Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1)

by Emily Kazmierski

  Making up my mind, I meet his watchful eyes. “Can you show me where the drama club meets?” I’d try to find it myself, but I’m still getting my bearings and I don’t want to be late for the first meeting of the semester.

  “So you’re a thespian, huh?” Noah perks up. His brown eyes shine as if I’ve given him insight into my very soul.

  “Something like that.” Very like that, actually. I’d just started going on auditions. Had actually landed a small part on a popular police procedural. But then…

  A custodian exits the bathroom abruptly, making me skirt around him as I backpedal through the crowd.

  The drama club meets in the school’s theater behind the gym. It’s a large, black box with platforms centered around a lowered stage. The group does all of their plays in the round. I’ve never experienced that before. Anticipation filters through me. It’ll provide a unique challenge.

  Noah says his goodbye and goes, leaving me standing in the theater doorway alone. The interior of the dark, cavernous space is cool, a reprieve from the punishing heat outside. Metal frameworks run along the ceiling, holding the colored lights that are trained on the center of the room.

  Squaring my shoulders, I make my way down the aisle toward where the club’s members are sprawled out on the platforms talking and laughing. A guy tosses a cheese puff into the air and catches it to the squeals of a couple of younger girls. When I get close enough, they turn to stare.

  My instinct to puff up and make myself as large as possible to intimidate them prickles under my skin, but I ignore it. It took a lot of compelling arguments to convince Aunt Karen to let me participate in drama club, and the last thing I need is to ruin it by creating a scene my very first time in the building.

  “You’re Megan, right? I’m Fiona. Welcome to drama club.” A tall Black girl with long, multi-colored braids stands and greets me, brushing her hands on the front of her jean shorts.

  “Thanks. I heard you guys were doing The Mousetrap this semester. It’s a great play.”

  “Yeah, it should be fun. Why don’t you come sit with us?” She leads me to one of the platforms and introduces me to her friends. “Marisa, our Mollie Ralston. Viv, Costuming. I usually work lighting. What about you?”

  I glance at Marisa, wishing desperately I could tell her I played that role when we’d done the play back home. But I can’t. It was part of my deal with Aunt Karen. No front-of-the-curtain parts. “Stage crew all the way.”

  “So you’ve done this play before?” Marisa asks, holding up a cracked-spine paperback. She shoves her raven hair back when it falls in her eyes.

  I nod, enthusiastic, and tell them about how, at my old school, we staged the murder mystery play in a train car as a nod to Agatha Christie’s most famous book, Murder on the Orient Express.

  “The police officer was a woman? Nice touch,” Marisa says, tapping the cover of her book thoughtfully. “I suggested to Esau that we do this one with an all-female cast, but he said no.”

  “He glared, is what he did,” Viv puts in.

  “Directors.” Marisa huffs a strand of hair out of her face.

  “Seriously,” I put in. My nerves are jangling. I’ve never met this Esau person, but he sounds like a terrible director. Hopefully he’s learned there is no “I” in team. T. E. A. M. Team. Clap clap.

  “Excellent. Want some popcorn?” Fiona pulls a clear ziplock out of her bag and holds it out to me.

  “She’s always trying new flavors,” Marisa puts in, smoothing her hair into a high ponytail.

  I run my fingers through my own mousy brown locks, hesitating when my eyes land on the bag of green-tinted kernels. I don’t want to alienate these girls. How bad can green popcorn be? I take some. Chew slowly.

  “So… can I ask you a question?” Viv asks, her green eyes bright with curiosity.

  Here it comes. I brace myself.

  “How’d you get that scar?” She points to her own cheek while looking at mine.

  Thick, hot blood running down my neck.

  Pulling as the doctor yanked my face back together.

  Taking off the white gauzy bandage to see the angry red line that cut through my cheek.

  Stark black stitches against tanned skin.

  “Shut it, Viv. It’s rude to ask,” Fiona scolds her before turning to me. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

  My head shakes. I exhale. “It’s fine. Running with scissors. Stupid, I know.”

