” I began, focusing on the person I’d hit.
A girl, shorter than me by several inches. Silky dark hair curled to the middle of her back and framed a face God might have used to design his favorite angels. Her makeup was perfect. Her skin was slightly sunburned but still perfect. Her clothes were expensive and sexy, yet still elegant—and perfect. She wore a pink cashmere sweater and a flirty white skirt. She was the only diamond in a sea of glass.
I wasn’t into girls, but … wow. This one could probably turn anyone. Not even Kat and her catalog friends could compare.
“Is this your newest slice of tail?” she asked Frosty, all kinds of you’re beneath me in her tone. A tone clearly directed at me.
Maybe she wouldn’t be able to turn me. I wasn’t into nasty.
“Back off, Mackenzie,” Frosty said.
Mackenzie. As in, Mackenzie Love. This was Cole Holland’s ex?
Of course she is, I thought next, wanting to laugh without a bit of humor. Beautiful boys dated beautiful girls. That’s how the world worked. And yes, by those rules, I was destined to be with a lanky loner with a tragic past. Wonderful.
“Cole wants you,” she snapped at the boys, “so your little missionary trip will have to wait.”
Cue my exit. I’d already said my goodbye, so I pushed my way past Mackenzie and entered—the cafeteria. So that’s where they’d been taking me. Time for lunch, then. No wonder my stomach had been growling. The smell of food paired with a thousand other appetites could have turned a mannequin into a savage.
Already lines snaked from every direction. I had no idea what was what, so I scanned the area until I spotted a familiar face in the far corner.
Kat waved me over. Behind me, Frosty yelled for my attention while Mackenzie called him an idiot. Ignoring them, I tromped forward. The deeper I entered the room, the more I noticed the grease that coated the air. I also caught hints of sugar, perfume and cologne, everything combining to form a cloying musk. Goodbye appetite.
“What were you doing with Frosty?” Kat asked the moment I plopped down beside her.
No rage. Good. “He and that other boy, Bronx, were waiting for me after class. Frosty asked me how the two of us had met.”
The roses drained from her cheeks. “What did you tell him?”
I bullet pointed my response, praying I’d gotten it right.
Relief wafted from her, her color returning. “Rock on! You did almost as awesome a job as I would have done.”
I so needed that kind of confidence. “Thank you.”
“Just don’t tell anyone where we really met, okay?” she said, her gaze pleading at me.
No problem there. But why didn’t she want anyone to know?
Before I could question her, the rest of her troop arrived. I greeted each with a half smile, since that’s all that I was currently capable of.
As the girls launched into details about everything they’d learned about people I didn’t know, I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck rise. I endured the sensation for several minutes before caving and twisting in my seat, searching for the source of my discomfort.
Cole and his gang sat a few tables away. Cole was … staring at me. Staring—such a mild word for the slitted gaze leveled on me, piercing me. If eyes could throw daggers, I’d have a few embedded in my chest. (Not that that’s where he was looking, mind you.)
I gathered my courage and maintained contact, waiting, expectant. Except, there was no vision this time. No mental unfolding of us kissing. This morning must have been a onetime thing. A fluke.
I was relieved about that. I wasn’t disappointed. Besides, things were better this way. Proof: the angelic Mackenzie was perched next to him, her arm draped around his shoulders, staking her claim, warning me away. She, too, glared at me as she whispered something in his ear. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’d just plotted my social death.
Whatever. Popularity wasn’t a concern for me.
What? I mouthed at her, and it was a legitimate question. What had I done to her? Nothing, that’s what.
She ran her tongue over her teeth just before growling something that sounded like, “Let me teach her,” to Cole. “Just a little lesson. Please.”
I didn’t hear his reply.
Kat patted my hand. “Are you listening to me? Because these nuggets I’m throwing out are golden! Namely, if you want to be in power, you have to knock the current queen off her pedestal. Kicking works, as does punching.”
“I wasn’t listening, I’m sorry,” I responded, my cheeks heating as I faced her. “So who’s the current queen?”
“The ex of the guy you were just stripping in your mind,” Reeve said. “To think, I had a front-row seat to the day the war ignited between Mackenzie Love and Ali … something.”
“Bell,” I said as Kat said, “Ali will totally win, but she’ll want me to have the throne, I’m positive.”
I shuddered at the thought of anyone thinking I was a person to emulate. “I don’t want the throne.”
Kat’s chin lifted in delight. “See?”
“Cole must think you give good eye, because he was making out with you right back. Still is,” Wren said, glancing between us. “Mackenzie will probably try to kill you before the week ends, but honestly? He’s not worth the hassle. He’ll only drag you down, ruin your life.”
Poppy twirled a strand of that beautiful red hair around her finger. “The last girl to receive that kind of look from him spent a year in a full body cast.”
“What girl?” I found myself asking.
“There was no girl,” Kat said with a frown. “I would have remembered something like that.”
Wren sighed with sadness. “She’s right. There wasn’t a girl. We were just testing you to see your reaction. You failed.” She turned to Kat. “Have you told her about your association with Frosty? How he nearly got you kicked out of school?”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. My gaze shot up, and I came face-to-face with the dark-haired boy from Butthole’s class. The one who’d made everyone laugh, drawing attention away from me.
My table went quiet.
“Don’t let Mackenzie scare you,” he said, which let me know that everyone in the cafeteria had noticed her silent vow to ruin me. “She’s great with her fists, but only if she’s standing. Get her on the ground, and you’ve already won.” With that, he straightened and walked off.
Shocked, I faced the girls. All four were gaping at me. Kat, Poppy and Reeve with awe. Wren with a sharpness that confused me.
I spread my arms. “What?”
A grinning Kat said, “Cole is sooo not gonna like the fact that he’s got competition. That was Justin Silverstone, and he never talks to anyone except his sister. You’re definitely not his sister.”
Poppy nodded with enthusiasm. “I honestly thought he was gay.”
Wren slapped her arm. “He’s not gay!”
Reeve anchored her elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward. “So how’d you do it, Ali?”
“Do what?” I asked, truly baffled.
“Get his attention,” Wren said, her tone as sharp as her caramel gaze. “He’s a straight-A student, never misses a day of school and already has his future mapped out. He’s going places. Not that you couldn’t normally get a guy like him, but he’s so reclusive.”
I shifted in my seat, saying, “I didn’t get his attention. The only boy I’ve even talked to is Frosty, and that’s because he ambushed me.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Kat muttered, all doubt and amusement. “Well, let’s see if Cole noticed your unexpected visitor.”
My eyes widened as I reached for her arm. “Don’t—”
But it was too late. She’d already twisted to look. A second later, her mouth fell open.
I couldn’t help myself. I looked, too. What I saw shook me to my soul. I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a death glare today. Cole was watching Justin as if he meant to flay the skin from his bones, throw it down and play “Dance Dance Revolution” on it.
“That has nothing to do with me,” I managed to croak. It couldn’t.
But part of me kind of hoped that it did.
4
WHAT BLOODY
BLOODY NONSENSE!
That night, I sat at my windowsill, peering out at the darkness. To my astonishment, Cole and Mackenzie had never sought me out, never spoken another word to me. Neither had the rest of their friends, and that Justin kid had never come back, either. And if anyone had said anything to anyone else about me, I hadn’t heard about it.
So, either Mackenzie had changed her mind about “teaching” me whatever she thought I needed to learn, or someone had stopped her. Cole? But that would mean she had listened to him, had cared about what he’d said—and that he’d told her to stay away from me. That couldn’t be right, though. I couldn’t think of a single reason for him to defend me.
Sighing, I rubbed my temples to ward off an oncoming ache. If I didn’t stop thinking about this stuff, I was going to give myself a brain bleed. Besides, I had more important things to worry about. I’d finished the day with Kat, gotten on the bus—again keeping my head down—and shut myself in my room. Nana and Pops had eventually summoned me, wanting to know how I’d liked my new school and if I’d made any friends. I’d answered with a vague “fine” on the first and “one or two, I guess” on the second. Utter silence had then taken hold, and they’d peered at me as if expecting diary-type details. Uncomfortable for the bazillionth time that day, I’d then made the mistake of telling them about my first-hour tardy and Mr. B’s lecture. (Honestly, I’d already forgotten his real name and didn’t want to admit to my grandparents that I’d dubbed him Butthole.)
Of course they’d next wanted to know whether or not they should call my school counselor to tell him how rough things were for me, and that I needed my teachers to give me a break. Kind of them, but please mark that down as a big fat never, ever, ever, never. I think I surprised them with my vehemence, but at least they capitulated. No way did I want to be known as Pinot Grigio. (That’s what my parents had called me anytime I’d gotten my whine on. They’d called Em Pinot Noir.)
Now, with dinner eaten and the dishes cleaned and put away, my grandparents were asleep in their room, and I was once again alone in mine. A golden half-moon graced the black velvet sky, no clouds in sight, allowing a blanket of stars to twinkle in every direction. A slight breeze danced twigs and leaves together, adding a sense of eerie to the loveliness.
As I had every night since moving in, I watched and I waited, tense as a rubber band about to pop, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bridezilla. So far, no luck.
I’d been here, oh, no more than a few hours and already I was yawning, exhaustion heavy on my shoulders, but I was more determined than ever to stay awake. I planned to prove, beyond any doubt, whether or not the monsters existed.
A few things I’d noticed during these too-late interludes: Bridezilla did not appear every night. She showed up about once every seven to fourteen days. I’d been keeping notes, thinking she must come out only during a certain phase of the moon, but no. The moon had no bearing on her manifestations. Nothing seemed to, but even when I didn’t see her, I still felt as if she—or someone—was watching me.
Paranoia on my part, surely. I wasn’t even one hundred percent positive Bridezilla was truly out there. But oh, one night, maybe even this one, I would be. As long as I stuck to the plan, I would figure this out.
Every morning after a sighting, I’d checked the forest behind my grandparents’ backyard and found several sets of human footprints. Most were big and wide, as if they’d come from a man wearing boots. A few were smaller, thinner, as if made by a woman in tennis shoes.
Those prints should have already proven my sanity, yet part of me feared I was seeing only what I wanted to see, that even the prints were a mirage. Or … what if the prints had been caused by a group of kids who liked to play hide-and-seek? How stupid would I look blaming monsters?
As stupid as I’d once considered my dad, I thought with an acrid laugh.
Another hour passed as I watched and waited.
More hours passed. Lord, give me strength, I prayed. If Bridezilla failed to appear tonight, I’d try again tomorrow—and the next night and the next, however long was necessary. I wouldn’t give up.
Okay, so close to 2:00 a.m. I considered giving up. Only a few times had Bridezilla arrived after two and now my eyelids were as heavy as boulders and my jaw ached from numerous yawns. I was disappointed, angry and—if I was being honest—a tiny bit relieved. No monsters meant there was no reason for a confrontation.
Yep. My plan involved getting up close and personal.
I stood, scanned the forest one last time. I’d lie down, read and—The barest hint of white fabric peeked from behind one of the trees. Breath caught in my throat, burning, as cold fingers of dread crawled down my spine. Okay, so there would be a confrontation, after all.
Adrenaline rode through my veins on a tide of urgency, and I knew there would be no talking myself into staying put.
I grabbed the baseball bat I’d borrowed from Pops.
I should have done this a long time ago, but I’d allowed fear and memories of what had happened after the crash to stop me. But I was smarter now, stronger. I’d survived my first day at a new school. I could brave the scary outdoors to discover what, exactly, haunted the forest.
“I’m sorry, but I have to break your rules, Dad,” I whispered.
The monsters hunger for your flesh, your organs, I heard him say, and for a moment, the past held me enthralled. If they see you, they will chase you. And if they catch you, they will devour you.
How do you know? I remembered asking him, not because I’d believed him but because I’d hoped to trip him up and force him to see how wrong he was. Have you ever been chased?
A few times, but they’ve never caught me.
Well, if they’ve never caught you, how do you know they wanted to devour you?
I could feel the evil of their intentions pulsing from their bodies. Dad, you can’t—
You can, but more than that, a few years ago I found a book that tells all about them.
And you believe everything this book says? Undoubtedly a work of fiction.
He’d thought for a moment. Well, no. It says guns can’t hurt the monsters, but guns can hurt anything. And I’ve talked to others like me—
In chat rooms, I’d said drily. Where forty-year-old men liked to pretend to be seventeen-year-old girls. Awesome.
Yes, and they all say the same thing. The monsters want to eat us.
I forced the memory to the back of my mind, where guilt and sorrow and a million other things churned, and quietly stalked down the stairs. Out the back door I went, stepping onto the porch and stopping to give my eyes time to adjust to the dark. Warmth bathed the night, a cloying blanket I couldn’t shake. Crickets chirped, and locusts sang. Leaves rubbed together as the wind whistled.
In and out I breathed—and caught the most disgusting scent ever. My nose wrinkled, and I grimaced. Honestly, if you stuck your head inside a dead horse’s rectum, you wouldn’t smell anything close to this. (I haven’t, by the way. I was only guessing there.) It was like rotten eggs mixed with dog farts and doused with skunk spray.
My hand tightened on the bat as I scanned the yard. Grasshoppers jumped in different directions. Flaxen moonlight and writhing shadows tangoed as the trees swayed, but nothing jumped out at me.
Okay. All right, then. I could do this. One step, two, I approached the back of the stockade fence. I trembled violently, my limbs threatening to lock up, but I convinced myself to keep going.
Finally, I stood at the gate that led to the forest. Little beads of sweat slid down my spine, and all I wanted to do was race back into my room. Again I listened, breathing in more of that rancid decay. It was stronger now, thickening the air and actually burning the back of my throat. I gagged.
With a shaky hand, I reached out and unhooked the latch. As the gate creaked open, I lifted the bat and assumed the I will beat you to death—really, I mean it! position. A minute ticked by, surely an eternity, but nothing happened. No one attempted to accost me.
Come on, Bell. You can do this, remember? Inch by inch, I moved past the fence, past the line of bushes and into the core of the forest. My gaze scanned left and right. I’d seen that hint of wedding dress over … get ready … there.
Swing—
Nothing. I’d hit nothing.
I stilled, my arms quaking. The moon’s rays were hindered by the thick canopy of leaves that stretched above me, darkening the entire area, so I couldn’t see if there were prints on the ground or not. My heart began to thunder, then lightning followed, little electrical impulses razing the center of my chest.
Behind me, a twig snapped.
I whipped around, swung—and once again hit nothing. I gulped, swallowing the knot trying to lodge in my throat.
I’d never understood the stupid girl in every horror movie ever made, the one who heard a scary noise and went to investigate all by her lonesome … only to be knifed or tortured. I’d thought, if only she would have called the police, waited for help, something, anything, such a horrible fate would have been avoided.
Now, I so understood. Who could I tell about this? Everyone would think I was certifiable, like my dad. I could be locked away, medicated … forgotten.
I sucked it up, just like the stupid horror movie girls, and ventured deeper into the woods. Deeper still …
Another twig snapped behind me. Again I jerked around, my bat already swinging. Again nothing stood in my way—but this time, I saw something.
Reeling, I managed to gasp, “Emma?”
She hovered a few feet from me, her dark hair anchored in pigtails, a pink tutu fluffing around her waist. Her cheek, the one that had been injured in the accident, was unmarred. No scab, no scar. Just healthy, sun-kissed skin.
A frown pulled at her rosebud mouth. “You need to go inside,” she said, fear coating her voice. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Now, Alice.”
The realness of her amazed me. I even caught the little-girl scent of her, so sweet it somehow overshadowed the odor of rot. Tripping over my own feet, I closed the distance between us, reached out.
“Alice,” she said, impatient with me.
My hand ghosted through her.
I wanted to scream in frustration. She was only a hallucination. Does that really matter? She was here and she was with me, and I’d missed her so much. So, yeah, if my mind wanted to toss out images of her, I wouldn’t fight it. She. Was. Here. “How are you, sis?”
“You have to go inside, Alice. It’s almost too late.”
“Too late for what?” I would have given anything to pull her into my arms, to hug her tight and never let go.
Amber eyes met mine, and they glimmered with tears. “Please!”
Whatever she wanted, I would give her—except parting from her. “Will you come with me?”
“Alice! Please, you have to …” Her image shimmered, fading in time with her voice … fading … “Please.”
“No!” I shouted. Catching a glimpse of my beloved sister only to lose her a split second later … was there anything crueler? “Don’t go.” I need you. Real or not. But she’d already disappeared, the sweetness in the air vanishing, too. Frantic, I spun in a circle, looking for any sign of her.
Crushing disappointment was followed by life-saving hope. Maybe she wasn’t gone for good. Maybe she had wanted me to go to my room for a reason. Like, maybe we could talk there.
I shot into motion, shutting the gate and rushing back inside the house. Up the stairs I pounded, uncaring whether or not my grandparents heard me. An eternity seemed to pass before I reached my bedroom and burst inside.
“Emma?”
Silence. I searched every corner, every nook and cranny, but … she wasn’t there.
I waited, five minutes, ten, but she never appeared. She wasn’t going to, was she?
Hope died, the disappointment returning. “Emma,” I said, my chin trembling. My ceiling fan whirled overhead, creating a slight rustle, but there was no other discernible sound.
I’d left my curtains open, I realized distantly, and stalked over to close them.
The moment my fingers touched the fabric, I froze.
Bridezilla—and what could only be her groom—stood just behind the fence, a ray of moonlight spotlighting both of them. They were staring at me, their lips peeled back from their teeth—their very sharp teeth.
Her dress was ripped, dirty, her eyes sunken. Her skin was pitted, with patches of something black oozing from her pores. There wasn’t a veil on her head, but there was hardly any hair, either, just long stringy strands with leaves tangled throughout.
The man beside her wore an equally ripped and dirty tux. He possessed the same sunken eyes, pitted skin and thinning hair. That odd black ooze covered both his chin and dripped … dripped …
Bridezilla swiped out an arm, as if she was reaching for me.
I scrambled backward, tripped, landed on my butt. The impact rattled my brain and maybe even knocked some sense loose. Monsters would have attacked me while they’d had the chance, so this had to be a joke. The two were probably human and wearing costumes. Had probably applied grotesque makeup. But … who would play a joke like this? Who would go to such extremes, for such a long period of time? Who would know this was the perfect way to torment me?
No one, that’s who.
Guess my theory needed work. Drawing on every bit of my courage, I forced myself to stand and approach the window. Another peek outside revealed … the pair was gone. Gone.
I nearly shrieked with frustration.
What the heck was happening? What had I seen? And how had I spoken to my baby sister?
I sank to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I was worse than my dad. There was no denying it now. No hoping otherwise.
Oh, Daddy. I should have been nicer to him. I should have spent more time with him. Should have been more understanding of his psychosis, more sympathetic. I should have comforted him rather than complained about him.
Should—a word of anguish rather than consolation.
5
THE DEADLY RABBIT RETURNS
The next morning, my eyes burned with fatigue as I wandered the halls of Asher High. (Go Tigers.) There were more posters on the walls, and they were now joined by streamers. I’d spent the entire night propped up by the window, desperate for another glimpse of Emma, frightened by the thought of those imaginary monsters.
Seriously, how pathetic was I?
I couldn’t function without sleep much longer, and I knew it. My mind had turned to mush—obviously—and my body felt heavy, weighted down, my steps dragging. The latter was proved when I stumbled into someone. A girl I didn’t recognize. I muttered an apology, and she scurried off without comment.
Think about Em, the freaks and your idiocy later. Just get through the day. Good advice. Fingers crossed, I would listen and obey. Actually, there was a way to guarantee my obedience. Kat. She was the perfect distraction. Except, as I lugged through the crowd, I found myself searching for Cole Holland instead.
My palms sweated as I neared the hallway where I’d seen him yesterday. Distantly I heard the opening and closing of lockers, chatter and laughter, the pound and click of shoes. Closer … was he there again today? I squared my shoulders as I rounded the corner, trying to prepare myself for impact, just in case.
Good thing. He was there.
Play it cool, Bell. He leaned against a locker, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. He wore another hat, this one blue. Shadows cascaded over his face, hiding those magnificent violet eyes, but I could see a fresh bruise on his chin and a lesion on his lower lip.
He’d gotten into a fight.
He wore a black T-shirt that stretched indecently over hard-won muscle. A chain wrapped around his waist, and I would have sworn there were flecks of dried blood on the end. His boots were freshly polished yet severely scuffed.
His friends surrounded him, though there weren’t as many this time. Every single one of them sported a bruise somewhere—face, neck, arms, knuckles—some worse than others. Both of Frosty’s wrists were bandaged, hiding his tattoos.
Okay, seriously. They had to be part of some kind of fight club.
“Hey, Ali.” Oops. Frosty had caught me staring at him. Rather than chastising me, he gave me a sunshine-happy grin. “Lookin’ good today.”
“Thanks,” I replied, trying not to shift nervously. Okay, so I’d dug out my best jeans and a flowing gray-and-white lace top that made me look chestier than I actually was. So what. It didn’t mean anything.
“Why don’t you make our dreams come true and come talk to us?” he added, all smooth charm and cotton candy sweetness.
I returned my attention to Cole, wondering if he would encourage me to come closer, too. He was now peering at me as well, but he wasn’t grinning. He was scowling.
The moment our gazes met, the rest of the world washed away—
—we were in the middle of the now-empty hallway. His strong arms banded around me, dragging me closer to his body. Heat enveloped me, followed by the scent of sun-dried laundry and sandalwood. No strawberry lollipop this time, but that hardly mattered. He still made my mouth water.
Violet eyes drank me in, as if I were the most beautiful thing in the entire world. “Hold on to me.”
Immediately I complied, tracing my fingers up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. No hat. No injuries. “Like this?”
“Yeah, that’s the way.” And then he pressed our lips together, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth and taking control.
Our heads tilted to opposite sides, allowing deeper contact. A shadow of stubble on his jaw scratched at my skin, but even that was exciting and wonderful and utterly tantalizing.
My second kiss, I thought dazedly, and it was even better than the first. He tasted like mint and cinnamon, and I decided the combination was my new favorite flavor. A necessary start to each and every day. And his hands … oh, the things he did with his hands.
He knew exactly what he was doing. Obviously he had experience, a lot of experience, playing a girl like a piano.
Playing … the word reverberated through my mind. Was this a game to him? Or something more? Like a relationship? Would he talk to me when the kiss ended? Or would he want nothing to do with me? Would his friends think I was easy? Look how quickly I’d fallen into his arms. Would I be known as the Asher Slut, giving tongue to whoever wanted it?
Great. Just my luck. My thoughts could now intrude on my whacked-out hallucinations and I—
“Yo, Ali!”
—I blinked, the dream-kiss vanishing and the rest of the world swooping back into focus. I saw a thinning crowd, heard the slamming of lockers mixed with the pounding of footsteps. Smelled a collage of different perfumes, some sugary, some spicy.
A frowning Kat stood in front of me. “There you are,” she said. “Back from your mental vacation. Do you know you’re, like, hovering in the middle of what I’ve deemed social Siberia, blocking traffic?”
“Sorry,” I replied.
A sigh left her. “I know people say apologizing is a sign of weakness, but I think it’s a sign of strength—when people do it to me. Just do me a favor and capture my next words like the beautiful butterflies they are and never let them go. If you don’t wipe Cole Holland from your mind, you’ll end up on the SS Miserable with me.”
I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over her shoulder. Cole was—
Striding toward me, determination in his every step. A fierce scowl marred his features. His hands were fisted, and I could see the scabs on his knuckles. He must have done a lot of punching last night. I felt sorry for whomever he’d fought.
You’re just standing here! Do you want him to reach you? He would demand to know why I kept eye-stalking him.
I thought I’d put on my big-girl panties today, but no. Like a coward, I threw out, “Thanks for the advice. It’s great, and I’ll be sure to run with it.” Literally. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” Before Kat could rapid-fire questions at me, I spun and headed in the opposite direction, taking the looong way to the ladies’ room in front of my first class. Thankfully, Cole never caught up with me. Or maybe he hadn’t even tried, which was more likely. With muscles like his, I bet he could outrun a cheetah.
At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, dried myself with a paper towel before a single droplet could wet my shirt and studied my reflection. My cheeks were rosy, my bottom lip red and swollen. I must have chewed it during the vision thing.
Better than Cole chewing it, right?
No time to work up a believable answer. Mackenzie Love sailed into the bathroom, clearly on a mission. Today her dark curls were twisted on top of her head, several tendrils falling around her face. Her makeup was perfect, except for a blue-and-yellow smudge on her left cheek. A smudge that looked suspiciously like a bruise. She wore a long-sleeved button-up top and soft, flowing pants. Stylish, comfortable, yet completely inappropriate for the heat outside.
Every inch a predator, she narrowed her eyes and closed the distance between us. This must be the “corner and threaten” routine Kat had warned me about.
“I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing,” she snapped, “but I will bury you if you hurt one of my friends.”
Yep. It was. “I think my name is Ali Bell, and I think I’m standing here, minding my own business. You should try it.” Because Mackenzie was a few inches shorter than me, she had to look up to meet my gaze. For once, my height made me deliriously happy.
She scowled and flashed perfectly straight white teeth. “You better watch yourself. You do not want to see me angry.”
“Or, what? You’ll grow a few inches, develop muscles and turn green?” Sorry, but I wasn’t someone who was easily intimidated. Except by someone with black hair and violet eyes, of course.
Mackenzie sputtered as she tried to think up a reply. I was willing to bet I was the first person to ever stand up to her. Although, I couldn’t imagine Kat cowering or backing down no matter who her opponent was.
“I don’t want to be late to class,” I said, deciding to end things here and now, “so maybe find me later and tell me whatever insult you think up.”
I breezed past her—she was still sputtering—and saw Cole at the end of the hall. Wonder of wonders, he had followed me.
He spotted me and bounded into motion. I just couldn’t catch a break, could I? The bell rang as I hurried toward him. Yes, toward him. Good news was, I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Before he could catch me, I reached my class and soared inside, shutting the door behind me.
Of course, I was late again. Mr. Butthole made me stand in front of the class and apologize. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but through the window in the center of the door, I could see Cole glaring at me. Either glaring was his expression du jour or I was in big trouble.
Only when I slid into my seat did I lose sight of him. What a relief! I’d successfully avoided two confrontations with him. Now to avoid him for the rest of my life. No way could I ever explain what had twice happened in that hallway. Not without bursting into actual flames of embarrassment. No way I could explain why it had happened, or even how.
I didn’t see him on my way to second or third block, and somehow, someway, I managed to keep my vow to Ms. Meyers. Score! When the bell rang to signal it was time for lunch, I kind of expected Frosty and Bronx to be waiting for me. They weren’t. Double score! I kind of expected Cole to fly out of nowhere and try to flag me down, yet he didn’t. Win! I’d already been forgotten, I guess.
After stuffing my book and notes into my locker, I trudged to the cafeteria. Kat would demand an explanation for my behavior this morning, and leading with I was imagining getting freaky with your ex’s friend wasn’t going to fly. She’d ask more questions, and I still had no answers. Well, other than I am seriously screwed up.
Just before I reached the open double doors, Mackenzie stepped into my path. I barely stopped myself from slamming into her.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “Not this time.”
“Do we really need to have another discussion?” I asked on a sigh. I’d only been smart-alecking—yeah, I’d just turned that word into a verb—when I’d told her to find me later.
“Yes. We need to ‘have another discussion,’“ she mimicked in a shrill voice. “I saw Cole chasing you outside the bathroom. You ran from him. Why?” She didn’t even try to hide her fury. “Are you playing hard to get? Because it’s a little late for that. The way I hear it, you can’t keep your eyes off him.”
Heat burned up my throat and scalded my cheeks. Cole had said something to his friends or they had said something on their own. Either way, people had noticed. “Why do you care?” I snapped, going for bravado. “The way I hear it, you’re not dating him anymore.”
A bomb detonated in her eyes, flames crackling. “You have no idea what’s going on between me and Cole.”
“You’re right. And it doesn’t concern me,” I said, no matter that a little part of me might want to know the truth.
Dark lashes fused, hiding those fiery jade-green irises. “Earlier I told you I’d hurt you if you hurt him. That’s still true. But now I’m telling you to stay away from him or I’ll wipe the floor with your face before I do the hurting.”
Okay, that did it. She’d pushed me right over the edge of my patience. “If you want me to cry and promise to do whatever you want, try a more original threat.” A saner, more rational person would have mentioned the fact that Cole and I had never actually spoken a word to each other—and clearly had no plans to do so.
But I wasn’t exactly sane or rational lately.
All about the intimidation, she rose to her tiptoes, putting us nose-to-nose. “I am capable of things you can’t even imagine.”
“Right back at you.”
“That’s brave talk. Let’s see you back it up.”
“Let’s see you back off, Love Button, before you burst a vessel,” a familiar voice said from behind her.
I caught the hint of a scowl before Mackenzie twisted. “Alley Kat. Racing to the rescue of another stray?”
Grinning, Kat strolled to my side. “Yes I am. To your rescue, just so we’re clear. My Ali has skills. The first time I met her, there were people all around her moaning and groaning in pain. True story. Also, I don’t want her suspended after only two days just because she did the entire school a favor and fed you your own teeth. Besides, Cole’s the one you should be chatting with. He practically ate her up with his eyes. In fact, I’m surprised Ali doesn’t have bite marks.”
Mackenzie balled her hands into fists. I stepped in front of Kat, just in case. No one hit my friend and lived to tell the tale. That was my new motto, and one I would forever embrace.
“You’re in trouble now,” Kat sang.
Slowly Mackenzie unfurled her fingers. “You’re not worth it,” she snapped at the brunette.
“Is that so? Well, go ahead, ask Frosty,” I said. “She’s worth anything.”
Laughing, Kat pinky waved at Mackenzie, hooked her arm through mine and spun us both around, and together we sailed to an empty table in back. Even better, Mackenzie was once again left sputtering.
“As you’ve probably figured out, there are only two people in this place who have the lady balls to stand up to her—and I’m one of them, but I had no idea you’d be the other,” Kat said, voice dripping with glee. “I am so glad we met at an undisclosed location over the summer.”
“Me, too.” I noticed all of the cafeteria’s occupants were watching us, silent, even gaping. I rubbed my palms on my thighs, the friction keeping me grounded. Had they overheard our conversation with Mackenzie?
My movements quickened when I spotted Cole. He occupied the same table as yesterday, surrounded by the same friends. We locked gazes for several seconds. I held my breath, expecting a vision. But … one never came.
I don’t know what he had expected—or if he’d expected anything at all; his expression stayed bland, until Mackenzie reached his table and shimmied in next to him. She cupped his jaw, her fingers caressing his cheeks. Frowning, he tugged out of her hold, and the two engaged in a low, angry conversation. At least, I think it was angry. He’d exchanged his frown for a menacing glower. He was massaging the back of his neck, as though to stop himself from strangling the girl.
“And she’s off for another mental vacation,” Kat muttered.
Pull yourself together, Bell. “Sorry,” I replied.
From across the table, Wren said, “After that, you can’t deny you’re interested in Cole.”
Well, great. I’d been so distracted, I’d missed her appearance. The sharpness had left her, at least; today’s expression soft and happy. But … was that a fringed shirt she was wearing?
Reeve and Poppy were beside her, the entire group now surrounding me. They, too, looked to be wearing fringe. Had I somehow started a (horrible) trend?
“No,” I said. “I’m not interested in him.” I was quickly becoming obsessed with him.
“Oh.” Wren’s shoulders drooped as if she were a flower that had been left in a vase without water.
“I thought you said I needed to stay away from him.”
“I changed my mind,” she said brightly, toying with several locks of her hair. “You guys would make an awesome couple. Just awesome.” Now she sounded too bright.
I wasn’t sure how to take that when I knew she considered him the worst kind of trouble.
“Ali, Ali, Ali,” Kat said and tsked under her tongue. “Don’t look so forlorn. You’re making the right decision. Cole once ate a pound of rusty nails and claimed it tasted like unicorn tears mixed with fairy dust. True story. I was there.”
Reeve nodded encouragingly. “I wasn’t there, but I can believe it. I once saw him body slam a teacher for daring to ask him the meaning of X minus Y.”
“He put the guy in the hospital for three months,” Poppy said, tapping a fingernail against her chin. “Or was that a student he body slammed for daring to give an answer different than his?”
“Probably both. He’s body slammed enough people to start a new country. And there could be a neighboring city for the people he’s punched in the throat.” Reeve’s delicate fingers fluttered up to her own throat, as if she were experiencing sympathy pains. Then she added, “The last time he did that was the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen,” and grinned. “Oh, oh.” Clap, clap. “It’s still on YouTube, I think. Give me your number and I’ll text you a link.”
“Maybe Ali will luck out and Cole won’t actually body slam her,” Wren said.
All the other girls burst out laughing, causing Wren’s cheeks to redden.
“She’s the first person he’ll body slam,” Kat said with a snicker. “He’s probably imagined it a thousand times already.”
My own cheeks heating to a lovely shade of red, I made a mental note: Do a search on Cole Holland the moment you get home. Not that I believed even half the things these girls had told me. Still, my curiosity was piqued.
Even though I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d have my phone, I hit the girls with my digits and took theirs. Thing was, my grandparents probably wouldn’t continue to pay the bill. They were very fond of saying: Why do you need a cell phone when we have a perfectly decent landline at home? I knew they’d forked over the money during the summer months because my cell had been the last thing my parents had given me, and I would have freaked out without it.
I had pictures of Emma stored in it, as well as her text messages. Even as young as she’d been, she’d had her own cell, too, because Dad had wanted us connected at all times, just in case. And no, I hadn’t looked at a single photo or read a single text; I just didn’t have the heart. Not yet. One day, though, I would. I hoped.
“Here. Eat this.” Kat handed me half of her PB&J. “If I know my Ali, and I’m pretty sure that I do, you’re going to ignore my excellent advice and make a play for Cole. And if you’re going after someone like him, you need to keep your strength up.”
“I’m not going after him.” I wasn’t that crazy, was I? “But thank you for the sandwich.” I’d forgotten my lunch and scarfed down the sandwich as if it were manna from heaven. “So … are you guys dating anyone?”
“I am,” Wren replied. She sipped her bottled water. “He graduated from here last year, and now goes to UA. I usually see him on weekends. He’s premed, you know, and I plan to be a nurse. Once he graduates, we’ll get married and our lives will be perfect.”
Poppy shrugged. “I keep my options open the first month of school, looking around, shopping really, until I find someone I want. Sadly, there are no leading contenders this year.”
Reeve tossed her side-ponytail over her shoulder. “No one for me.”
“Don’t lie to Ali.” Kat wagged a finger at her. “When she and Cole get married in a beautiful prison ceremony, because we all know that’s where Cole will be, she’ll be able to help your cause.” Bright hazels swung to me, pinning me in place. “She’s been crushing on Bronx for two years.”
Her announcement hit me with the force of, say, a baseball bat. I never would have guessed that one. “But he’s so …”
“Serial killer-esque?” Kat asked with an arched brow.
Well, yeah. But like I really had room to judge. Bronx might give off a serial killer vibe, but I was obsessed with the guy he considered his leader.
“I’ve tried to warn her,” Wren said.
“Many times,” Poppy added with a nod.
Reeve was the third girl to blush. She lifted her chin and said, “Bronx has made it more than clear that he’s not interested in me, so what I feel doesn’t matter.”
As Wren capped her water bottle, she said, “And how many times have I told you that you’re better off?”
“You really are,” Poppy reiterated.
“Besides,” Reeve continued, “I’ve decided to say yes to John Clary and go on a date.”
“John Clary!” Kat, Poppy and Wren said in unison. Then:
“He’s so perfect for you!”
“Such a doll!”
“He can tutor you in math, help you get a good grade!”
I had nothing to offer. I had no idea who John Clary was.
As each of the girls launched a million questions at her, the bell rang to signal it was time to head to class. Poor Reeve. She looked as comfortable as if she were standing naked in front of her history class, giving a report on the Salem witch trials and using her own body as a visual aid for the torture.
I said my goodbyes and stood. When I turned, I bumped into someone. I muttered an apology, my hands flattening on a hard chest as I sought to regain my balance.
Whatever I’d meant to say next died a quick death the moment I realized my hands were on Cole Holland.
My hands were actually on Cole Holland.
I looked up … up … up … and there he was. I inhaled sharply, caught the scent of sandalwood and almost moaned. He smelled just like he had during the … Oh, sweat heaven. Was this a hallucination, too? Here, now? I dug my fingers into his chest. He was solid, warm. Which meant … this was real. This was happening.
A gasp left me, and I tried to jump backward only to bang into the table bench. I couldn’t dart forward. He was too big, caging me.
My stomach started performing stupid backflips, decided that wasn’t enough, and next gave a full-on circus trapeze act.
“Well, well,” Kat said with a little too much glee. The other girls frowned at Cole before scurrying off. “You here to walk Ali and me to class or what, big boy?”
A muscle ticked in Cole’s jaw, a sure sign of sizzling anger, blatant aggression, and—I could have been imagining here—that he hoped to one day be the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.
“Well?” Kat prompted.
“Ali.” His gaze never veered from my face.
One word, and yet his voice … thrilled me. Deep and rich and ragged, as if my name had been pushed through a meat grinder. Why was that so smexy? And how was the voice I heard now the same one I’d heard in my visions?
“Me?” I managed to squeak out. “Why?”
Stupid question. I knew why.
He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, “Let go of Frosty’s leash. You’re choking the life out of him.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. “He deserves to choke. He didn’t keep Little Frost in his pants this summer.” The words snapped like a whip.
“He did,” Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence.
“Not.”
“Did.”
“Not!”
“Did,” he said, calm now despite her growing fervor.
My head would have zinged back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match, but Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I didn’t have the strength to pull away.
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Gena Showalter
First and foremost, I have to thank God. I became very sick after writing the first draft of this book. I couldn’t work for several months; I was simply in too much pain. I began to seek the Lord, and He healed me. During this time, a whole new world for Alice opened up and I saw the places I’d missed. Creating this ‘wonderland’ was challenging but one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
Next I want to thank the students of Marlow High School in Oklahoma for having me over, and Leigh Heldermon, Joyce and Emmet Harrison, Sony Harrison, Vicki Tolbert, Mike Tolbert, and Cathy Hazel for setting everything up. I also want to thank Jayson Brown, Justyn Brown, Autumn Jackson, Cassandra Howard, Allison Collins, and Austin Tinney for staying after and chatting with me. I had a blast!
I have to give a huge shout-out to Lauren Floyd for reading the rough draft and giving me honest feedback. She helped me shape some of the character voices, and I will be forever grateful.
I have to give another huge shout-out to Jill Monroe, Roxanne St Claire, Louisa Edwards, Kristen Painter, and Candace Havens, five amazingly talented and beautifully gorgeous ladies. (Yes, I said beautifully gorgeous.) I attended a writer’s conference with these jewels and it was one of the best weekends of my life. I’ll never forget the food, the conversations, and the love.