  The girls recoil in chorus.

  “That must have hurt,” Viv says, gritting her teeth.

  “You have no idea.”

  “All right, let’s get started.” The commanding voice rings through the room, hushing all other conversation.

  Everyone turns toward it.

  A male figure is silhouetted by the afternoon sun. The door thuds as he advances toward us. I blink him into focus and my eyes widen.

  “Who’s that?” I whisper to Fiona.

  “Our director—Esau Chavez. He’s a senior and the leader of the club. It’s his first semester directing. Miss Crabtree, she’s our advisor, has an office through there,” she points down a hallway, “but she pretty much lets us do our thing. She’ll pop in from time to time to make sure we’re actually working, though.”

  I can’t help but notice that many of the other students’ attention is riveted to the director as he walks between the platforms and stands with his arms crossed in the center of the stage. And no wonder. He’s north of six feet, with sun-bronzed skin and black eyebrows like slashes above his eyes. Black hair in two French braids that hang down his chest. Large gauges in his ears. Whoa, is all I can think when I look at him.

  Esau’s jaw works as he surveys us. “Nice to be back with everyone. I’m looking forward to working on The Mousetrap with you guys. If we bust our butts, this play will be great. Maybe the best the town has seen in years.” His eyes pause on me. “Who are you?” There’s a note of accusation in his voice that makes my hackles rise.

  “Megan Pritchard,” I say, standing with chin raised. “I just moved here, and I’m interested in working with the stage crew. I’ve done this play before, so if you’re interested, I’ve got some ideas on how to—”

  “I’m directing, so no thanks. I’ve already got a strong vision for how I want this thing to look. I’m sure Fiona can find something for you to do backstage, though.” Esau turns away to talk to a guy on the opposite platform. Dismissing me. Blocking my view of the other half of the group.

  Embarrassed, I take a step closer. “I really think you’ll be able to learn from my experience.”

  Esau tenses, glancing at me over his shoulder. “If you’re not interested in listening to your director, there’s the door.” One long arm points toward the exit.

  My skin glows red hot as he stalks off toward what I assume is the advisor’s office.

  “Holy smokes.” Marisa fans herself with her script. “That was a scorcher.” There’s no missing the piqued interest in her expression. “He’s pretty hot, huh?”

  I catch myself before I can make a snarky comment about grumpy alpha assholes.

  Fiona rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s got a stick up his butt about the show, but he’s not a bad director.”

  Not wanting to argue, I keep my mouth shut. A good director would want to hear from everyone on his team. Would want any ideas that would ensure the success of the show. Esau Chavez is clearly on an ego-induced power trip.

  Pulling a baggie of baby carrots out of my backpack, I crunch down on one.

  Esau, who is standing in the mouth of the hallway, glares at me. “No eating in the theater.”

  Surprised, I stare at him, carrot gripped in my fingers.

  “No food. Period.”

  I put my snack away, eyebrows rising when he doesn’t make everyone else stow their crap. It’s been less than five minutes and I’m already starting to hate Esau Chavez.

  Fiona puts her popcorn away in solidarity. Marisa shakes her head.


  Aunt Karen is focused on the radio when I climb into her car, but she doesn’t forget to hold out her palm for the recorder. I hand it over, not bothering to hide my annoyance at her brusqueness.

  The radio talk show host is going on about security footage at some gas station in the southern part of the state. After a quick look at me, Aunt Karen turns it off.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, even though I don’t want to listen.

  “It’s fine.” The way her hands tighten around the steering wheel indicates otherwise. She maneuvers toward the street. Viv waves enthusiastically from where she’s standing next to Fiona, Marisa, and several other drama kids near the tailgate of a filthy pickup truck. I wave back before we’re too far away.

  The silence in the car is oppressive. I wish my guardian would turn the radio back on. I may not want to hear the latest grizzly news coming out of southern California, but it might be better than the dead air in the already stifling car. Ugh, I wish she’d get the AC fixed in this thing.