I must thank the people in my life—who have to deal with me on a daily basis. Max, Roy Showtime, Torrence Vee Merryweather, Haden Tolbert, Seth Tolbert, Chloe Tolbert, Nate and Meg Hurt, Parks and Finn Quine, Shane and Kemmie Tolbert, Christy James, Auston and Casey Dowling, David and Paula Dowling, Shonna and Kyle Hurt, Michelle and Cody Quine, Matt and Jennifer Showalter, Michael Showalter, Pennye and Terry Edwards, Mark and Cindy Watley, Mom and Dad, and Kresley and Swede Cole. (They are all beautifully gorgeous, too!)
And this dedication would not be complete without mentioning the awesome, the incredible, the truly spectacular Natashya Wilson. Her keen insight never fails to amaze me. She went over this book as many times as I did, and went above and beyond the call of duty. You are heaven sent!
About the Author
GENA SHOWALTER is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author whose teen novels have been featured on MTV and in Seventeen magazine and have been praised as “unputdownable.” Growing up, she always had her nose buried in a book. When it came time to buckle down and get a job, she knew writing was it for her. Gena lives in Oklahoma with her family and three slobbery English bulldogs. Become her friend on MySpace, or a fan on Facebook and visit her at GenaShowalter.com/young-adult.
Books byGena Showalter
available from
The Intertwined Novels
INTERTWINED
UNRAVELLED
TWISTED
The White Rabbit Chronicles
ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND
Coming in 2013
ALICE THROUGH THE ZOMBIE GLASS
Visit www.miraink.co.uk
A NOTE FROM ALICE
Had anyone told me that my entire life would change course between one heartbeat and the next, I would have laughed. From blissful to tragic, innocent to ruined? Please.
But that’s all it took. One heartbeat. A blink, a breath, a second, and everything I knew and loved was gone.
My name is Alice Bell, and on the night of my sixteenth birthday I lost the mother I loved, the sister I adored and the father I never understood until it was too late. Until that heartbeat when my entire world collapsed and a new one took shape around me.
My father was right. Monsters walk among us.
At night, these living dead, these … zombies … rise from their graves, and they crave what they lost. Life. They will feed on you. They will infect you. And then they will kill you. If that happens, you will rise from your grave. It’s an endless cycle, like a mouse running inside a barbed wheel, bleeding and dying as those sharp tips dig ever deeper, with no way to stop the lethal momentum.
These zombies feel no fear, know no pain, but they hunger. Oh, do they hunger. There’s only one way to stop them—but I can’t tell you how. You’ll have to be shown. What I can tell you is that we must fight the zombies to disable them. To fight them, we must get close to them. To get close to them, we must be a little brave and a whole lot crazy.
But you know what? I’d rather the world considered me crazy while I go down fighting than spend the rest of my life hiding from the truth. Zombies are real. They’re out there.
If you aren’t vigilant, they’ll get you, too.
So. Yeah. I should have listened to my father. He warned me over and over again never to go out at night, never to venture into a cemetery and never, under any circumstances, to trust someone who wants you to do either. He should have taken his own advice, because he trusted me—and I convinced him to do both.
I wish I could go back and do a thousand things differently. I’d tell my sister no. I’d never beg my mother to talk to my dad. I’d stop my tears from falling. I’d zip my lips and swallow those hateful words. Or, barring all of that, I’d hug my sister, my mom and my dad one last time. I’d tell them I love them.
I wish … yeah, I wish.
Alice in Zombieland
Gena Showalter
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
1
DOWN THE ZOMBIE HOLE
Six months ago
“Please, Alice. Please.”
I lay sprawled on a blanket in my backyard, weaving a daisy chain for my little sister. The sun shone brightly as puffy white clouds ghosted across an endless expanse of baby blue. As I breathed in the thick honeysuckle and lavender perfume of the Alabama summer, I could make out a few shapes. A long, leggy caterpillar. A butterfly with one of its wings shredded. A fat white rabbit, racing toward a tree.
Eight-year-old Emma danced around me. She wore a glittery pink ballerina costume, her pigtails bouncing with her every movement. She was a miniature version of our mother and the complete opposite of me.
Both possessed a slick fall of dark hair and beautifully uptilted golden eyes. Mom was short, barely over five-three, and I wasn’t sure Em would even make it to five-one. Me? I had wavy white-blond hair, big blue eyes and legs that stretched for miles. At five-ten, I was taller than most of the boys at my school and always stood out—I couldn’t go anywhere without getting a few what-are-you-a-giraffe? stares.
Boys had never shown an interest in me, but I couldn’t count the number of times I had caught one drooling over my mom as she walked by or—gag—heard one whistle as she bent over to pick something up.
“Al-less.” At my side now, Em stomped her slippered foot in a bid for my attention. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Sweetie, we’ve gone over this, like, a thousand times. Your recital might start while it’s sunny out, but it’ll end at dark. You know Dad will never let us leave the house. And Mom agreed to sign you up for the program as long as you swore never to throw a tantrum when you couldn’t make a practice or a, what? Recital.”
She stepped over me and planted those dainty pink slippers at my shoulders, her slight body throwing a large enough shadow to shield my face from the overhead glare. She became all that I could see, shimmering gold pleading down at me. “Today’s your birthday, and I know, I know, I forgot this morning … and this afternoon … but last week I remembered that it was coming up—you remember how I told Mom, right?—and now I’ve remembered again, so doesn’t that count for something? ‘Course it does,” she added before I could say anything. “Daddy has to do whatever you ask. So, if you ask him to let us go, and … and …” so much longing in her tone “… and ask if he’ll come and watch me, too, then he will.”
My birthday. Yeah. My parents had forgotten, too. Again. Unlike Em, they hadn’t remembered—and wouldn’t. Last year, my dad had been a little too busy throwing back shots of single malt and mumbling about monsters only he could see and my mom had been a little too busy cleaning up his mess. As always.
This year, Mom had hidden notes in drawers to remind herself (I’d found them), and as Em had claimed, my baby sis had even hinted before flat out saying, “Hey, Alice’s birthday is coming up and I think she deserves a party!” but I’d woken up this morning to the same old same old. Nothing had changed.
Whatever. I was a year older, finally sweet sixteen, but my life was still the same. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. I’d stopped caring a long time ago.
Em, though, she cared. She wanted what I’d never had: their undivided attention.
“Since today’s my birthday, shouldn’t you be doing something for me?” I asked, hoping to tease her into forgetting about her first ballet performance and the princess role she liked to say she “had been born to perform.”
She fisted her hands on her hips, all innocence and indignation and, well, my favorite thing in the entire world. “Hello! Letting you do this for me is my gift to you.”
I tried not to grin. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, because I know you want to watch me so badly you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”
Brat. But like I could really argue with her logic. I did want to watch her.
I remember the night Emma was born. A wild mix of fear and elation had seared the memory into my mind. Just like my parents had done with me, they had opted to use a midwife who made house calls so that, when the big moment arrived, Mom wouldn’t have to leave home.
But even that plan had failed.
The sun had already set by the time her contractions started and my dad had refused to open the door to the midwife, too afraid a monster would follow her in.
So, Dad had delivered Emma while my mom nearly screamed us all to death. I had hidden under my covers, crying and shaking because I’d been so afraid.
When everything had finally quieted, I’d snuck into their bedroom to make sure everyone had survived. Dad bustled about while Mom lounged on the bed. Tentative steps had taken me to the edge, and, to be honest, I’d gasped in horror. Baby Emma had not been attractive. She’d been red and wrinkly, with the most hideous dark hair on her ears. (I’m happy to say the hair has since been shed.) Mom had been all smiles as she waved me over to hold my “new best friend.”
I’d settled beside her, pillows fluffing behind me, and she’d placed the wiggly bundle in my arms. Eyes so beautiful only God Himself could have created them had peered up at me, rosy lips puckering and tiny fists waving.
“What should we name her?” Mom had asked.
When short, chubby fingers had wrapped around one of mine, skin soft and warm, I’d decided that hair on the ears wasn’t such a terrible thing, after all. “Lily,” I’d replied. “We should name her Lily.” I had a book all about flowers, and the lilies were my favorites.
My mom’s soft chuckle had washed over me. “I like that. How about Emmaline Lily Bell, since Nana’s real name is Emmaline and it’d be nice to honor my mother the way we honored your dad’s when you were born. We can call our little miracle Emma for short, and the three of us will share a wonderful secret. You’re my Alice Rose and she’s my Emma Lily, and together the two of you are my perfect bouquet.”
I hadn’t needed time to think about that. “Okay. Deal!”
Emma had gurgled, and I’d taken that as approval.
“Alice Rose,” Emma said now. “You’re lost in your head again, when I’ve never needed you more.”
“All right, fine,” I said on a sigh. I just couldn’t deny her. Never had, never would. “I’m not talking to Dad, though. I’m talking to Mom and making her talk to him.”
The first sparkle of hope ignited. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
A brilliant smile bloomed, and her bouncing started up again. “Please, Alice. You gotta talk to her now. I don’t want to be late, and if Dad agrees we’ll need to leave soon so I can warm up on stage with the other girls. Please. Nooow.”
I sat up and placed the daisies around her neck. “You know the likelihood of success is pretty low, right?”
A cardinal rule in the Bell household: you did not leave the house if you couldn’t return before dark. Here, Dad had worked up “reinforcements” against the monsters, ensuring none of them could get in. After dark, well, you stayed put. Anyone out in the big bad world was without any type of protection and considered open season.
My father’s paranoia and delusion had caused me to miss numerous school activities and countless sporting events. I’d never even been on a date. Yes, I could have gone on a weekend lunch date and other craptasticly lame things like that, but honestly? I had no desire for a boyfriend. I never wanted to have to explain that my dad was certifiable, or that he sometimes locked us in the “special” basement he’d built as added protection from a boogeyman that did not exist. Yeah, just peachy.
Em threw her arms around me. “You can do it, I know you can. You can do anything!”
Her faith in me … so humbling. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is—Oh, ick!” Face scrunched with horror, she jumped as far away from me as she could get. “You’re all gross and wet, and you made me all gross and wet.”
Laughing, I lunged for her. She squealed and darted off. I’d run the hose over myself about half an hour ago, hoping to cool down. Not that I’d tell her. The fun of sibling torture, and all that.
“Stay out here, okay?” Mom would say something that would hurt her feelings, and I’d say something to make her feel bad for asking me to do this, and she’d cry. I hated when she cried.
“Sure, sure,” she said, palms up in a gesture of innocence.
Like I was buying that hasty assurance. She planned to follow me and listen, no question. Girl was devious like that. “Promise me.”
“I can’t believe you’d doubt me.” A delicate hand fluttered over her heart. “That hurts, Alice. That really hurts.”
“First, major congrats. Your acting has improved tremendously,” I said with a round of applause. “Second, say the words or I’ll return to working on a tan I’ll never achieve.”
Grinning, she rose on her toes, stretched out her arms and slowly spun on one leg. The sun chose that moment to toss out an amber ray, creating the perfect spotlight for her perfect pirouette. “Okay, okay. I promise. Happy now?”
“Sublimely.” She might be devious, but she never broke a promise.
“Watch me pretend I know what that means.”
“It means—oh, never mind.” I was stalling, and I knew it. “I’m going.”
With all the enthusiasm of a firing squad candidate, I stood and turned toward our house, a two-story my dad had built in the prime of his construction days, with brown brick on the bottom and brown-and-white-striped wood on the top. Kind of boxy, amazingly average and absolutely, one hundred percent forgettable. But then, that’s what he’d been going for, he’d said.
My flip-flops clapped against the ground, creating a mantra inside my head. Don’t. Fail. Don’t. Fail. Finally I stood at the glass doors that led to our kitchen and spotted my mom, bustling from the sink to the stove and back again. I watched her, a bit sick to my stomach.
Don’t be a wuss. You can do this.
I pushed my way inside. Garlic, butter and tomato paste scented the air. “Hey,” I said, and hoped I hadn’t cringed.
Mom glanced up from the steaming strainer of noodles and smiled. “Hey, baby. Coming in for good, or just taking a break?”
“Break.” The forced incarceration at night drove me to spend as much time as possible outside during daylight hours, whether I burned to lobster-red or not.
“Well, your timing’s great. The spaghetti’s almost done.”
“Yeah, okay, good.” During the summer months, we ate dinner at five sharp. Winter, we switched it up to four. That way, no matter the season, we could be in our rooms and safe before sunset.
The walls were reinforced with some kind of steel, and the doors and locks were impenetrable. And yes, those things made our futuristic dungeon known as “the basement” overkill, but you try reasoning with a crazy person.
Just do it. Just say it. “So, um, yeah.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “Today’s my birthday.”
Her jaw dropped, her cheeks bleaching of color. “Oh … baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean … I should have remembered … I even made myself notes. Happy birthday,” she finished lamely. She looked around, as if hoping a present would somehow appear via the force of her will. “I feel terrible.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll do something to make this up to you, I swear.”
And so the negotiations have begun. I squared my shoulders. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course.”
“Good, because Em has a recital tonight and I want to go.”
Though my mom radiated sadness, she was shaking her head even before I finished. “You know your dad will never agree.”
“So talk to him. Convince him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” A croak.
I loved this woman, I truly did, but, oh, she could frustrate me like no one else. “Because why?” I insisted. Even if she cried, I wasn’t dropping this. Better her tears than Em’s.
Mom pivoted, as graceful as Emma as she carried the strainer to the pot and dumped the contents inside. Steam rose and wafted around her, and for a moment, she looked as if she were part of a dream. “Emma knows the rules. She’ll understand.”
The way I’d had to understand, time and time again before I’d just given up? Anger sparked. “Why do you do this? Why do you always agree with him when you know he’s off-the-charts insane?”
“He’s not—”
“He is!” Like Em, I stomped my foot.
“Quiet,” she said, her tone admonishing. “He’s upstairs.”
Yeah, and I’d bet he was already drunk.
She added, “We’ve talked about this, honey. I believe your dad sees something the rest of us can’t. But before you cast stones at him or me, take a look at the Bible. Once upon a time our Lord and Savior was persecuted. Tons of people doubted Jesus.”
“Dad isn’t Jesus!” He rarely even went to church with us.
“I know, and that’s not what I’m saying. I believe there are forces at work all around us. Forces for good and forces for evil.”
I couldn’t get involved in another good/evil debate with her. I just couldn’t. I believed in God, and I believed there were angels and demons out there, but we never had to deal with the evil stuff, did we? “I wish you would divorce him,” I muttered, then bit my tongue in regret—but even still, I refused to apologize.
She worked from home seven days a week as a medical transcriptionist, and was always type, type, typing away at her computer. On weekends, like this fine Saturday evening, she acted like my dad’s nursemaid, too, cleaning him up, fetching and carrying for him. She deserved so much more. She was young, for a mom, and so dang pretty. She was softhearted and funny and deserved some pampering of her own.
“Most kids want their parents to stay together,” she said, a sharp edge to her voice.
“I’m not like most kids. You guys made sure of that.” There was an even sharper edge to my voice.
I just … I wanted what other kids had. A normal life.
In a snap, the anger drained from her and she sighed. “Alice, honey, I know this is hard. I know you want more for yourself, and one day you’ll have it. You’ll graduate, get a job, move out, go to college, fall in love, travel, do whatever your heart desires. As for now, this is your father’s house and he makes the rules. You will follow those rules and respect his authority.”
Straight out of the Parent’s Official Handbook, right under the heading: What to say when you don’t have a real answer for your kid.
“And maybe,” she added, “when you’re in charge of your own household, you’ll realize your dad did the things he did to protect us. He loves us, and our safety is the most important thing to him. Don’t hate him for that.”
I should have known. The good and evil speech always circled around to love and hate. “Have you ever seen one of his monsters?” I asked.
A pause. A nervous laugh. “I have refused to answer that question the other thousand times you asked, so what makes you think I’ll answer it today?”
“Consider it a late birthday present, since you won’t give me what I really want.” That was a low blow, and I knew it. But again, I refused to apologize.
She flinched. “I don’t like to discuss these things with you girls because I don’t want to scare you further.”
“We aren’t scared now,” I lashed out. “You are!” Calm down. Deep breath in … out … I had to do this rationally. If I freaked, she’d send me to my room and that would be that. “Over the years, you should have seen at least one monster. I mean, you spend the most time with Dad. You’re with him at night, when he patrols the house with a gun.”
The only time I’d dared venture into the hall after midnight, hoping to get a glass of water since I’d forgotten to bring one to my room, that’s what I’d seen. My dad clutching a pistol, marching this way and that, stopping to peer out each and every window.
I’d been thirteen at the time, and I’d almost died of a heart attack. Or maybe embarrassment, since I’d come pretty close to peeing myself.
“Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you. No, I haven’t seen them,” she said, not really shocking me. “But I have seen the destruction they cause. And before you ask me how I know they were the ones to cause the destruction, let me add that I’ve seen things that can’t be explained any other way.”
“Like what?” I peeked over my shoulder. Em had moved to the swing set and was now rocking back and forth, but she hadn’t dropped me from the crosshairs of her hawk eyes.
“That, I still won’t tell you,” Mom said. “There are some things you’re better off not knowing, no matter what you say. You’re just not ready. Babies can handle milk, but they can’t handle meat.”
I wasn’t a baby, blah, blah, blah, whatever. Worry had contorted Emma’s features. I forced myself to smile, and she immediately brightened as if this was now a done deal. As if I hadn’t failed her in this regard a million times before.
Like the time she’d wanted to attend the art exhibit at her school, where her papier-mâché globe had been on display. Like the time her Girl Scout troop had gone camping. Like the hundred times her friend Jenny had called and asked if she could stay the night. Finally, Jenny had stopped calling.
Pressure building … can’t fail this time …
I faced my mother. She still had her back to me and hadn’t abandoned the stove. In fact, she was forking the noodles one at a time, testing their flexibility as if the chore was the most important thing ever. We’d done this same dance before. She was an avoider, and she’d just hit her stride.
“Forget the monsters and what you have and haven’t seen. Today’s my birthday, and all I want is for us to go to my sister’s ballet recital like a normal family. That’s it. That’s all. I’m not asking for the world. But if you don’t have the guts, fine. If Dad doesn’t, whatever. I’ll call one of my friends from school and we’ll go without you.” The drive into the city was at least half an hour, so there was no way we could walk. “And you know what? If you make me go that route, you’ll break Em’s heart and I will never forgive you.”
She sucked in a breath, stiffened. I’d probably just shocked the crap out of her. I was the calm one in the family. I hardly ever lashed out, rarely went mental. For the most part, I accepted and I rolled.
“Alice,” she said, and I gritted my teeth.
Here it comes. The refusal. Tears of crushing devastation burned my eyes, splashed onto my cheeks. I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand. “Forget about my lack of forgiveness. I will hate you for this.”
She glanced back at me, sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”
All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.
She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.
Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.
Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.
Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!
“We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”
Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.
In a way, I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”
As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.
Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”
My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.
“Come on,” he snapped now.
My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”
“I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”
My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.
“Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.
I threw her a glance over my shoulder. She had paled, those golden eyes too old and knowledgeable for her angel face. “Yeah.”
“What’s the damage?”
“Nothing too bad. You’ll still be able to venture into public without shame.”
“Then I consider this a win.”
Me, too.
People swarmed and buzzed in the lobby like bees, half of them lingering, half of them working their way to the doors. That’s where I found my dad. He’d stopped at the glass, his gaze panning the parking lot. Halogens were placed throughout, lighting the way to our Tahoe, which my mom had parked illegally in the closest handicapped space for an easy in, easy out. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, and his hair now stood on end, as if he’d scrambled his fingers through the strands one too many times.
Mom was still trying to soothe him. Thank goodness she’d managed to disarm him before we’d left the house. Usually he carried guns, knives and throwing stars whenever he dared to venture out.
The moment I reached him, he turned and gripped me by the forearms, shaking me. “You see anything in the shadows, anything at all, you pick up your sister and run. Do you hear me? Pick her up and run back inside. Lock the doors, hide and call for help.” His eyes were an electric blue, wild, his pupils pulsing over his irises.
The guilt, well, it stopped flickering and kicked into a hard-core blaze. “I will,” I promised, and patted both of his hands. “Don’t worry about us. You taught me how to protect myself. Remember? I’ll keep Em safe. No matter what.”
“Okay,” he said, but he looked far from satisfied. “Okay, then.”
I’d spoken the truth. I didn’t know how many hours I’d logged in the backyard with him, learning how to stop an attacker. Sure, those lessons had been all about protecting my vital organs from becoming some mindless being’s dinner, but self-defense was self-defense, right?
Somehow my mom convinced him to release me and brave the terrifying outdoors. All the while people shot us weird looks that I tried to ignore. We walked together, as a family, our feet flying one in front of the other. Mom and Dad were in front, with me and Em a few steps behind them, holding hands as the crickets sang and provided us with an eerie soundtrack.
I glanced around, trying to see the world as my dad must. I saw a long stretch of black tar—camouflage? I saw a sea of cars—places to hide? I saw the forest beyond, rising from the hills—a breeding ground for nightmares?
Above, I saw the moon, high and full and beautifully transparent. Clouds still puffed through the sky, orange now and kind of creepy. And was that … surely not … but I blinked, slowed my pace. Yep. It was. The cloud shaped like a rabbit had followed me. Fancy that.
“Look at the clouds,” I said. “Notice anything cool?”
A pause, then, “A … rabbit?”
“Exactly. I saw him this morning. He must think we’re pretty awesome.”
“Because we are, duh.”
My dad realized we’d lagged behind, sprinted the distance between us, grabbed on to my wrist and jerked me faster … faster still … while I maintained my grip on Emma and jerked her along. I’d rather dislocate her shoulder than leave her behind, even for a second. Dad loved us, but part of me feared he’d drive off without us if he thought it necessary.
He opened the car door and practically tossed me in like a football. Emma was next, and we shared a moment of silent communication after we settled.
Fun times, I mouthed.
Happy birthday to you, she mouthed back.
The instant my dad was in the passenger seat he threw the locks. He was shaking too hard to buckle his belt, and finally gave up. “Don’t drive by the cemetery,” he told Mom, “but get us home as fast as you can.”
We’d avoided the cemetery on the way here, too—despite the daylight—adding unnecessary time to an already lengthy drive.
“I will. No worries.” The Tahoe roared to life, and Mom yanked the shifter into Reverse.
“Dad,” I said, my voice as reasonable as I could make it. “If we take the long way, we’ll be snailing it along construction.” We lived just outside big, beautiful Birmingham and traffic could be a nasty monster on its own. “That’ll add at least half an hour to our trip. You don’t want us to stay in the dark, at a standstill, for that long, do you?” He’d work himself into such a panic we’d all be clawing at the doors to escape.
“Honey?” Mom asked. The car eased to the edge of the lot, where she had to go left or right. If she went left, we’d never make it home. Seriously. If I had to listen to my dad for more than thirty minutes, I’d jump out the window and as an act of mercy I’d take Emma with me. If Mom went right, we’d have a short ride, a short anxiety attack to deal with, but a quick recovery. “I’ll drive so fast you won’t even be able to see the cemetery.”
“No. Too risky.”
“Please, Daddy,” I said, not above manipulation. As I’d already proved. “For me. On my birthday. I won’t ask for anything else, I promise, even though you guys forgot the last one and I never got a present.”
“I … I …” His gaze shifted continually, scanning the nearby trees for movement.
“Please. Em needs to be tucked into bed, like, soon, or she’ll morph into Lily of the Valley of Thorns.” As we’d long ago dubbed her. My sis got tired, and she left carnage in her wake.
Lips pursed, Em slapped my arm. I shrugged, the universal sign for well, it’s true.
Dad pushed out a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay. Just … break the sound barrier, babe,” he said, kissing my mom’s hand.
“I will. You have my word.”
My parents shared a soft smile. I felt like a voyeur for noticing; used to be, they’d enjoyed these kinds of moments all the time, but the smiles had become less and less frequent over the years.
“All right, here we go.” Mom swung the vehicle right, and to my utter astonishment, she really did try to break the sound barrier, weaving in and out of lanes, honking at the slower cars, riding bumpers.
I was impressed. The few driving lessons she’d given me, she’d been a nervous wreck, which had turned me into a nervous wreck. We hadn’t gone far or cranked the speed above twenty-five, even outside our neighborhood.
She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and I watched the clock on my phone. The minutes ticked by, until we’d gone ten without a single incident. Only twenty more to go.
Dad kept his nose pressed to the window, his frantic breaths leaving puffs of mist on the glass. Maybe he was enjoying the mountains, valleys and lush green trees highlighted by the streetlamps, rather than searching for monsters.
Yeah. Right.
“So how’d I do?” Emma whispered in my direction.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You were amazing.”
Her dark brows knit together, and I knew what was coming next. Suspicion. “You swear?”
“Swear. You rocked the house hard-core. In comparison, the other girls sucked.”
She covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.
I couldn’t help but add, “The boy who twirled you around? I think he was considering pushing you off the stage, just so people would finally look at him. Honestly, every eye was riveted on you.”
The giggle bubbled out this time, unstoppable. “So what you’re saying is, when I tripped over my own feet, everyone noticed.”
“Trip? What trip? You mean that wasn’t part of the routine?”
She gave me a high five. “Good answer.”
“Honey,” Mom said, apprehension straining her voice. “Find some music for us to listen to, okay?”
Uh-oh. She must want him distracted.
I leaned over and glanced out the front windshield. Sure enough. We were approaching the cemetery. At least there were no other cars around, so no one would witness my dad’s oncoming breakdown. And he would have one. I could feel the tension thickening the air.
“No music,” he said. “I need to concentrate, remain on alert. I have to—” He stiffened, gripped the armrests on his seat until his knuckles whitened.
A moment of silence passed, such thick, heavy silence.
His panting breaths emerged faster and faster—until he roared so piercingly I cringed. “They’re out there! They’re going to attack us!” He grabbed the wheel and yanked. “Don’t you see them? We’re headed right for them. Turn around! You have to turn around.”
The Tahoe swerved, hard, and Emma screamed. I grabbed her hand, gave her another squeeze, but I refused to let go. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat beading over my skin. I’d promised to protect her tonight, and I would.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.
Her tremors were so violent they even shook me.
“Honey, listen to me,” Mom soothed. “We’re safe in the car. No one can hurt us. We have to—”
“No! If we don’t turn around they’ll follow us home!” My dad was thoroughly freaked, and nothing Mom said had registered. “We have to turn around.” He made another play for the wheel, gave another, harder yank, and this time, we didn’t just swerve, we spun.
Round and round, round and round. My grip on Emma tightened.
“Alice,” she cried.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted. The world was whizzing, blurring … the car teetering … my dad shouting a curse … my mom gasping … the car tilting … tilting …
FREEZE FRAME.
I remember when Em and I used to play that game. We’d crank the volume of our iPod dock—loud, pounding rock—and boogie like we were having seizures. One of us would shout freeze frame and we’d instantly stop moving, totally frozen, trying not to laugh, until one of us yelled the magic word to shoot us back into motion. Dance.
I wish I could have shouted freeze frame in just that moment and rearranged the scenery, the players. But life isn’t a game, is it?
DANCE.
We went airborne, flipping over, crashing into the road upside down, then flipping over again. The sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and pained screams filled my ears. I was thrown back and forth in my seat, my brain becoming a cherry slushie in my head as different impacts jarred me and stole my breath.
When we finally landed, I was so dazed, so fogged, I felt like I was still in motion. The screams had stopped, at least. All I heard was a slight ringing in my ears.
“Mom? Dad?” A pause. No response. “Em?” Again, nothing.
I frowned, looked around. My eyesight was hazy, something warm and wet in my lashes, but I could see well enough.
And what I saw utterly destroyed me.
I screamed. My mom was slashed to ribbons, her body covered in blood. Emma was slumped over in her seat, her head at an odd angle, her cheek split open. No. No, no, no.
“Dad, help me. We have to get them out!”
Silence.
“Dad?” I searched—and realized he was no longer in the car. The front windshield was gone, and he was lying motionless on the pieces a few yards away. There were three men standing over his body, the car’s headlights illuminating them.
No, they weren’t men, I realized. They couldn’t be. They had sagging pockmarked skin and dirty, ripped clothing. Their hair hung in clumps on their spotted scalps, and their teeth … so sharp as they … as they … fell upon my dad and disappeared inside him, only to reappear a second later and … and … eat him.
Monsters.
I fought for my freedom, desperate to drag Em to safety— Em, who hadn’t moved and wasn’t crying—desperate to get to my dad, to help him. In the process, I banged my head against something hard and sharp. A horrible pain ravaged me, but still I fought, even as my strength waned … my eyesight dimmed …
Then it was night-night for Alice, and I knew nothing more.
At least, for a little while …
2
THE POOL OF BLOOD AND TEARS
They were dead. My family was dead. Gone. I knew it when I woke up in a hospital bed, and the nurse standing over me wouldn’t meet my gaze or tell me where they were.
When the doctor came to spill the news, I just shifted to my side and closed my eyes. This was a dream. This was a horrible dream, and I would wake up. Everything would be okay when I woke up.
I never woke up.
Turns out, the car wreck that killed my mom, my dad and my … my … I couldn’t think about her. I just couldn’t. So. Rephrase. The car wreck that killed my family had caused minimal damage to me. A concussion, a few cracked ribs, but that was it. And that just seemed so wrong, you know? I should have been slashed to ribbons, like my mother. I should have needed a total body cast. Something.
Instead, despite some minor aches and pains, I really was fine.
Fine. Yeah.
My grandparents from my mother’s side visited several times, crying for the family they’d lost. I’d seen them two weeks before, when my mom had taken me and my—My chin trembled, but I ground my teeth together to stop it. When she’d taken us to visit. We’d stayed only a few hours, though, just long enough to have lunch and a light, fun conversation.
Though Nana and Pops liked me and had always treated me well, I’d never been the favorite; I think I reminded them too much of my father, who had never been good enough for their only baby.
Still, they weren’t going to abandon me in my time of need, they said. I would move in with them, and they would see to everything.
So, I would now be living in a two-story just as unremarkable as my own had been, but one that was mostly unfamiliar to me. One my dad had not built—one that was not reinforced for my protection. But that was no big deal. I’d never even stayed the night with a friend, never slept in any bed but my own. But yeah, no big deal.
I should care, wanted to care, but I was tapped out … empty … nothing but a shell.
The doctors and nurses threw out a thousand I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Words like fine. Such meaningless words. They were sorry? So what. That did nothing to bring my family back. I would be okay? Please. I’d never be okay again.
What did they know about losing the only people they loved, anyway? What did they know about being alone? When their shifts ended, they would go home. They would hug their kids, share a meal and talk about their days. Me? I would never again enjoy something as simple as that.
I had no mother.
I had no father.
I had no sis … family.
Heck, I think I was even without my sanity. Those monsters …
Cops came by, and so did a social worker and a therapist. They all wanted to know what had happened. The cops, especially, were interested in knowing if a pack of wild dogs had attacked my parents.
Wild dogs. I’d seen no wild dogs, but that made a whole lot more sense than what I had seen.
I said nothing, though. We’d flipped and we’d crashed. The authorities knew that much, and that was all they needed to know. I would never mention the monsters; there was no reason to. The concussion was responsible for that little gem of a hallucination, surely.
I would never mention the fact that my mom had been in the car with me when I first opened my eyes after passing out. But the next time I’d opened them? Her body had been outside the car, the headlights spotlighting her just as they’d spotlighted my dad, her body jerking and writhing as the things dove inside her, disappearing for endless seconds before coming back up for air. Her skin had bubbled up, as if burned and turned black, before finally splitting open and welling with blood.
Though I’d tried with all my strength, I hadn’t been able to free myself and save her. My belt had been fused to my seat, locking me in place. And when the monsters had next focused on me, evil eyes piercing me, taking one step, two, toward the car, I’d panicked, desperate to protect my … other family member.
Before either of us could be taken—by the wild dogs, I told myself now—another car had come by, spotted us and sent the beasts running. Though running wasn’t the best word. Some had seemed to trip, some had seemed to glide. I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes. Bright lights shining in my eyes. Sounds, like metal grinding against metal, and men shouting at each other. Then a pair of strong hands lifting me, something sharp poking at my arm, something being fitted over my nose. After that, nothing.
“Hey. You’re Alice, right?”
I blinked out of the hated memory fog and turned my head toward the room’s only door. A pretty girl, probably my age, stepped inside. She had straight dark hair, large hazel eyes framed by spiky black lashes, and skin the perfect shade of sun-kissed. She rocked a long-sleeved pink T-shirt that read I’m With Genius with an arrow pointing up, and a micromini that barely wrapped around her waist. Actually, bathing-suit bottom might have been a better description.
Needless to say, my ugly paper-thin gown with uneven ties did not compare.
“I’m Ali,” I said. They were the first words I’d uttered in what seemed forever. My throat was raw, my voice hoarse. I just couldn’t let her call me Alice again. The last person who had was … never mind. I just couldn’t let her. “I’m Ali,” I repeated.
“Cool. I’m Kathryn, but everyone calls me Kat. And do not make any cat jokes or I’ll have to hurt you. With my claws.” She waved the long, blunt tips of her fingers at me. “Truth is, I stopped speaking meow a long time ago.”
Speaking meow? “I’m guessing calling you Pretty Kitty is out.” I don’t know where my burst of humor sprang from, but I wasn’t gonna fight it. All of my energy was needed fighting everything else. “But what about Mad Dog?”
Her lips twitched into the semblance of a grin. “Har, har. But now I’ll be disappointed if you don’t call me Mad Dog.” She shifted back on her heels, the movement graceful, fluid. “So, uh, yeah. About my visit. Let’s get the info exchange out of the way first. My mom works here, and she brought me with her today. She said you could really use a friend, or something equally tragic like that.”
“I’m fine,” I rushed out. There was that stupid word again. Fine.
“I know, right? That’s what I told her.” Kat sauntered over, pulled the only chair in the room next to my bed and plopped down. “Besides, people don’t open up to strangers. That’d just be weird. But she’s my mom, and you’re clearly in need of a shoulder to cry on, so what was I supposed to say? No? Even I’m not that cruel.”
Her pity wasn’t something I’d accept. “You can tell your mom I was rude and kicked you out.”
“Also,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “life’s way too short to wallow in sorrow, I know. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced, I’m stellar company. Oh, oh. And guess what? There’s an opening in my Fave Five—not those old lame phone commercials, but my actual inner circle—and I’m actively looking to fill the top spot. We’ll just consider this your interview.”
Somehow, her little speech caused that flicker of good humor to stir back to life. I couldn’t help but say, “Your top spot is a job, then?”
“Of course.” She fluffed her hair. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m very high maintenance.”
“Uh, I think low maintenance is what’s desirable.”
“Low maintenance is what’s forgettable. You might want to write that down, underline it, circle it and put a star by it. It’s golden.” With barely a breath, she added, “Now let’s find out if we’re compatible, shall we?”
O-kay. We were gonna do this thing, then. We were gonna go all the way. See Alice pretend everything is beyond peachy. “Sure. We shall.”
“So … you lost everyone, huh?” she asked.
Talk about kicking things off with a bang. But at least she hadn’t offered platitudes or tiptoed around the subject. Maybe that’s why I responded to her with a croaked “Yeah.” It was more than I’d offered anyone else.
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna eat that?” She pointed to the vanilla pudding someone had brought me earlier.
“Nope.”
“Awesome. I’m starved.” With a wide, white grin, she confiscated the pudding and the spoon and settled back in her chair. One taste left her moaning with satisfaction. “So check this out and tell me if you agree.”
“Uh, okay.” I had a feeling I’d be uttering “uh” many more times before this conversation ended. Even sitting there, she was like a whirlwind of energy I had no idea how to contain.
After another bite of the pudding, she said, “Here goes. See, my boyfriend and I decided to stay together for the summer, you know, even though he had to go visit some family in nowhereville. At least, that’s what he told me. Anyway, everything was fine at first, because you know, we talked every night, and then boom, he just stopped calling. So I called and texted him like the good girlfriend I am, and it wasn’t stalkerish, I swear, because I stopped after, like, the thirtieth time. A week goes by before he finally hits me back, and he was totally drunk and all, hey, baby, I miss you and what are you wearing, like no time had passed, and I was all, you so do not deserve to know.”
Silence.
She watched me, expectant, as she took another bite of pudding. I was tempted to search the room to make sure she’d directed the information overload at me. The few friends I’d made over the years had shared stories about their lives and their boyfriends, of course, but none had ever done so at minute one or with such a flare for detail.
“Well?” Kat prompted.
Oh, right. This must be the part where I render my verdict. Agree or disagree. “I … agree?”
“Exactly! And get this. He called me by the wrong name. Not during sex or anything like that, because if that had been the case, I would have killed him, and he would have been too busy being dead to try and explain, but on the phone, during our last conversation.”
Took me a minute of mind-mapping to wade through everything she’d said and find the X that marked the spot. “That sucks?” I’d meant to make a statement, but again I ended up asking a question.
“I knew you’d get me! It’s like we were separated at birth. So, anyway, he and I had just hung up—well, I’d hung up on him, a real nice slam I’m still patting myself on the back for delivering—and my phone rings again, and he’s all, hey Rina. I’m like, Rina? What are you doing calling Rina? He stumbles around for a lie, but I knew. He’s a dirty man-whore cheating he-slut and I’m done with him.”
“Good.” Well, well. What do you know? I was capable of making a statement. “Cheaters are scum.”
“Worse than scum. When school starts back up, I’m throwing down with that boy, and not in a good way. He promised to love me and only me forever and ever and even after forever ended, and he needs to pay for lying. Rina can just suck it raw and hopefully die of some terrible disease. She doesn’t deserve my precious time.”
School. Ugh. Here was another aspect of my life that would change. “Where do you go?”
“Asher High. You know, best school ever.”
“My parents went there.” Ugh again. Why’d I have to bring them up? I fisted the sheet, wishing I could snatch the words back. I could pretend to be normal, but only if the discussion stayed away from everything personal.
“How about you?” she asked, not pursuing my slipup.
Good, that was good. “Carver Academy.” Not anymore, though. My grandparents lived in … the Asher High district, I realized. Guess I’d be seeing a lot more of Kat after summer break. I opened my mouth to tell her, but just as quickly closed it. No reason to light that particular fire.
“An Astro Jet, huh?” she said. “We kicked your butt last year on the field and the court. Go Tigers! I’m sure you cried about it, so here’s your warning for this year. You’re gonna lose again, and you’re gonna cry again. Sorry. The sooner you get used to the idea, the faster you’ll heal.” She finished off the pudding and claimed my cup of water, tossing my straw aside and drinking from the rim. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
One dark brow arched, and lips that were coated with a clear, glittery gloss pursed. “Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Not about the girlfriend, though that would have been cool because you would have been my first lesbian friend and I would never have to worry about you stealing my man like that hobag Rina, but about the boyfriend. You could have set me up with one of his friends and I could have texted my ex pictures of our fake, steaming-hot love affair. So, hey, do you want me to steal a wheelchair and spring you? We can head down to the cafeteria and grab a burger. They aren’t the best, but after my pudding appetizer, I really need a meal. And, just for future reference, hunger makes me mental.”