  I suck in a breath. Aunt Karen must hear the desperation in it, because she turns up the fan. Hot air blasts against my face, making me gasp, and she turns it down again.

  “What were they talking about?” I gesture toward the radio. My stomach churns, afraid of the answer yet compelled to ask. Fear and anger twine in my belly, because even before my guardian speaks, I know she’s not going to say the words I have dreaded and craved hearing for months. An indication that the hell I’m in is finally coming to an end.

  The woman levels a heavy look at me, considering. “There was a possible sighting of the Mayday Killer outside a gas station, but the police don’t know where he went. Or even if it was truly him.”

  A shudder runs through my core.

  Chapter 3

  Day 96, Friday

  I try to drown out the noise as I crouch and line up a shot of the herd of feet stampeding through the courtyard as the last bell of the day finishes reverberating between the buildings.

  “Megan?”

  A tap on my shoulder makes me whirl around, falling flat on my butt.

  Noah’s peering down at me, his curly hair haloed by the blazing afternoon sun. “I was calling you, but I guess you didn’t hear me. Want help up?” He holds out a hand, which I consider taking but don’t.

  I stand slowly, brushing the bits of yellowed grass off my bare legs.

  “Inspiration struck, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  He lopes beside me as I head for the theater. It’s my second club meeting. Hopefully I can get on Esau’s good side somehow. Otherwise, drama club is going to be pretty much torture.

  Shouts and scuffing shoes emanate from the gym as we pass by, and a janitor’s cart is standing abandoned in the propped open doorway. I walk a hair faster.

  “Wow, you walk fast,” Noah says, matching my pace. “Hey, I was thinking about going to the Santa Cruz boardwalk tomorrow and was wondering if you’d like to go?” He ducks his head a little, almost like he’s nervous.

  I looked up the boardwalk the other day, and it does look really fun. There are tons of rides and booths with fried cookies and candy bars. Plus, it’s literally built right on the sand. I can almost feel the warm grit between my toes.

  “That could be fun. Who all is going?”

  Noah stops in his tracks, mere feet from the door to the theater. Adjusts his glasses. “Oh, um, a bunch of my friends. They’ll like you. Promise.”

  I shear off the hint of a smile that threatens to blossom, choking it with the flicker of envy that lights in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll have to check with Aunt Karen. Can I text you?”

  “Sure. Sounds great.” With a wave, he jogs away.

  In the theater I sit with Fiona, Viv, and Marisa. They’ve sort of welcomed me into their group. It’s nice to have people to sit with at lunch instead of finding a grassy hill to conquer by myself.

  Looking around to make sure Esau isn’t here yet, I take out the cheesy puffs in my backpack and crunch into them. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. But leaving orange fingerprints all over the theater might. I lick my fingers clean as I absorb the conversation of the girls around me.

  Marisa takes a sip of her drink, ending the story about her mom, who used to be a dancer on Broadway.

  “So, are you guys going to the boardwalk tomorrow?” I ask. “Noah said a bunch of people were going.”

  Fiona leans closer, snagging a cheesy puff. “I haven’t heard of anyone planning to go out there. You sure he said tomorrow?”

  I nod, relaying the conversation I had with Noah.

  Fiona exchanges glances with Marisa before looking at me. “You know what it sounds like? Like he was asking you on a date.”

  “Agree,” Marisa puts in. “Plus, he’s still walking you to all your classes, right?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, not comfortable with where this conversation is going.

  “Don’t you think that’s overkill for a student liaison? One or two days, sure. But five?”

  “He’s just being nice,” I say, hearing how flimsy an excuse it is.

  Fiona’s head tilts to the side, lips quirked upward. “The question is, are you interested?”

  My tongue gets tied in my mouth as I struggle to find something to say. I’ve known Noah for less than a week. He’s nice and all, but I’m definitely not ready to go on a date with him. That is, if Aunt Karen would agree to it, which she won’t. I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Looks like we’re going to the boardwalk tomorrow then. Who’s in?” Fiona smiles as Marisa and Viv cheer their enthusiasm at the idea.