Leave the room? Enter the world? “No, thanks.” I settled more firmly against my mound of pillows, forced a yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”
She held up her hands, palms out in innocence and understanding, reminding me of—no one—and stood. “Say no more. I feel you. I’ll take off and let you rest.” A few steps brought her to the door, where she paused to look back at me. “You know, I think I’m gonna like you, Ali Bell. I’ll need a few more visits to help me decide for sure, but yeah, I think we’ll be tight and you’ll soar to the top of my Five.” And then she was gone.
As it turned out, I stayed at the hospital only one more night. I didn’t see Kat for the rest of the summer, which was probably for the best. She was a nice girl, and I was bad company, and if she’d spent any more time with me she might have changed her mind about my acceptability. “Tight” would have become “please, please, please, never come near me again.” I doubted I would have even made her Fave Fifty.
Can you tell I was a depressed, neurotic mess?
To my consternation, my grandparents saw right through my “I’ll be okay” murmurs and spent hours, days, weeks, trying to cheer me up. They were wonderful people, they really were, but I know I frustrated them.
I should be crying, they said. I’d feel better. What I couldn’t bring myself to tell them was that my tears were on lockdown.
Every day I could feel the burn of them behind my eyes, but the droplets never formed, never fell. And to be honest, the lack didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to cry. Deep down I had accepted the fact that I deserved to suffer … to seethe on the inside.
Actually, I deserved worse.
When the day of the funeral dawned, I stunned everyone, including myself, by asking to skip it. I just … I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing where my family would spend the rest of eternity, rotting for years before disappearing altogether. And even though that would have counted as the “worse,” I still wanted to remember them as they’d been: alive and vibrant. But of course, my grandparents denied my request.
On the drive over, I sat in the backseat of their sedan. Today they were dressed in head-to-toe black, as was I. They’d bought me a fancy new dress. I really wish they hadn’t gone to the trouble or the expense. I would have rather worn a potato sack. This was a terrible day, and I would have liked my clothing to reflect that.
Anyway. I didn’t want to think about me. Nana had styled her shoulder-length brown hair into a loose bob that hid the paleness of her cheeks. She clutched a tissue in her shaky fist and continually dabbed at her watery eyes. She’d lost family, too, I reminded myself. I wasn’t the only one suffering. I should try to help her with her loss, should act the way she wanted me to act, but … I just couldn’t.
“Do you want to say a few words honoring the, uh, deceased?” Pops asked after clearing his throat. His graying hair had receded so much at the sides that he had a major widow’s peak. The rest was thinning and yes, he sported a cringe-worthy comb-over. How my mom had loved to tease him about that. “Ali?”
I didn’t need to think about my reply. “No, thank you.”
Nana twisted to face me. Her eyelids were puffed, the skin underneath splotched with red and her makeup streaked. I had to look away. Those golden eyes were too familiar, the pain inside them too … reflective.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I know your mother would have wanted—”
“I’m sure,” I rushed out. Just the thought of standing in front of everyone and sharing my favorite memories caused a cold sweat to break out on my skin. No way. Just no way.
Her tone gentled as she said, “This is your chance to say goodbye, Alice.”
Gonna be sick. “Call me Ali. Please. And I … I can’t say goodbye.” I wasn’t ever going to say goodbye. Part of me still clung to the idea that there was a chance I’d wake up and discover all of this was simply a bad dream.
A weary sigh left her, and she returned her attention to the front. “All right. I don’t think what you’re doing is healthy, but all right.”
“Thank you,” I said, relief causing me to wilt against my seat belt.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, only the occasional sniffle to be heard. What I would have given for my iPod. I’d play Skillet or Red and pretend I was dancing with—myself. But I hadn’t gone home to pack my things. I hadn’t wanted to go home. Nana had done that for me, and technophobe that she was, she’d probably had no idea what that little Nano could do.
At last we reached our destination and walked to the grave sites. There would be no church service. Everything was to be done here. Which wasn’t right. My mother had loved to go to church, and my dad had hated cemeteries, had died at the edge of one—of this one, to be morbidly specific—and they were going to bury him here? That was wrong on so many levels, and ticked me off.
He should have been cremated. But what did I know? I was just the daughter who’d helped kill him.
Now, in the daylight—or what should have been daylight—I studied the place that had destroyed my life. The sky was dark and drizzly, as if the world wept for what it had lost. While I was right on board with that, my dad wouldn’t have approved. He’d loved the sun.
The hilly stretch of land was treed up just right, with a few bushes growing around some of the headstones and flowers of every color thriving in every direction.
One day there would be bushes and flowers around my family’s headstones. Right now, there were just three big, empty holes, waiting for those closed caskets to drop.
Once again I found myself the recipient of too many I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Screw them all. I retreated inside myself, tuning out everything that was spoken during the ceremony, simply looking around.
People around me wept into their tissues. There was Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan, my former neighbors, and their son, Cary. He was a cute boy, a little older than me. I can’t remember how many times I’d thought that if I was a normal girl, with a normal life, I’d be sitting at my window, staring out at his house, imagining him closing the distance and asking me out on a date. Imagining we’d go to dinner, he’d walk me to my door, and kiss me. My first. Imagining he’d tell me that he didn’t care how crazy my family was, that he liked me no matter what.
I never had. He never had.
Now he cast me a sad smile, and I looked away.
When the pastor had finished, when my grandparents had said their piece, everyone stood and gathered in groups, talking, swapping stories. Too many of them congregated around me, patting my shoulders and giving me hugs. Actions I didn’t appreciate or return. I just didn’t have the strength to put on a dog-and-pony show so that I wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
I wanted to be in my bed, buried under the covers, pretending I had my old life back.
“She was such a happy child, wasn’t she?” said someone at my side. A woman I couldn’t quite place but knew I’d seen before was peering at the smallest casket, tears streaming down her red cheeks. “We’re going to miss her. I remember this one time …”
On and on she talked. I stood there, suddenly unable to breathe. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but the words wouldn’t form. I tried to walk away, but my feet were rooted in place, as if someone had poured concrete over my shoes.
“And then there was the time, in class, when she helped …”
A loud ringing sprouted in my ears and I couldn’t make out the individual words. Didn’t matter. I knew who she was talking about, and if she didn’t get out of my face, I was going to lose it. Already I was spiraling into an abyss, screaming silently.
“… and the other girls utterly adored her …”
Argh! Spiraling … spiraling out of control …
I deserved this, I reminded myself. This was part of my “worse.” My words, my insistence, had killed my family, had put them in those boxes. Had I done anything differently, a single detail, they would still be alive. But I hadn’t, and so here I was. There they were.
“… her talent, her spirit, were rare and glorious and I …”
The abyss threw me one way, then the other, cutting me up bit by bit, destroying me. The woman had to shut up. She just had to. Shut. Up. My heart felt pinned against my ribs, warping the beat, and if she didn’t shut up I would die. I knew I would die.
“… used to tell me she wanted to be just like you when she grew up. She admired you so much….”
Shut up, shut up, shut up! But she kept talking and kept telling me all about my … sister….
… about Emma.
… Emma … gone … my lily … gone …
I’d promised to keep her safe. I’d failed.
A scream ripped from my throat, followed right on the heels of another and another. I lost track of everything around me, clutched my ears to stop from hearing the utter horror in my voice, and fell to my knees.
No, not just to my knees. I fell down, down, down, the abyss, a never-ending pit of despair, still screaming, screaming, consumed by grief, flooded by sorrow.
Hands patted at me, but I didn’t calm. I screamed so loud and so long my voice eventually broke. I gagged and choked, tears pouring down my cheeks, pooling around me, a lake of misery. I cried so hard my entire body shook, and my eyes swelled shut. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe anymore. Dying would have been a relief.
I don’t know what happened after that. For the second time in my life, I lost consciousness. Maybe I would never wake….
But of course, I awoke. In the days that followed, I tried to take comfort in the fact that the worst thing that could ever happen to me had already happened. Big surprise, that didn’t help. But at some point, I finally accepted that this wasn’t any kind of nightmare. This was my new reality, and I had better learn to deal or the tears would never stop flowing.
Each night I sat on the ledge seat in front of my room’s only window, looking down at my new backyard. There was half an acre of trees, hills and flowers, and a stockade fence that marked the property boundaries. Beyond the fence was a hill spotlighted by a golden sliver of moonlight, but because of the steepness of the incline, I couldn’t see anything more than thick, towering trunks.
I was tired, but I wouldn’t be sleeping. Any time I drifted off, I dreamed of the accident. I preferred to spend my time searching for my dad’s monsters, not sure whether I wanted to prove they existed or that they didn’t, remembering all the times I’d caught my dad doing the same thing.
Dad had carried a gun, though I’d never heard him shoot it. Now I had to wonder if a gun would actually help. The monsters had slipped past human skin … like ghosts … or the demons I’d been so unsure about.
This is ridiculous. The monsters weren’t real.
And yet, a few times since the accident, I was certain that I’d spied one.
As if on cue, the bushes swayed. I leaned forward until my nose pressed into the glass. Probably the wind, I thought, even as I watched tree limbs stretch toward each other. Limbs, not arms, surely. And those were leaves, not hands. Surely.
A flash of white caught my attention, and I gulped. That wasn’t a woman with stooped shoulders darting between the trees but a deer. Had to be a deer, but …
Deer didn’t wear wedding gowns, did they.
I pumped a fist into the pane, rattling the entire window, and the woman—deer—darted away, swiftly hidden by the trees. I waited several long minutes, but she—it—never came back into view.
By the time the sun rose, my eyelids felt like sandpaper against my eyes. I had to stop doing this, had to stop torturing myself. Otherwise, I’d have to throw in the towel and admit I’d inherited my dad’s crazy.
And wouldn’t that just be irony at its finest?
With that thought, I didn’t laugh with bitterness, cry, or even crawl into bed. I began planning the next night’s watch.
3
EERILY CURIOUSER AND EERILY CURIOUSER …
Summer break passed far too quickly, and the first day of my junior year finally arrived. Asher High was on the outskirts of Birmingham, only a ten-minute drive from my grandparents’ house. Go Tigers. The bus turned the ten-minute drive into forty. But you know, I was glad for every one of those extra minutes. Like I’d told Kat that day at the hospital, my mom and dad had graduated from Asher, and all I could think about was whether their pictures were hanging in any of the display cases.
I wasn’t ever going to look. If I saw them, I’d probably have a breakdown right there in the halls, something that hadn’t happened since the funeral. Yeah, I liked to think I was stronger now, more in control, but I wasn’t taking chances.
I sat in front, just behind the driver, and kept my head down during the ride. I spoke to no one, and I was the first to exit, my steps quick as my backpack thumped against me.
I paused in front of the building, my eyes wide and my stomach churning. So. Many. Kids. Some were tall, some were short. Black, white. Boy, girl. Rich, poor. Preppy, stoned. Skinny, not so skinny. Clothed, practically naked. Each one huddled in a group, beyond excited to be together again. Everyone seemed to be talking over someone else and laughing.
The building itself was sprawling and kind of creepy, because wow—Tigers took their school colors seriously. Never had I seen so much black and gold. Black brick was interspaced with gold brick. There was a wealth of trees, the trunks painted black and the leaves painted gold. There was a cement walkway, and black-and-gold tiger paws led to the front doors, where metal detectors stood guard. Someone had anchored tiger ears on the sides and whiskers in the middle to give the detectors faces.
Note to self: Never talk badly about jungle cats. I’d probably get my head dunked in the toilet.
I stopped by the front office and asked for a map, only to be sighed at and pointed to a fat stack of them on the counter. I grabbed one and muttered, “Thanks.” I had my schedule already, so it was just a matter of finding my way. I’d never been good with directions.
As I was walking away, a woman strode out of the back office, spotted me and changed her course, heading straight for me.
She held out a well-manicured hand. “You’re Alice Bell.”
“Ali,” I said as we shook. Her grip was strong. Too strong.
“I’m the principal here. Dr. Wright. And do not think you’ll get away with calling me Ms. Wright, Wright or Hey Lady. I earned my title and you will use it. Understood?”
“Yes.” I looked her over as discreetly as possible. Dark brown hair framed a pretty face. She had olive-toned skin, brown eyes that practically flashed the words I mean business, and a cupid’s bow mouth.
“If you need anything,” she said, already moving off, “don’t hesitate to let one of my assistants know.”
“Thanks. I will—”
She didn’t hear me, because she was already gone.
I made my way into a hall that was plastered with Tigers Rule posters and majorly congested, kids rushing in every direction, a (black-and-gold) beach ball being tossed around, laughter echoing. I must have been walking too slowly, because several people tried to mow me down.
In an act of self-preservation, I pressed into a wall of lockers. Soon the crowd would thin and I could navigate my way without incident. As I waited, I tried not to think about my old school and the fact that, after my last class, I wouldn’t be walking to the nearest elementary school to pick up …
Nope, not going there.
“Ali?”
My gaze shot from the floor to a beautiful brunette, who stood front and center in a group of girls. “Kat! I mean, Mad Dog.” I was so happy to discover a familiar face, I did something I hadn’t done all summer. I smiled.
She smiled back, looking genuinely happy to see me, and waved me over.
I closed the distance, and she threw her arms around me as if we were long-lost friends. “Well, well, look what the Kat dragged in. Get it? Of course you do. I only make awesome jokes. But enough of my brilliant banter. I’m so glad you’re here!” Her gaze slid over me, and she gave me another grin, this one sly. “Look at you, total chili pepper hot. I love it!”
A lie, surely. I had on ratty sneakers, ripped jeans and the oldest tee I owned. The fabric was so frayed, I looked like I—gag—wore fringe. I just hadn’t felt like getting dressed up, as if I had something to celebrate.
The therapist my grandparents had made me see would have said I was punishing myself for living when the rest of my family had died. (If she had uttered those words just one more time, I would have hacked off my ears and left them with her.) I’d already figured that out on my own, thank you. That didn’t change how I felt.
“Well?” Kat prompted. “Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look?”
My gaze roved from top to bottom. “You don’t look good. You look amazing,” I added before she could pout. She wore glittery shoes, Miss Me hip-huggers and a skintight black top. Dark hair fell in pretty waves over one shoulder.
“Gold star for Ali,” she said. “Now, then. Allow me to make introductions. Ladies, this is Ali, a very special friend of mine.”
I stiffened, thinking she meant to tell them where we’d met, but she didn’t and I could have hugged her all over again.
“Ali, this is Reeve, Poppy and Wren.”
O-kay. No Janes, Beths, or Kellys here. “Hello,” I said, sounding as lame as always. The girls were as flawless as Kat, with stunning faces you’d usually find only in magazines. They wore drool-worthy outfits, also found only in magazines.
Magazines. Yeah. That’s the only thing that made any sense. Kat had picked each girl out of Flawless Friends Forever, I’m sure. In comparison, I felt frumpy and way outclassed, like I’d been selected from Homeless Dogs Weekly.
“Nice to meet you,” said Wren, a gorgeous black girl with the most amazing caramel eyes.
“Any friend of Kat’s …” said Poppy, a freckled redhead surely destined to marry a prince or something.
“I’m throwing a party this weekend.” Reeve flicked her dark hair over one shoulder. Her features were striking, bold, and her skin the most beautiful sun-dusted color of bronze. “Just a little get-together to celebrate surviving our first week of school. Well, our first three days.”
Why did school always start in the middle of the week?
“You have to come,” she added.
“I, uh—hmm.”
I’d never been to a party, but I’d certainly heard a lot about the ones my friends had attended. Therefore I knew that 1) I’d be stuck in an overcrowded house with people I barely knew, 2) I’d be stuck in an overcrowded house with drunk people I barely knew, because there would be drinking—not only had my friends told me about that part, but my mother had forced me to watch enough after-school specials to fry a thousand brain cells—and 3) it would take place at night.
Once, all I’d wanted was to go out at night. I would have given anything for a simple moonlit stroll. Arm? Leg? Why not my soul?
Now? Even the thought terrified me.
“She’ll definitely be there,” Kat said. “I’ll make sure of it. Now, get, get. Ali and I need private time to catch up.” She kissed each girl on the cheek and sent them all on their ways before returning her attention to me. “So, you received your schedule, yes?”
I ignored the fact that she had just guaranteed my party attendance. No reason to hurt her feelings with a belligerent (and childish) never, ever, you can’t make me go! “Yes.” Having memorized the blocks, I rattled off my classes and prayed we had at least one together.
“Rock on! We’ll have lunch and last block to plan our takeover attempt on the school. I’ve already decided. Me and my girls are ruling. Now, I’ll walk you to first period. You’re two buildings over so it’s gonna be a hike.”
“Are you over there, too?”
“Nah. I’m here.” She hitched her thumb at the door only a few feet away.
I glanced at the clock at the far end of the hall. We had six minutes until the tardy bell rang. “Won’t you be late to your own class?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry.” Grinning that sly little grin of hers, she twined her arm through mine. “This is my humanitarian deed of the day. Besides, you’ll owe me. And yes, I always collect. Ask anyone. There’s not a single person in this school who doesn’t owe me a favor. True story.”
As tiny as she was, she had no problem pushing her way through the crowds, telling people off or flipping them off when they did or said something she didn’t like. But she kept up a steady chatter with me, telling me everything I “needed to know to survive.”
“She’s a skank. He’s a player. He’s cute but almost OD’d last year, so he’s a bad bet. She’s a two-faced, lying, cheating witch. That’s right, Trina, I’m talking to you,” she shouted. “By the way,” she added just for me, “Trina cusses, which means cussing is trashy, which means my golden rule is to never cuss. I have class. Unlike Trina, the skank of Birmingham.” That last part was, of course, shouted.
I half expected the pretty but, well, somewhat masculine Trina to fly across the hall and introduce Kat’s teeth to her fist, but Trina just fronted and moved on with a glare that promised vengeance.
O-kay. New note to self: never mess with Trina. Her tank was regulation, but still managed to show off her muscular arms and tats. Her hair was chopped to just below her ears, and there were scars stretching across the back of her neck. Like, scars that resembled teeth marks.
And I really needed to stop rubbernecking, or I’d paralyze myself.
“He’s gay but in denial,” Kat continued, as though nothing had happened, “so just a heads-up not to try and tap that. Now his friend over there is loaded, but he’s a total douche. Oh, and she’s so snotty you’ll need Kleenex just to talk to her. Actually, just pretend that entire group has the plague, and you’ll be the better for it. She’s not bad. He’s—crap!” She ground to a stop, forcing me to do the same. “Laugh like I just said something amazingly hilarious.”
Laugh? Seriously? Did I even remember how?
She slapped my arm and whispered fiercely, “Laugh!”
Okay, so I forced out a laugh. I’m embarrassed to admit I sounded like a frog had jumped into my throat and played bongos on my voice box. Even Kat was horrified, her mouth hanging open so wide that I could see her tonsils.
She recovered quickly and tossed her hair over her shoulder, throwing off her own magical laugh. It was like an angel played the harp on top of a rainbow. So not fair!
“Why are we doing this?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t look now, but that’s my ex over there.”
Surely I’m not the only one who takes “don’t look now” as “there’s no better time than now.” I looked.
“Bad Ali!” Another slap to my arm. “Bad, bad, bad Ali! Have you no self-control?”
“Sorry.” I rubbed away the sting. Did I stop looking, though? No. I stared. Hard.
To the right of us was a group of eight boys. If I’d ever needed a visual definition of serial criminal, I now had one (or eight). They were tall, all of them, and they were stacked with muscle. Most sported tattoos on their arms and piercings on their faces. A few wore chains around their waists, as if the metal links were belts, but on those bodies they could only be weapons.
Proof: two of them had house-arrest anklets on display over their dirt-caked boots.
They were shoving one another, laughing and punching each other on the arms. One of them even rubbed his fist into another’s hair, holding the guy by the waist and forcing him to stay hunched over and take the abuse while others pointed and called him the worst kind of names.
“There used to be more of them,” Kat said. “Two died last year from some disease that turns your blood into a toxic sludge, basically causing you to rot from the inside out. It’s not contagious or anything like that, or so the proverbial ‘they’ say—pamphlets were sent out to all the students because everyone was totally panicking—but it’s weird that two guys got it at the same time, you know.”
I caught a note of … something in her voice. “Did you know them?”
“Yeah, and I thought I’d cry forever. And this might be horrible to say, but I’m kinda glad they went together. They were best friends and you never saw one without the other. And wow, this little chat became morbid. My apologies.”
“No worries,” I said—even though I was worried. I never wanted to think about death and blood again, much less talk about them. “So which one is yours?” I asked, changing the subject back to the living boys.
She snorted with disgust. “The blond, and he was mine. Was. He’s not anymore and won’t ever be again.”
I scanned the crowd. Two were black, one had a shaved head, two were brunettes, one had jet-black hair and two were blond. I wanted to look over the blonds, I really did, but once I spotted the one with hair so black it was almost blue, I was stuck.
He wore a bright red baseball cap. There was writing in the center, but I couldn’t make out the words. He was the only one not horsing around. With his back pressed into the lockers and his arms folded over his chest, he watched his friends with lazy amusement.
He was gorgeous, and I absolutely, no question, had to be drooling. After a quick and hopefully stealthy check—big shock, I wasn’t!—I found myself wondering what color his eyes were. Brown maybe. Or even hazel. Either way … wow, just wow. Deer? Headlights? Hi, I’m Ali.
“Yo, Kitty Kat,” someone called. I forced myself to stop staring at Red Hat and glanced—at one of the blonds. “Come over here and give me a proper hello. You know you want to.”
“What I want is for you to go to hell,” she called back.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be that way, baby.” He was the taller of the blonds, with cold brown eyes and a face that would have made the devil hide in a shadowed corner, sucking his thumb and crying for his mommy. Even though I couldn’t imagine him winning a girl like Kat, I could imagine him cheating. He had to be the ex. “You love me, ‘cause you just can’t help yourself.”
“I hope Rina gave you an STD.”
The boys around him snickered, and the fact that he maintained his grin—rather than murdering Kat—surprised me.
“That’s harsh, baby. I was just teasing when I called you by her name.”
“Both times?”
Yep. The ex. Sooo Trina the “two-faced, lying, cheating witch” had to be the very same Rina he’d messed around with over summer break. And, honestly? That totally blew my mind. Kat was one of the prettiest, most feminine girls I’d ever met, while that Trina person was hard-core.
Although, so was the ex. Besides that I’m-totally-a-serial-killer face, he had black bands tattooed around his wrists and brass knuckles tattooed over his … well, knuckles.
“I’m not mad, though,” Kat said. “You lied to me, and I lied to you. We’re even.”
Finally he lost the grin. “When did you lie?”
She gave him a Sweet’N Low smile, as if his amusement had been poured into her. “Every time we messed around. I didn’t actually enjoy myself, if you know what I mean.”
“Burn,” one of his friends said.
He shoved the boy away. “Don’t be that way,” he pleaded to her, and I would have bet he was only halfway kidding. There was a desperate gleam in those dark eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do. And by the way, I’m not teasing when I do this.” Kat flipped him off times two, and all of his friends erupted into a fresh round of snickers.
His confident facade faded, but still he said, “I’ll change your mind and I’ll win you back. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Actually, it’s just a matter of time before I feed your balls to my dog.” In an aside to me, she said, “Remind me that I need to buy a dog.”
The black-haired one finally glanced over at us—yeah, I’d returned to staring at him—and I forgot all about Kat and her problems. Violet, I realized. Those eyes of his were the most amazing shade of violet. I’d never seen so beautiful a color.
Had to be contacts. Right?
He gave Kat a once-over and grinned a hello. I barely stopped myself from chewing on one of my nails, a disgusting nervous tic I’d broken years ago. Would he look directly at me?
Answer: yes.
The moment our eyes met, the moisture in my mouth dried up and I lost focus of my surroundings. He was all that I could see, all that I wanted to see. And in the span of a single second we were no longer across the hall from each other—
—we were pressed together, his arms wrapped around me, my arms wrapped around him, and we were kissing. Miracle of miracles, he was five inches taller than me, practically dwarfing me. I loved it! And oh, glory, I loved what we were doing….
I had never been kissed before, but his tongue was definitely in my mouth, and my tongue was definitely in his, and we were practically eating each other’s faces.
“Ali,” he breathed as he drew me closer, squeezed me tighter.
“Cole,” I breathed back. I couldn’t get enough of him and never wanted to stop. He was so warm. So very warm, when I’d been so cold all summer. No matter how many blankets I’d piled on top of me, I’d been cold. I wanted to stay here, just like this, forever.
My fingers tangled in his hair, knocking off his cap. He angled his head, taking my mouth deeper, harder.
“You taste good,” he rasped. He smelled of sandalwood and something fruity, like a strawberry lollipop just freed from its wrapper.
“Talk later. Kiss now—”
“—Ali. Ali!” Kat stepped in front of me. She was frowning, waving. “Hello? Anyone home?”
I blinked and realized I was in the same spot I’d occupied before. And with that realization came another. I’d never crossed the hall, never met the boy in the hat halfway—Cole, I’d called him—never plowed my fingers through his hair. Never touched him, and absolutely never kissed him, yet my lips tingled and I was having trouble drawing air into my lungs.
“You okay?” Kat asked, her concern evident.
She was so short I had no trouble peeking over her shoulder at the group of boys. Nearly everyone else had abandoned the hallways. Maybe because the tardy bell had been ringing—and was only now fading. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. How long had I been staring at that boy?
At least he was staring at me, too. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. He was scowling at me, and it was the kind of scowl you saw on a guy in a dark alley just before he crunched your face into the dirt and stole your purse. One of his friends was tugging on his arm, trying to get his attention.
Red Hat snapped his teeth at me and turned away to stomp out of the hall. His remaining friends traveled after him, one of them muttering, “Mind telling us what that was about, my man?”
I leaned against the lockers to find my balance. Only then, with distance between us and his gaze unlocked from mine, did I manage to catch my breath. “The one with the hat,” I said to Kat. “What’s his name?” I probably should have assured her of my mental competence first, but I craved info about him too badly. And really, could I assure anyone of my mental competence just then?
Kat’s head fell forward, as if suddenly too heavy to hold up, but her penetrating stare remained on me. “Why? Are you interested in him?”
My mouth floundered open and closed. I was interested in knowing what had just happened. How I had just … envisioned kissing him. How that vision had seemed so real that I’d felt his heat, his strength. So real that my body had reacted physically.
“Just curious,” I finally said, trying for a nonchalance I didn’t feel. But my words were the straight-up truth. I was curious.
She wasn’t buying. “That’s Cole Holland, and girl, you so don’t want to date him. Trust me.”
Shock blustered through me. His name really was Cole? But … how had I known that?
You heard someone else call him Cole, that’s all. A subconscious thing.
Maybe. Probably. “Why?” I croaked.
“Because I’m totally trustworthy. Hello, you’ve met me, right?”
If I hadn’t been in such a state of upheaval, I would have rolled my eyes. “Not why should I trust you. Why don’t I want to date him?”
“Oh. Well, for starters, because you’re intimidated by him.”
“I’m not intimidated by him.”
She rose on her tiptoes to pat the top of my head, and said, “Since you won’t admit that little truth, how about this one? Because he’s the leader of that rabid pack of animals and he’s totally dangerous.”
Dangerous. Yeah, I got that. “You dated one of his friends.”
She spread her arms, as if I’d just made her point for her. “And look where I ended up—cheated on and brokenhearted.” The soft snick of closing doors filled the hall, and she glanced around. “Come on. Let’s finish this on the way to your class.”
Now that the halls were deserted and I could move freely, I should have relaxed. But I felt like I’d been plugged into something. A battery, maybe. I had energy. And there was a soft buzzing sound echoing in my head. Even the lights in the hallway seemed brighter.
“Cole’s, like, the worst of the lot,” Kat said. “He speaks, and the rest of them jump to obey. They skip school a lot, and do … well, your guess is as good as mine. No, probably not as good, but close. And yeah, you’d think I’d know for sure, but Frosty was stellar at keeping secrets. Obviously. Anyway, they’re always wounded, so you know they like to throw down in the nastiest way possible. And did I mention that they’re secretive? Cole is the worst, but Frosty is second in line for the title of The Vault, I promise you.”
“Frosty?”
“My ex.”
“I got that, but his name is …”
“A nickname, yes. He accidentally locked himself out of his house one winter. By the time he was found he was covered in ice and completely frostbitten. They nearly amputated all of his limbs. True story.”
“Really?” Because I hadn’t noticed anything missing, and if they’d nearly amputated all of his limbs, surely they would have taken a few of his fingers, the most vulnerable part of the hand.
“Fine, he only lost a toe, but frostbite is treacherous. Anyway, the only girls who get to hang with them on their private little adventures are Mackenzie Love—Cole’s ex—and Trina, who you had the misfortune to meet earlier.”
Cole still hung out with his ex? That had bad news written all over it. Not that I cared. Or wanted to, I don’t know, go on a date with him, marry him and have his babies. I just wanted answers. Really.
What had happened in that hallway—or rather, what had not happened—was freaking me out. I mean, I’d always had a strong imagination, as evidenced by the monster in the wedding dress I was convinced I’d seen, but this little mind-vacay of making out in the hall with a strange boy I hadn’t officially met far surpassed anything else I’d ever thought up.
“Just a warning,” Kat said. “If you hang with them, Mackenzie will corner you and threaten your very existence. Oh, and your friends will drop you and you’ll be known as trouble.”
I could handle the name Trouble. Again, not that I was considering doing anything with Cole. “Were you dropped when you dated Frosty?”
For a moment, only a moment, she radiated sadness. Then she flipped her hair over one shoulder, grinned and said, “I’ve always been known as big-time trouble, and though no one has yet realized, I’m more trouble now that Frosty and I—Or is it Frosty and me? I can’t ever remember. Whatevs. I’m more trouble now that we’ve spilt, but you’ll learn to appreciate that part of me, I’m sure.”
“Already do,” I said, and I meant it.
We reached a red door, and she stopped. She hitched her thumb at it and said, “This is you.”
I peeked into the classroom through the small window on the door and wanted to run. Or vomit. No, both. Kids were everywhere, and there were no empty seats. The teacher was at the front, already lecturing. The moment I walked inside, silence would take over and every eye would find me.
Maybe I’d turned green or shuddered, because Kat said, “Nervous?”
“Yes, but only a little … lot.” I’d always had difficulty lying. “Want to ditch?” I asked hopefully. We could start fresh for block two.
“No, I don’t want to ditch, and I’m not even going to attempt to figure out what a little lot is. I want to make an entrance in my own class. After all, the center of attention is the best place to be.”
Uh, no, no it wasn’t. I backed up a step. “I’ll wait for you outside, then.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said, merciless. “They’ll love you. And if they don’t, well, let me know who I need to punish. That’s a specialty of mine, just FYI. So is tough love.” She patted me on the butt. “Now go get ‘em, baby cub.”
“Kat, wait. I—”
“You heard the part about tough love, right? And P.S. In a few months, you might graduate to a full-on tigress, but until then …” She opened the door and gave me a push inside the room. “You’ll have to endure the growing pains.”
I survived first block with only a splash of humiliation. The “teacher,” and I use the term lightly, made me stand at the front of the class and tell the students a little about myself and why I was late. Apparently there were to be no breaks for anyone. Not on the first day, and certainly not for first timers who should know how to read a map.
My thinking on the matter: Mr. Buttle—whom I would forever call Mr. Butthole—was on a power trip, but whatever. I got through without any internal scarring because a very cute boy with puppy dog brown eyes smiled encouragingly at me, then made the universal jerk-off sign the moment Mr. Butthole turned his back, sending everyone into peals of laughter, thereby taking the attention away from me.
Second block took place in the same hall but third was in another building. Still, I made it on time and the class proved to be a breeze. No one tried to talk to me except the short, rotund Ms. Meyers. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun. Her glasses were too big for her face and continually slid down her nose, but she wasn’t unpleasant to look at.
“I’m so excited to begin a brand-new year with you,” she said, clapping, “and I know you will be too when you hear what I’ve got planned! By the way, this is Creative Writing, in case anyone accidentally wandered into the wrong room. Anyone? No? Great. On with our stories!”
I propped my head on one hand, and I meant to pay attention, I really did, but my mind drifted. I’d like to say I pondered my future, ways to improve my general state of mind, something, anything useful. But, no. My brain hopped the train to Colehollandville and refused to detour.
One question after another formed. What had happened out there in that hallway? Had Cole experienced anything when he looked at me? The way he’d snapped his teeth at me, as if I’d bewildered him without saying a word … maybe. But then again, maybe that had been a gesture of irritation. I’d basically eye-raped him.
And what if I tranced out (or whatever you wanted to call it) the next time I saw him?
Desperate to know, I’d searched for him after both my first and second classes. I’d looked through numerous passageways, along the stairs and, okay, yes, I’d even slowed down in front of both the boys’ bathrooms I’d passed, but there’d been no hint of him.
Maybe that was a good thing. He intimidated me.
There. I’d admitted it. He was big and bad and obviously well-acquainted with violence. I’d had enough violence in my life, thanks. Besides, there were only three possible outcomes if the two of us actually spoke.
1) He’d tell me to ~bleep~ off.
2) He’d tell everyone I was ~bleeping~ insane.
3) He’d ask me who the ~bleep~ I thought I was because he’s positive he’s never seen me before.
I didn’t know him, and yet I easily imagined him cussing. A lot. Kat would so not approve.
“—I think you’ll find her work symbolic of—”
Ms. Meyers’s voice intruded, trying to claim my attention, but my dilemma quickly returned to center stage. I sooo wanted to talk to my mom about Cole and what had happened. Because of my dad, she’d understood weird in all its varying shades and degrees. She wouldn’t have laughed at me. She wouldn’t have rushed me in for an emergency therapy session. She would have sat me down and helped me reach a conclusion that satisfied me.
I missed her so much and wished, so badly, that I’d been nicer to her there at the end.
Well, well. What do you know? My mind could go somewhere other than Cole Holland today.
No way would I mention any of this to Nana and Pops. They’d freak—not that they’d ever show me. For me, they would smile and pretend all was well, never realizing I’d once caught them whispering in their bedroom.
Poor thing. Therapy isn’t working. Will she ever recover, do you think?
Not sure. All I know is that I hate that she’s hurting so badly, but there’s nothing I can do. She won’t let me.
I know. I’ve never felt so helpless.
They’d tried to get me to go to the movies, ice-skating and shopping, things kids my age supposedly liked to do, but my answer was always the same: no. Each time, they had kissed me on the forehead and said, “Maybe next time.”
Refusing to worry them further, I’d swallowed back the words Maybe never. I spent most of my time in my room, and that’s the way I liked it.
I had a routine. I spent my mornings reading The Iron Fey series. I spent my evenings listening to the mix tapes my dad had made for my mother. (I was staying in her old room and had found her old cassette player.) I spent my nights searching for monsters. On weekdays I left the house for school and on weekends I left for church. That was it.
The bell rang, shattering my thoughts like a fist through a mirror, and I bolted upright. Ms. Meyers was stacking books on her desk. Kids were already filing out of the classroom. I gathered my stuff and rose to do the same.
“Alice Bell,” Ms. Meyers called before I could leave.
Our gazes met, locked. “I prefer Ali.”
She nodded and offered me a warm smile. “I looked over your transcript from Carver Academy and liked what I saw. With straight A’s, I’m guessing you didn’t sleep in class.”
Ouch. “I wasn’t sleeping, I promise.”
Her smile grew, letting me know that she wasn’t offended. “I know reading and writing aren’t everyone’s favorite thing, but give me a chance tomorrow, okay? If you don’t like what I’m saying, if I fail to engage you, fine. Sleep or daydream or whatever you want to call it.”
Fair enough. “You have my word.”
“Good.” She motioned to the door with a tilt of her chin. “Go on. You’ve got places to be, I’m sure.”
I stepped into the hall—and prayed the world would suddenly end. Frosty and one of his more feral friends were waiting for me. Clearly. Their gazes zeroed in on me—arrow, meet bull’s-eye—and they leaped into motion, closing the distance between us. I bet they were here to warn me away from Cole.
How humiliating! I kept walking, and they kept pace beside me, flanking me. Testosterone walled me in, neatly shutting out the rest of the world.
“S’up. I’m Frosty,” the rough-looking blond said. Up close, I saw that his eyes were not completely brown but a pretty blueberry with flecks of chocolate.
My stomach growled. Okay, so I was hungry, and that was probably why his eyes reminded me of delicious food. So what. An appetite was a good thing, and I’d been without one all summer.
“This here’s my boy Bronx,” he added when I failed to respond.
“I’m Ali.” Either I hadn’t noticed Bronx earlier—so not likely—or he’d been running late. “Bronx, huh? Is that where you’re from?”
“Nope,” Frosty answered for him.
Bronx said nothing, but oh, did he stare. For a guy with barbells in both of his eyebrows and hair dyed an electric blue, that stare bypassed demon-dark and went straight to devil-damned.
“Okay,” I said. What else was I supposed to say?
A group of jocks passed us. To my surprise, they practically flattened themselves against the row of lockers to get out of the way of my giant, muscled bookends. I could even smell their fear, an acrid scent coating the air between us, stinging my nostrils.
So weird.
At my old school, jocks had ruled, their word law, and the only thing they’d worried about was the next game. Different schools, different worlds, I guess.
“Boys,” I heard Dr. Wright say. I picked up the clack clack of her heels before I spotted her at the end of the hall. “You’re not manhandling Miss Bell, correct?” She spoke as she walked toward us. Her gaze remained locked on Frosty. “I’d hate to have to ruin the rest of your day with detention.”
“No reason to ruin, Dr. Wright,” he said with military precision at the same time I said, “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t satisfied. “What do you want with her?”
Frosty smiled, all innocence. “Just to talk, what else?”
“Why?”
Were all principals this nosy?
“Because she’s cute?” Frosty replied, a question rather than a statement.
In that moment, I could have fallen flat on my face and experienced less embarrassment.
Dr. Wright’s suspicions were not assuaged, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, but she briskly passed us without trying to stop us. “Just make sure you watch your mouths or I’ll have to call your guardians,” she threw over her shoulder.
Frosty shuddered. Bronx saluted with mock respect.
“So how do you know Kat?” Frosty asked me, jumping back to the conversation. As determined as he looked, he was done with distractions.
I relaxed. They weren’t here for Cole, and they weren’t here because I might be—or might not be—moderately attractive. “We ran into each other during summer break.” Hopefully that was the right thing to say. I wasn’t sure about proper etiquette when dealing with a friend’s ex.
“Where at?” he asked, pretending an ease those M&M eyes failed to project.
“Well, uh … hmm.” How could I answer that without spilling info about myself?
The two boys “guided” me around a corner by pressing their shoulders into mine and steering me. I’d wanted to go the other way, to my locker. Whatever. I could deal. I might not want anything to do with violence, but I could handle myself, even with bruisers like these. My dad had made sure of that.
In fact, I’d taken my dad down a time or twelve, flipping him over, popping his eye and once even breaking his nose. Every time I’d bested him, he’d smiled, so wonderfully proud of me.