  The theater door flies open and Esau steps inside, eyes scanning over the group of us assembled on the platforms.

  Ducking my head, I try to stow the cheese puffs without crinkling the bag.

  The grumpy director strides closer. “Pritchard, go see if the art teacher has any extra paintbrushes we can use to touch up these platforms. And once again I’ll remind you that there are no snacks allowed in the theater.”

  “I don’t have any snacks.” I stand up, tucking my backpack under the platform.

  One of Esau’s thick eyebrows arches. He looks pointedly at my fingertips, which are tinged orange. Oops.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “Can you tell me where the art room is?”

  “I’ll take her,” Viv volunteers. “It’s right next to my ceramics class.”

  “I need you here to inventory our costumes. She’s a big girl. You can find it on your own, can’t you?”

  Esau’s condescending tone makes me frown as I march out.

  What an ass.

  Rounding the corner, I slam into a solid body. The air gets sucked out of my lungs as I fall backward. A vice-like hand grips my elbow, keeping me from falling. Strong fingers dig into my arm, unearthing memories that I don’t want to relive ever again.

  I yank my arm until it comes loose. My pulse pounds in my temples. My eyes round when I see it’s only a janitor looming over me.

  “You all right?” he asks in a scratchy voice.

  I stare, blinking him into focus.

  “Watch where you’re going next time, okay?” Then he’s gone.

  Gasping for air, I lean against the side of the building. Telling myself over and over that I’m safe. There’s nothing to be scared of.

  Of course that’s not true.

  Esau spends the rest of the afternoon ordering me on stupid errands all over campus, leaving me no time to work with Fiona on the lighting and stage setup for the play. Each time I return to the theater with whatever random items he sent me to fetch, his nostrils flare. Then he sends me out again. There’s no time to share any ideas about how to make our production the best it can be. At least now I know where everything is on campus.

  When Aunt Karen picks me up from school, the look she gives me is not reassuring. I know without asking that the police haven’t caught him yet. Maybe they never will.

  Chapter 4

&n
bsp; Day 97, Saturday

  This interrogation has got to be over soon.

  “What route are you taking to the beach?” Aunt Karen asks.

  Ready, Fiona holds out her phone, navigation app open.

  “That looks like a windy road.”

  “I’ve been driving for two years and never had an accident.” Fiona tucks the phone into her large rattan beach bag. Her braids are up in a high twist on top of her head like a crown.

  “And your car is in good shape?”

  “My dad checked it over last week. He’s a mechanic at the dealership.” Fiona winks at me. She’s holding up under my guardian’s pop-quiz really well and rocking her two-piece Hawaiian print bikini and sarong too.

  “Fiona’s really responsible,” Marisa adds with a firm nod. “She’s in charge of the entire stage crew for drama club, and we’ve never had any on-set accidents.” She’s wearing a full coverage rash guard over her terra cotta skin.

  Viv giggles into her hand, averting her eyes when Aunt Karen zeroes in on her before looking at me.

  “You’ll be careful? Not go on any dangerous rides? Or swim out too far into the ocean?”

  One hand lands on my hip. “I’m not a baby. I know how to stay alive.”

  A tense beat passes, and Aunt Karen scowls as if the statement is dubious at best. The stairs of the old house creak, but I don’t look toward the noise. There’s nothing there to see.

  “I swear Megan will come home in one piece,” Fiona says, holding up a hand in what looks more like a Vulcan salute than scout’s honor.

  “You’ll go straight to the boardwalk and straight back. No extraneous stops. And make sure to wear enough sunscreen.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Swiping my bag of snacks and a water bottle out of the fridge, I hurry my new friends out of the house before Aunt Karen can change her mind. Mercifully we didn’t mention there would be boys, or there’s no way she would have let me go. She’s got the overprotective jailor vibe down pat. It’s mortifying.

  I can’t blame her.

  “Take the front,” Viv says as we near the car, “so you can enjoy the drive. It’s really pretty.”