A burning in my eyes … a tremor in my chin. Dang it, I needed to concentrate on the here and now.
What had Frosty asked me? Oh, yeah. “If you want to know where I met Kat, you’ll have to ask Kat.” There. An answer without being an answer. Meanwhile, I’d be pulling her aside the next time I saw her and asking her to mentally torch the details.
Frosty acted as if he’d just been stabbed in the gut. “Cruel, Ali, so cruel. At least give me a hint. Pretty please with cherries on top of me.”
Charming. But I couldn’t forget that he’d cheated on Kat. Thinking fast, I said, “Okay, here’s a hint. A lot of people were there. There was some screaming, definitely some writhing. A looot of touching.” Doctors were very hands-on.
In the next instant, I was given a deeper glimpse of the criminal-in-the-making Frosty was. That mask of affability fell away, revealing hard, dark eyes and lips compressed with rage. “Did she touch anyone? Did anyone touch her?”
Dude. You left her for the entire summer. “It’s been nice talking to you and everything, but I really need to—”
We rounded another corner and I slammed into something solid, losing my concentration as I stumbled backward.
Bronx caught me, righted me and then let go of me as if I’d just given him third-degree burns.
“I’m sorry,” I began, focusing on the person I’d hit.
A girl, shorter than me by several inches. Silky dark hair curled to the middle of her back and framed a face God might have used to design his favorite angels. Her makeup was perfect. Her skin was slightly sunburned but still perfect. Her clothes were expensive and sexy, yet still elegant—and perfect. She wore a pink cashmere sweater and a flirty white skirt. She was the only diamond in a sea of glass.
I wasn’t into girls, but … wow. This one could probably turn anyone. Not even Kat and her catalog friends could compare.
“Is this your newest slice of tail?” she asked Frosty, all kinds of you’re beneath me in her tone. A tone clearly directed at me.
Maybe she wouldn’t be able to turn me. I wasn’t into nasty.
“Back off, Mackenzie,” Frosty said.
Mackenzie. As in, Mackenzie Love. This was Cole Holland’s ex?
Of course she is, I thought next, wanting to laugh without a bit of humor. Beautiful boys dated beautiful girls. That’s how the world worked. And yes, by those rules, I was destined to be with a lanky loner with a tragic past. Wonderful.
“Cole wants you,” she snapped at the boys, “so your little missionary trip will have to wait.”
Cue my exit. I’d already said my goodbye, so I pushed my way past Mackenzie and entered—the cafeteria. So that’s where they’d been taking me. Time for lunch, then. No wonder my stomach had been growling. The smell of food paired with a thousand other appetites could have turned a mannequin into a savage.
Already lines snaked from every direction. I had no idea what was what, so I scanned the area until I spotted a familiar face in the far corner.
Kat waved me over. Behind me, Frosty yelled for my attention while Mackenzie called him an idiot. Ignoring them, I tromped forward. The deeper I entered the room, the more I noticed the grease that coated the air. I also caught hints of sugar, perfume and cologne, everything combining to form a cloying musk. Goodbye appetite.
“What were you doing with Frosty?” Kat asked the moment I plopped down beside her.
No rage. Good. “He and that other boy, Bronx, were waiting for me after class. Frosty asked me how the two of us had met.”
The roses drained from her cheeks. “What did you tell him?”
I bullet pointed my response, praying I’d gotten it right.
Relief wafted from her, her color returning. “Rock on! You did almost as awesome a job as I would have done.”
I so needed that kind of confidence. “Thank you.”
“Just don’t tell anyone where we really met, okay?” she said, her gaze pleading at me.
No problem there. But why didn’t she want anyone to know?
Before I could question her, the rest of her troop arrived. I greeted each with a half smile, since that’s all that I was currently capable of.
As the girls launched into details about everything they’d learned about people I didn’t know, I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck rise. I endured the sensation for several minutes before caving and twisting in my seat, searching for the source of my discomfort.
Cole and his gang sat a few tables away. Cole was … staring at me. Staring—such a mild word for the slitted gaze leveled on me, piercing me. If eyes could throw daggers, I’d have a few embedded in my chest. (Not that that’s where he was looking, mind you.)
I gathered my courage and maintained contact, waiting, expectant. Except, there was no vision this time. No mental unfolding of us kissing. This morning must have been a onetime thing. A fluke.
I was relieved about that. I wasn’t disappointed. Besides, things were better this way. Proof: the angelic Mackenzie was perched next to him, her arm draped around his shoulders, staking her claim, warning me away. She, too, glared at me as she whispered something in his ear. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’d just plotted my social death.
Whatever. Popularity wasn’t a concern for me.
What? I mouthed at her, and it was a legitimate question. What had I done to her? Nothing, that’s what.
She ran her tongue over her teeth just before growling something that sounded like, “Let me teach her,” to Cole. “Just a little lesson. Please.”
I didn’t hear his reply.
Kat patted my hand. “Are you listening to me? Because these nuggets I’m throwing out are golden! Namely, if you want to be in power, you have to knock the current queen off her pedestal. Kicking works, as does punching.”
“I wasn’t listening, I’m sorry,” I responded, my cheeks heating as I faced her. “So who’s the current queen?”
“The ex of the guy you were just stripping in your mind,” Reeve said. “To think, I had a front-row seat to the day the war ignited between Mackenzie Love and Ali … something.”
“Bell,” I said as Kat said, “Ali will totally win, but she’ll want me to have the throne, I’m positive.”
I shuddered at the thought of anyone thinking I was a person to emulate. “I don’t want the throne.”
Kat’s chin lifted in delight. “See?”
“Cole must think you give good eye, because he was making out with you right back. Still is,” Wren said, glancing between us. “Mackenzie will probably try to kill you before the week ends, but honestly? He’s not worth the hassle. He’ll only drag you down, ruin your life.”
Poppy twirled a strand of that beautiful red hair around her finger. “The last girl to receive that kind of look from him spent a year in a full body cast.”
“What girl?” I found myself asking.
“There was no girl,” Kat said with a frown. “I would have remembered something like that.”
Wren sighed with sadness. “She’s right. There wasn’t a girl. We were just testing you to see your reaction. You failed.” She turned to Kat. “Have you told her about your association with Frosty? How he nearly got you kicked out of school?”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. My gaze shot up, and I came face-to-face with the dark-haired boy from Butthole’s class. The one who’d made everyone laugh, drawing attention away from me.
My table went quiet.
“Don’t let Mackenzie scare you,” he said, which let me know that everyone in the cafeteria had noticed her silent vow to ruin me. “She’s great with her fists, but only if she’s standing. Get her on the ground, and you’ve already won.” With that, he straightened and walked off.
Shocked, I faced the girls. All four were gaping at me. Kat, Poppy and Reeve with awe. Wren with a sharpness that confused me.
I spread my arms. “What?”
A grinning Kat said, “Cole is sooo not gonna like the fact that he’s got competition. That was Justin Silverstone, and he never talks to anyone except his sister. You’re definitely not his sister.”
Poppy nodded with enthusiasm. “I honestly thought he was gay.”
Wren slapped her arm. “He’s not gay!”
Reeve anchored her elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward. “So how’d you do it, Ali?”
“Do what?” I asked, truly baffled.
“Get his attention,” Wren said, her tone as sharp as her caramel gaze. “He’s a straight-A student, never misses a day of school and already has his future mapped out. He’s going places. Not that you couldn’t normally get a guy like him, but he’s so reclusive.”
I shifted in my seat, saying, “I didn’t get his attention. The only boy I’ve even talked to is Frosty, and that’s because he ambushed me.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Kat muttered, all doubt and amusement. “Well, let’s see if Cole noticed your unexpected visitor.”
My eyes widened as I reached for her arm. “Don’t—”
But it was too late. She’d already twisted to look. A second later, her mouth fell open.
I couldn’t help myself. I looked, too. What I saw shook me to my soul. I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a death glare today. Cole was watching Justin as if he meant to flay the skin from his bones, throw it down and play “Dance Dance Revolution” on it.
“That has nothing to do with me,” I managed to croak. It couldn’t.
But part of me kind of hoped that it did.
4
WHAT BLOODY
BLOODY NONSENSE!
That night, I sat at my windowsill, peering out at the darkness. To my astonishment, Cole and Mackenzie had never sought me out, never spoken another word to me. Neither had the rest of their friends, and that Justin kid had never come back, either. And if anyone had said anything to anyone else about me, I hadn’t heard about it.
So, either Mackenzie had changed her mind about “teaching” me whatever she thought I needed to learn, or someone had stopped her. Cole? But that would mean she had listened to him, had cared about what he’d said—and that he’d told her to stay away from me. That couldn’t be right, though. I couldn’t think of a single reason for him to defend me.
Sighing, I rubbed my temples to ward off an oncoming ache. If I didn’t stop thinking about this stuff, I was going to give myself a brain bleed. Besides, I had more important things to worry about. I’d finished the day with Kat, gotten on the bus—again keeping my head down—and shut myself in my room. Nana and Pops had eventually summoned me, wanting to know how I’d liked my new school and if I’d made any friends. I’d answered with a vague “fine” on the first and “one or two, I guess” on the second. Utter silence had then taken hold, and they’d peered at me as if expecting diary-type details. Uncomfortable for the bazillionth time that day, I’d then made the mistake of telling them about my first-hour tardy and Mr. B’s lecture. (Honestly, I’d already forgotten his real name and didn’t want to admit to my grandparents that I’d dubbed him Butthole.)
Of course they’d next wanted to know whether or not they should call my school counselor to tell him how rough things were for me, and that I needed my teachers to give me a break. Kind of them, but please mark that down as a big fat never, ever, ever, never. I think I surprised them with my vehemence, but at least they capitulated. No way did I want to be known as Pinot Grigio. (That’s what my parents had called me anytime I’d gotten my whine on. They’d called Em Pinot Noir.)
Now, with dinner eaten and the dishes cleaned and put away, my grandparents were asleep in their room, and I was once again alone in mine. A golden half-moon graced the black velvet sky, no clouds in sight, allowing a blanket of stars to twinkle in every direction. A slight breeze danced twigs and leaves together, adding a sense of eerie to the loveliness.
As I had every night since moving in, I watched and I waited, tense as a rubber band about to pop, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bridezilla. So far, no luck.
I’d been here, oh, no more than a few hours and already I was yawning, exhaustion heavy on my shoulders, but I was more determined than ever to stay awake. I planned to prove, beyond any doubt, whether or not the monsters existed.
A few things I’d noticed during these too-late interludes: Bridezilla did not appear every night. She showed up about once every seven to fourteen days. I’d been keeping notes, thinking she must come out only during a certain phase of the moon, but no. The moon had no bearing on her manifestations. Nothing seemed to, but even when I didn’t see her, I still felt as if she—or someone—was watching me.
Paranoia on my part, surely. I wasn’t even one hundred percent positive Bridezilla was truly out there. But oh, one night, maybe even this one, I would be. As long as I stuck to the plan, I would figure this out.
Every morning after a sighting, I’d checked the forest behind my grandparents’ backyard and found several sets of human footprints. Most were big and wide, as if they’d come from a man wearing boots. A few were smaller, thinner, as if made by a woman in tennis shoes.
Those prints should have already proven my sanity, yet part of me feared I was seeing only what I wanted to see, that even the prints were a mirage. Or … what if the prints had been caused by a group of kids who liked to play hide-and-seek? How stupid would I look blaming monsters?
As stupid as I’d once considered my dad, I thought with an acrid laugh.
Another hour passed as I watched and waited.
More hours passed. Lord, give me strength, I prayed. If Bridezilla failed to appear tonight, I’d try again tomorrow—and the next night and the next, however long was necessary. I wouldn’t give up.
Okay, so close to 2:00 a.m. I considered giving up. Only a few times had Bridezilla arrived after two and now my eyelids were as heavy as boulders and my jaw ached from numerous yawns. I was disappointed, angry and—if I was being honest—a tiny bit relieved. No monsters meant there was no reason for a confrontation.
Yep. My plan involved getting up close and personal.
I stood, scanned the forest one last time. I’d lie down, read and—The barest hint of white fabric peeked from behind one of the trees. Breath caught in my throat, burning, as cold fingers of dread crawled down my spine. Okay, so there would be a confrontation, after all.
Adrenaline rode through my veins on a tide of urgency, and I knew there would be no talking myself into staying put.
I grabbed the baseball bat I’d borrowed from Pops.
I should have done this a long time ago, but I’d allowed fear and memories of what had happened after the crash to stop me. But I was smarter now, stronger. I’d survived my first day at a new school. I could brave the scary outdoors to discover what, exactly, haunted the forest.
“I’m sorry, but I have to break your rules, Dad,” I whispered.
The monsters hunger for your flesh, your organs, I heard him say, and for a moment, the past held me enthralled. If they see you, they will chase you. And if they catch you, they will devour you.
How do you know? I remembered asking him, not because I’d believed him but because I’d hoped to trip him up and force him to see how wrong he was. Have you ever been chased?
A few times, but they’ve never caught me.
Well, if they’ve never caught you, how do you know they wanted to devour you?
I could feel the evil of their intentions pulsing from their bodies. Dad, you can’t—
You can, but more than that, a few years ago I found a book that tells all about them.
And you believe everything this book says? Undoubtedly a work of fiction.
He’d thought for a moment. Well, no. It says guns can’t hurt the monsters, but guns can hurt anything. And I’ve talked to others like me—
In chat rooms, I’d said drily. Where forty-year-old men liked to pretend to be seventeen-year-old girls. Awesome.
Yes, and they all say the same thing. The monsters want to eat us.
I forced the memory to the back of my mind, where guilt and sorrow and a million other things churned, and quietly stalked down the stairs. Out the back door I went, stepping onto the porch and stopping to give my eyes time to adjust to the dark. Warmth bathed the night, a cloying blanket I couldn’t shake. Crickets chirped, and locusts sang. Leaves rubbed together as the wind whistled.
In and out I breathed—and caught the most disgusting scent ever. My nose wrinkled, and I grimaced. Honestly, if you stuck your head inside a dead horse’s rectum, you wouldn’t smell anything close to this. (I haven’t, by the way. I was only guessing there.) It was like rotten eggs mixed with dog farts and doused with skunk spray.
My hand tightened on the bat as I scanned the yard. Grasshoppers jumped in different directions. Flaxen moonlight and writhing shadows tangoed as the trees swayed, but nothing jumped out at me.
Okay. All right, then. I could do this. One step, two, I approached the back of the stockade fence. I trembled violently, my limbs threatening to lock up, but I convinced myself to keep going.
Finally, I stood at the gate that led to the forest. Little beads of sweat slid down my spine, and all I wanted to do was race back into my room. Again I listened, breathing in more of that rancid decay. It was stronger now, thickening the air and actually burning the back of my throat. I gagged.
With a shaky hand, I reached out and unhooked the latch. As the gate creaked open, I lifted the bat and assumed the I will beat you to death—really, I mean it! position. A minute ticked by, surely an eternity, but nothing happened. No one attempted to accost me.
Come on, Bell. You can do this, remember? Inch by inch, I moved past the fence, past the line of bushes and into the core of the forest. My gaze scanned left and right. I’d seen that hint of wedding dress over … get ready … there.
Swing—
Nothing. I’d hit nothing.
I stilled, my arms quaking. The moon’s rays were hindered by the thick canopy of leaves that stretched above me, darkening the entire area, so I couldn’t see if there were prints on the ground or not. My heart began to thunder, then lightning followed, little electrical impulses razing the center of my chest.
Behind me, a twig snapped.
I whipped around, swung—and once again hit nothing. I gulped, swallowing the knot trying to lodge in my throat.
I’d never understood the stupid girl in every horror movie ever made, the one who heard a scary noise and went to investigate all by her lonesome … only to be knifed or tortured. I’d thought, if only she would have called the police, waited for help, something, anything, such a horrible fate would have been avoided.
Now, I so understood. Who could I tell about this? Everyone would think I was certifiable, like my dad. I could be locked away, medicated … forgotten.
I sucked it up, just like the stupid horror movie girls, and ventured deeper into the woods. Deeper still …
Another twig snapped behind me. Again I jerked around, my bat already swinging. Again nothing stood in my way—but this time, I saw something.
Reeling, I managed to gasp, “Emma?”
She hovered a few feet from me, her dark hair anchored in pigtails, a pink tutu fluffing around her waist. Her cheek, the one that had been injured in the accident, was unmarred. No scab, no scar. Just healthy, sun-kissed skin.
A frown pulled at her rosebud mouth. “You need to go inside,” she said, fear coating her voice. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Now, Alice.”
The realness of her amazed me. I even caught the little-girl scent of her, so sweet it somehow overshadowed the odor of rot. Tripping over my own feet, I closed the distance between us, reached out.
“Alice,” she said, impatient with me.
My hand ghosted through her.
I wanted to scream in frustration. She was only a hallucination. Does that really matter? She was here and she was with me, and I’d missed her so much. So, yeah, if my mind wanted to toss out images of her, I wouldn’t fight it. She. Was. Here. “How are you, sis?”
“You have to go inside, Alice. It’s almost too late.”
“Too late for what?” I would have given anything to pull her into my arms, to hug her tight and never let go.
Amber eyes met mine, and they glimmered with tears. “Please!”
Whatever she wanted, I would give her—except parting from her. “Will you come with me?”
“Alice! Please, you have to …” Her image shimmered, fading in time with her voice … fading … “Please.”
“No!” I shouted. Catching a glimpse of my beloved sister only to lose her a split second later … was there anything crueler? “Don’t go.” I need you. Real or not. But she’d already disappeared, the sweetness in the air vanishing, too. Frantic, I spun in a circle, looking for any sign of her.
Crushing disappointment was followed by life-saving hope. Maybe she wasn’t gone for good. Maybe she had wanted me to go to my room for a reason. Like, maybe we could talk there.
I shot into motion, shutting the gate and rushing back inside the house. Up the stairs I pounded, uncaring whether or not my grandparents heard me. An eternity seemed to pass before I reached my bedroom and burst inside.
“Emma?”
Silence. I searched every corner, every nook and cranny, but … she wasn’t there.
I waited, five minutes, ten, but she never appeared. She wasn’t going to, was she?
Hope died, the disappointment returning. “Emma,” I said, my chin trembling. My ceiling fan whirled overhead, creating a slight rustle, but there was no other discernible sound.
I’d left my curtains open, I realized distantly, and stalked over to close them.
The moment my fingers touched the fabric, I froze.
Bridezilla—and what could only be her groom—stood just behind the fence, a ray of moonlight spotlighting both of them. They were staring at me, their lips peeled back from their teeth—their very sharp teeth.
Her dress was ripped, dirty, her eyes sunken. Her skin was pitted, with patches of something black oozing from her pores. There wasn’t a veil on her head, but there was hardly any hair, either, just long stringy strands with leaves tangled throughout.
The man beside her wore an equally ripped and dirty tux. He possessed the same sunken eyes, pitted skin and thinning hair. That odd black ooze covered both his chin and dripped … dripped …
Bridezilla swiped out an arm, as if she was reaching for me.
I scrambled backward, tripped, landed on my butt. The impact rattled my brain and maybe even knocked some sense loose. Monsters would have attacked me while they’d had the chance, so this had to be a joke. The two were probably human and wearing costumes. Had probably applied grotesque makeup. But … who would play a joke like this? Who would go to such extremes, for such a long period of time? Who would know this was the perfect way to torment me?
No one, that’s who.
Guess my theory needed work. Drawing on every bit of my courage, I forced myself to stand and approach the window. Another peek outside revealed … the pair was gone. Gone.
I nearly shrieked with frustration.
What the heck was happening? What had I seen? And how had I spoken to my baby sister?
I sank to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I was worse than my dad. There was no denying it now. No hoping otherwise.
Oh, Daddy. I should have been nicer to him. I should have spent more time with him. Should have been more understanding of his psychosis, more sympathetic. I should have comforted him rather than complained about him.
Should—a word of anguish rather than consolation.
5
THE DEADLY RABBIT RETURNS
The next morning, my eyes burned with fatigue as I wandered the halls of Asher High. (Go Tigers.) There were more posters on the walls, and they were now joined by streamers. I’d spent the entire night propped up by the window, desperate for another glimpse of Emma, frightened by the thought of those imaginary monsters.
Seriously, how pathetic was I?
I couldn’t function without sleep much longer, and I knew it. My mind had turned to mush—obviously—and my body felt heavy, weighted down, my steps dragging. The latter was proved when I stumbled into someone. A girl I didn’t recognize. I muttered an apology, and she scurried off without comment.
Think about Em, the freaks and your idiocy later. Just get through the day. Good advice. Fingers crossed, I would listen and obey. Actually, there was a way to guarantee my obedience. Kat. She was the perfect distraction. Except, as I lugged through the crowd, I found myself searching for Cole Holland instead.
My palms sweated as I neared the hallway where I’d seen him yesterday. Distantly I heard the opening and closing of lockers, chatter and laughter, the pound and click of shoes. Closer … was he there again today? I squared my shoulders as I rounded the corner, trying to prepare myself for impact, just in case.
Good thing. He was there.
Play it cool, Bell. He leaned against a locker, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. He wore another hat, this one blue. Shadows cascaded over his face, hiding those magnificent violet eyes, but I could see a fresh bruise on his chin and a lesion on his lower lip.
He’d gotten into a fight.
He wore a black T-shirt that stretched indecently over hard-won muscle. A chain wrapped around his waist, and I would have sworn there were flecks of dried blood on the end. His boots were freshly polished yet severely scuffed.
His friends surrounded him, though there weren’t as many this time. Every single one of them sported a bruise somewhere—face, neck, arms, knuckles—some worse than others. Both of Frosty’s wrists were bandaged, hiding his tattoos.
Okay, seriously. They had to be part of some kind of fight club.
“Hey, Ali.” Oops. Frosty had caught me staring at him. Rather than chastising me, he gave me a sunshine-happy grin. “Lookin’ good today.”
“Thanks,” I replied, trying not to shift nervously. Okay, so I’d dug out my best jeans and a flowing gray-and-white lace top that made me look chestier than I actually was. So what. It didn’t mean anything.
“Why don’t you make our dreams come true and come talk to us?” he added, all smooth charm and cotton candy sweetness.
I returned my attention to Cole, wondering if he would encourage me to come closer, too. He was now peering at me as well, but he wasn’t grinning. He was scowling.
The moment our gazes met, the rest of the world washed away—
—we were in the middle of the now-empty hallway. His strong arms banded around me, dragging me closer to his body. Heat enveloped me, followed by the scent of sun-dried laundry and sandalwood. No strawberry lollipop this time, but that hardly mattered. He still made my mouth water.
Violet eyes drank me in, as if I were the most beautiful thing in the entire world. “Hold on to me.”
Immediately I complied, tracing my fingers up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. No hat. No injuries. “Like this?”
“Yeah, that’s the way.” And then he pressed our lips together, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth and taking control.
Our heads tilted to opposite sides, allowing deeper contact. A shadow of stubble on his jaw scratched at my skin, but even that was exciting and wonderful and utterly tantalizing.
My second kiss, I thought dazedly, and it was even better than the first. He tasted like mint and cinnamon, and I decided the combination was my new favorite flavor. A necessary start to each and every day. And his hands … oh, the things he did with his hands.
He knew exactly what he was doing. Obviously he had experience, a lot of experience, playing a girl like a piano.
Playing … the word reverberated through my mind. Was this a game to him? Or something more? Like a relationship? Would he talk to me when the kiss ended? Or would he want nothing to do with me? Would his friends think I was easy? Look how quickly I’d fallen into his arms. Would I be known as the Asher Slut, giving tongue to whoever wanted it?
Great. Just my luck. My thoughts could now intrude on my whacked-out hallucinations and I—
“Yo, Ali!”
—I blinked, the dream-kiss vanishing and the rest of the world swooping back into focus. I saw a thinning crowd, heard the slamming of lockers mixed with the pounding of footsteps. Smelled a collage of different perfumes, some sugary, some spicy.
A frowning Kat stood in front of me. “There you are,” she said. “Back from your mental vacation. Do you know you’re, like, hovering in the middle of what I’ve deemed social Siberia, blocking traffic?”
“Sorry,” I replied.
A sigh left her. “I know people say apologizing is a sign of weakness, but I think it’s a sign of strength—when people do it to me. Just do me a favor and capture my next words like the beautiful butterflies they are and never let them go. If you don’t wipe Cole Holland from your mind, you’ll end up on the SS Miserable with me.”
I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over her shoulder. Cole was—
Striding toward me, determination in his every step. A fierce scowl marred his features. His hands were fisted, and I could see the scabs on his knuckles. He must have done a lot of punching last night. I felt sorry for whomever he’d fought.
You’re just standing here! Do you want him to reach you? He would demand to know why I kept eye-stalking him.
I thought I’d put on my big-girl panties today, but no. Like a coward, I threw out, “Thanks for the advice. It’s great, and I’ll be sure to run with it.” Literally. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” Before Kat could rapid-fire questions at me, I spun and headed in the opposite direction, taking the looong way to the ladies’ room in front of my first class. Thankfully, Cole never caught up with me. Or maybe he hadn’t even tried, which was more likely. With muscles like his, I bet he could outrun a cheetah.
At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, dried myself with a paper towel before a single droplet could wet my shirt and studied my reflection. My cheeks were rosy, my bottom lip red and swollen. I must have chewed it during the vision thing.
Better than Cole chewing it, right?
No time to work up a believable answer. Mackenzie Love sailed into the bathroom, clearly on a mission. Today her dark curls were twisted on top of her head, several tendrils falling around her face. Her makeup was perfect, except for a blue-and-yellow smudge on her left cheek. A smudge that looked suspiciously like a bruise. She wore a long-sleeved button-up top and soft, flowing pants. Stylish, comfortable, yet completely inappropriate for the heat outside.
Every inch a predator, she narrowed her eyes and closed the distance between us. This must be the “corner and threaten” routine Kat had warned me about.
“I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing,” she snapped, “but I will bury you if you hurt one of my friends.”
Yep. It was. “I think my name is Ali Bell, and I think I’m standing here, minding my own business. You should try it.” Because Mackenzie was a few inches shorter than me, she had to look up to meet my gaze. For once, my height made me deliriously happy.
She scowled and flashed perfectly straight white teeth. “You better watch yourself. You do not want to see me angry.”
“Or, what? You’ll grow a few inches, develop muscles and turn green?” Sorry, but I wasn’t someone who was easily intimidated. Except by someone with black hair and violet eyes, of course.
Mackenzie sputtered as she tried to think up a reply. I was willing to bet I was the first person to ever stand up to her. Although, I couldn’t imagine Kat cowering or backing down no matter who her opponent was.
“I don’t want to be late to class,” I said, deciding to end things here and now, “so maybe find me later and tell me whatever insult you think up.”
I breezed past her—she was still sputtering—and saw Cole at the end of the hall. Wonder of wonders, he had followed me.
He spotted me and bounded into motion. I just couldn’t catch a break, could I? The bell rang as I hurried toward him. Yes, toward him. Good news was, I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Before he could catch me, I reached my class and soared inside, shutting the door behind me.
Of course, I was late again. Mr. Butthole made me stand in front of the class and apologize. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but through the window in the center of the door, I could see Cole glaring at me. Either glaring was his expression du jour or I was in big trouble.
Only when I slid into my seat did I lose sight of him. What a relief! I’d successfully avoided two confrontations with him. Now to avoid him for the rest of my life. No way could I ever explain what had twice happened in that hallway. Not without bursting into actual flames of embarrassment. No way I could explain why it had happened, or even how.
I didn’t see him on my way to second or third block, and somehow, someway, I managed to keep my vow to Ms. Meyers. Score! When the bell rang to signal it was time for lunch, I kind of expected Frosty and Bronx to be waiting for me. They weren’t. Double score! I kind of expected Cole to fly out of nowhere and try to flag me down, yet he didn’t. Win! I’d already been forgotten, I guess.
After stuffing my book and notes into my locker, I trudged to the cafeteria. Kat would demand an explanation for my behavior this morning, and leading with I was imagining getting freaky with your ex’s friend wasn’t going to fly. She’d ask more questions, and I still had no answers. Well, other than I am seriously screwed up.
Just before I reached the open double doors, Mackenzie stepped into my path. I barely stopped myself from slamming into her.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “Not this time.”
“Do we really need to have another discussion?” I asked on a sigh. I’d only been smart-alecking—yeah, I’d just turned that word into a verb—when I’d told her to find me later.
“Yes. We need to ‘have another discussion,’“ she mimicked in a shrill voice. “I saw Cole chasing you outside the bathroom. You ran from him. Why?” She didn’t even try to hide her fury. “Are you playing hard to get? Because it’s a little late for that. The way I hear it, you can’t keep your eyes off him.”
Heat burned up my throat and scalded my cheeks. Cole had said something to his friends or they had said something on their own. Either way, people had noticed. “Why do you care?” I snapped, going for bravado. “The way I hear it, you’re not dating him anymore.”
A bomb detonated in her eyes, flames crackling. “You have no idea what’s going on between me and Cole.”
“You’re right. And it doesn’t concern me,” I said, no matter that a little part of me might want to know the truth.
Dark lashes fused, hiding those fiery jade-green irises. “Earlier I told you I’d hurt you if you hurt him. That’s still true. But now I’m telling you to stay away from him or I’ll wipe the floor with your face before I do the hurting.”
Okay, that did it. She’d pushed me right over the edge of my patience. “If you want me to cry and promise to do whatever you want, try a more original threat.” A saner, more rational person would have mentioned the fact that Cole and I had never actually spoken a word to each other—and clearly had no plans to do so.
But I wasn’t exactly sane or rational lately.
All about the intimidation, she rose to her tiptoes, putting us nose-to-nose. “I am capable of things you can’t even imagine.”
“Right back at you.”
“That’s brave talk. Let’s see you back it up.”
“Let’s see you back off, Love Button, before you burst a vessel,” a familiar voice said from behind her.
I caught the hint of a scowl before Mackenzie twisted. “Alley Kat. Racing to the rescue of another stray?”
Grinning, Kat strolled to my side. “Yes I am. To your rescue, just so we’re clear. My Ali has skills. The first time I met her, there were people all around her moaning and groaning in pain. True story. Also, I don’t want her suspended after only two days just because she did the entire school a favor and fed you your own teeth. Besides, Cole’s the one you should be chatting with. He practically ate her up with his eyes. In fact, I’m surprised Ali doesn’t have bite marks.”
Mackenzie balled her hands into fists. I stepped in front of Kat, just in case. No one hit my friend and lived to tell the tale. That was my new motto, and one I would forever embrace.
“You’re in trouble now,” Kat sang.
Slowly Mackenzie unfurled her fingers. “You’re not worth it,” she snapped at the brunette.
“Is that so? Well, go ahead, ask Frosty,” I said. “She’s worth anything.”
Laughing, Kat pinky waved at Mackenzie, hooked her arm through mine and spun us both around, and together we sailed to an empty table in back. Even better, Mackenzie was once again left sputtering.
“As you’ve probably figured out, there are only two people in this place who have the lady balls to stand up to her—and I’m one of them, but I had no idea you’d be the other,” Kat said, voice dripping with glee. “I am so glad we met at an undisclosed location over the summer.”
“Me, too.” I noticed all of the cafeteria’s occupants were watching us, silent, even gaping. I rubbed my palms on my thighs, the friction keeping me grounded. Had they overheard our conversation with Mackenzie?
My movements quickened when I spotted Cole. He occupied the same table as yesterday, surrounded by the same friends. We locked gazes for several seconds. I held my breath, expecting a vision. But … one never came.
I don’t know what he had expected—or if he’d expected anything at all; his expression stayed bland, until Mackenzie reached his table and shimmied in next to him. She cupped his jaw, her fingers caressing his cheeks. Frowning, he tugged out of her hold, and the two engaged in a low, angry conversation. At least, I think it was angry. He’d exchanged his frown for a menacing glower. He was massaging the back of his neck, as though to stop himself from strangling the girl.
“And she’s off for another mental vacation,” Kat muttered.
Pull yourself together, Bell. “Sorry,” I replied.
From across the table, Wren said, “After that, you can’t deny you’re interested in Cole.”
Well, great. I’d been so distracted, I’d missed her appearance. The sharpness had left her, at least; today’s expression soft and happy. But … was that a fringed shirt she was wearing?
Reeve and Poppy were beside her, the entire group now surrounding me. They, too, looked to be wearing fringe. Had I somehow started a (horrible) trend?
“No,” I said. “I’m not interested in him.” I was quickly becoming obsessed with him.
“Oh.” Wren’s shoulders drooped as if she were a flower that had been left in a vase without water.
“I thought you said I needed to stay away from him.”
“I changed my mind,” she said brightly, toying with several locks of her hair. “You guys would make an awesome couple. Just awesome.” Now she sounded too bright.
I wasn’t sure how to take that when I knew she considered him the worst kind of trouble.
“Ali, Ali, Ali,” Kat said and tsked under her tongue. “Don’t look so forlorn. You’re making the right decision. Cole once ate a pound of rusty nails and claimed it tasted like unicorn tears mixed with fairy dust. True story. I was there.”
Reeve nodded encouragingly. “I wasn’t there, but I can believe it. I once saw him body slam a teacher for daring to ask him the meaning of X minus Y.”
“He put the guy in the hospital for three months,” Poppy said, tapping a fingernail against her chin. “Or was that a student he body slammed for daring to give an answer different than his?”
“Probably both. He’s body slammed enough people to start a new country. And there could be a neighboring city for the people he’s punched in the throat.” Reeve’s delicate fingers fluttered up to her own throat, as if she were experiencing sympathy pains. Then she added, “The last time he did that was the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen,” and grinned. “Oh, oh.” Clap, clap. “It’s still on YouTube, I think. Give me your number and I’ll text you a link.”
“Maybe Ali will luck out and Cole won’t actually body slam her,” Wren said.
All the other girls burst out laughing, causing Wren’s cheeks to redden.
“She’s the first person he’ll body slam,” Kat said with a snicker. “He’s probably imagined it a thousand times already.”
My own cheeks heating to a lovely shade of red, I made a mental note: Do a search on Cole Holland the moment you get home. Not that I believed even half the things these girls had told me. Still, my curiosity was piqued.
Even though I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d have my phone, I hit the girls with my digits and took theirs. Thing was, my grandparents probably wouldn’t continue to pay the bill. They were very fond of saying: Why do you need a cell phone when we have a perfectly decent landline at home? I knew they’d forked over the money during the summer months because my cell had been the last thing my parents had given me, and I would have freaked out without it.
I had pictures of Emma stored in it, as well as her text messages. Even as young as she’d been, she’d had her own cell, too, because Dad had wanted us connected at all times, just in case. And no, I hadn’t looked at a single photo or read a single text; I just didn’t have the heart. Not yet. One day, though, I would. I hoped.
“Here. Eat this.” Kat handed me half of her PB&J. “If I know my Ali, and I’m pretty sure that I do, you’re going to ignore my excellent advice and make a play for Cole. And if you’re going after someone like him, you need to keep your strength up.”
“I’m not going after him.” I wasn’t that crazy, was I? “But thank you for the sandwich.” I’d forgotten my lunch and scarfed down the sandwich as if it were manna from heaven. “So … are you guys dating anyone?”
“I am,” Wren replied. She sipped her bottled water. “He graduated from here last year, and now goes to UA. I usually see him on weekends. He’s premed, you know, and I plan to be a nurse. Once he graduates, we’ll get married and our lives will be perfect.”
Poppy shrugged. “I keep my options open the first month of school, looking around, shopping really, until I find someone I want. Sadly, there are no leading contenders this year.”
Reeve tossed her side-ponytail over her shoulder. “No one for me.”
“Don’t lie to Ali.” Kat wagged a finger at her. “When she and Cole get married in a beautiful prison ceremony, because we all know that’s where Cole will be, she’ll be able to help your cause.” Bright hazels swung to me, pinning me in place. “She’s been crushing on Bronx for two years.”
Her announcement hit me with the force of, say, a baseball bat. I never would have guessed that one. “But he’s so …”
“Serial killer-esque?” Kat asked with an arched brow.
Well, yeah. But like I really had room to judge. Bronx might give off a serial killer vibe, but I was obsessed with the guy he considered his leader.
“I’ve tried to warn her,” Wren said.
“Many times,” Poppy added with a nod.
Reeve was the third girl to blush. She lifted her chin and said, “Bronx has made it more than clear that he’s not interested in me, so what I feel doesn’t matter.”
As Wren capped her water bottle, she said, “And how many times have I told you that you’re better off?”
“You really are,” Poppy reiterated.
“Besides,” Reeve continued, “I’ve decided to say yes to John Clary and go on a date.”
“John Clary!” Kat, Poppy and Wren said in unison. Then:
“He’s so perfect for you!”
“Such a doll!”
“He can tutor you in math, help you get a good grade!”
I had nothing to offer. I had no idea who John Clary was.
As each of the girls launched a million questions at her, the bell rang to signal it was time to head to class. Poor Reeve. She looked as comfortable as if she were standing naked in front of her history class, giving a report on the Salem witch trials and using her own body as a visual aid for the torture.
I said my goodbyes and stood. When I turned, I bumped into someone. I muttered an apology, my hands flattening on a hard chest as I sought to regain my balance.
Whatever I’d meant to say next died a quick death the moment I realized my hands were on Cole Holland.
My hands were actually on Cole Holland.
I looked up … up … up … and there he was. I inhaled sharply, caught the scent of sandalwood and almost moaned. He smelled just like he had during the … Oh, sweat heaven. Was this a hallucination, too? Here, now? I dug my fingers into his chest. He was solid, warm. Which meant … this was real. This was happening.
A gasp left me, and I tried to jump backward only to bang into the table bench. I couldn’t dart forward. He was too big, caging me.
My stomach started performing stupid backflips, decided that wasn’t enough, and next gave a full-on circus trapeze act.
“Well, well,” Kat said with a little too much glee. The other girls frowned at Cole before scurrying off. “You here to walk Ali and me to class or what, big boy?”
A muscle ticked in Cole’s jaw, a sure sign of sizzling anger, blatant aggression, and—I could have been imagining here—that he hoped to one day be the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.
“Well?” Kat prompted.
“Ali.” His gaze never veered from my face.
One word, and yet his voice … thrilled me. Deep and rich and ragged, as if my name had been pushed through a meat grinder. Why was that so smexy? And how was the voice I heard now the same one I’d heard in my visions?
“Me?” I managed to squeak out. “Why?”
Stupid question. I knew why.
He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, “Let go of Frosty’s leash. You’re choking the life out of him.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. “He deserves to choke. He didn’t keep Little Frost in his pants this summer.” The words snapped like a whip.
“He did,” Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence.
“Not.”
“Did.”
“Not!”
“Did,” he said, calm now despite her growing fervor.
My head would have zinged back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match, but Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I didn’t have the strength to pull away.
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Gena Showalter
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Детская проза
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Alice in Zombieland, электронная книга автора Gena Showalter на английском языке, в жанре детская проза