“Seriously though, aren’t you sick of her yet?” Ken threw an imaginary football for a long pass down the deserted hall. “Chelsea’s a pain.”
Zack raised his eyebrows and blurted what was expected of the guy with the sexiest girl in school. “Are you kidding? She’s hot as hell!” His words sounded as hollow as their echoing footsteps.
“No one’s here,” Zack said, dropping into a chair near the back of their empty classroom. “We look like idiots.”
“No one ever thinks we look like idiots,” Ken said, flopping into the seat next to Zack. “We’re cool, and whatever we do becomes cool.”
Zack was opening his mouth to protest Ken’s flawed logic when the school’s resident gang filed into the classroom and claimed seats in the row behind them. Two of these guys were on his and Ken’s football team, but both were only alternates, and no one ever saw them play. Zack refused to call them by their self-appointed name, even though Assassin’s Honor ironically fit them well. They were known for unpredictability, equally likely to blackmail your enemies as sell you out to the highest bidder. But the lowlifes didn’t deserve the cool rep their name implied.
Nathan Johnson, the gang’s obnoxious leader, thumped Zack on the back with a lot more force than necessary. “Dude! We had the best night.”
Zack glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?” He arranged his face into a mildly interested expression.
“We met college chicks.” Alex leered.
“Sweet,” Zack said in a dismissive monotone and turned back to Ken. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Who cares?” Ken barely glanced in their direction. He was busy eyeing every girl who passed the open classroom door. Had he studied which seat made the best location to wave at every female in the school? Ken assumed girls needed only to know him to love him. Zack had never been as confident but had always done well on the dating front. Girls threw themselves at him almost as often as Ken hit on them.
“Are you even listening?” Ken punched Zack’s shoulder.
“Huh? No.” Zack was having what he had termed a stupid day. He was too tired and hung over to function. He stretched in an attempt to clear the cobwebs from his head.
“Let’s have a party tonight! We can host it at your place. It’s Friday, and your parents are out of town. It’ll be perfect! Why didn’t we think of it before?”
Zack frowned. He hadn’t suggested it because post-party cleanup was a waking nightmare from hell. It was much more fun trashing someone else’s house. “Who would we invite?”
Ken’s eyebrows formed a high arch. “Everyone, obviously!”
“Can’t.” His stomach churned at the idea of more alcohol. “Chris is supposed to have a friend over.”
“Even better! Your brother will have someone to chill with while we party.”
Zack was out of excuses. He nodded reluctantly to shut him up. His friends would never let him forget it if he turned down a legendary party in favor of some aspirin.
“See, your day’s looking up,” Ken said with a chuckle. Chelsea had arrived and glued her lips to Zack’s. He kissed her back with little enthusiasm. His girlfriend loved public displays of affection but cooled off significantly once they were alone. The girl drove him insane.
Chelsea busied herself exchanging flirty notes with Alex. Zack ground his teeth against a burst of righteous anger. Alex, of all people? Seriously? The guy had the worst personality known to man, but Chelsea found his shady rep attractive. Zack clenched and unclenched his fists under his desk, imagining Alex’s stupid face when he punched his lights out. He hated how often Chelsea flirted with other guys.
Four
SNOWFLAKES FLUTTERED PAST the window of Amy’s precalculus classroom. Her teacher’s voice droned on in the background, the endless struggle of quadratic equations making her mind wander and her eyes heavy. She had given up note-taking to daydream, as had half the class. The blond football jock in the row in front of her had fallen asleep on his desk.
Stifling hot air was blowing from a vent in the wall near her feet. She leaned to the side in an effort to stay awake and choked on a cloud of perfume. The girl next to her had doused herself with half her bottle of Daisy by Marc Jacobs. Its cloying floral scent made Amy nauseous.
She scowled at the clock ticking seconds away with agonizing slowness. She longed to ditch the rest of her classes, but she’d have to come traipsing back to fetch Susan at 3:15 anyway. And after that, she had work at 5:00. There was no point in going all the way home to relax for a few painfully short hours.
No one ever liked their minimum wage job, but Amy had a special hatred reserved for working Friday nights. The popular diner where she waitressed attracted everyone under the sun and was overrun on Fridays with a zoo of her peers. Spending seven hours a day with her classmates was bad enough. It added insult to injury when they followed her to work.
The lunch bell saved her from certain suffocation. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and strode confidently from the room. Amy tried to beat the stampede to the cafeteria in an effort to escape outside without trudging through her classmates toxic soup of stupid. This meant she had to rush through the halls with a stack of books balanced precariously in her arms. Her strategy worked better on some days than others. She was bulldozed by a chubby, blond senior halfway across the congested cafeteria. Her books, her calculator, and her iPhone cascaded to the ground. She gave the moron the finger as he swaggered away. Amy released a weary sigh and stooped to gather her things.
The chilly November wind was refreshing, but she was still too nauseated to eat. She lobbed her lunch over a crowd and into the trash, stomped to a corner of the courtyard, and took refuge on a low wall overlooking the football field. She put in her earbuds, cranked Bon Jovi, and stared moodily into space.
The icy wind sliced through her winter coat, and a sprinkling of fluffy white snowflakes blew into her face. The temperature was hovering around minus five degrees Celsius. Amy was originally from Vancouver and had yet to adjust to Toronto’s harsh winters. No self-respecting autumn afternoon on the west coast dared get this cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and huddled deeper into her jacket.
A group of athletic guys surged onto the muddy field, disrupting her quiet refuge. She released a disgruntled huff and brushed snowflakes from her hair. The scene took her back to a similar field in a distinctly different time and place. The boys’ voices faded as the landscape blurred.
It was a beautiful, warm day in June. Half of Amy’s eighth grade class was lounging on the soccer field to soak up the sunshine. She and the girls had gathered to plan their year-end party. As queen bitch, every decision rested squarely on her shoulders. Her best friends picked apart her choices and waited eagerly to destroy her. Everyone wanted a turn in the limelight.
“Look out!”
The shout jolted her back to the present. A tan football was hurtling toward her face. She reflexively put up her hands and caught it before it broke her nose.
“Sorry about that. You okay?” A redheaded jock jogged toward her.
She tossed him the ball and stood to leave. She preferred her face in one piece.
Her afternoon classes dragged at a snail’s pace of impending doom. She trudged across the street to collect Susan beneath a thick cloud of dread at the mountain of homework she had to do.
The playground swarmed with little kids welcoming the weekend with noisy gusto. A group of younger children were playing a fast-paced game of tag, little Bobby Price among them. She smiled to herself. Good job, Cole.
“Amy! Hi!” A blur of curly blonde hair zoomed toward her at lightning speed and a petite fourth grader joyously tackle-hugged her.
“Hi.” She returned the girl’s hug. “Where’s Sue?” Sarah Matthews was one of Susan’s best friends. The crazy bundle of energy never failed to make Amy smile.
“She’s gone already,” Sarah chirped, brushing sun-kissed curls out of her chubby-cheeked face. “She went to Chris’s house.”
/> “She did?”
“Yes!” Sarah laughed at her bewildered expression, her big green eyes dancing with light. “I have to go, but tell Sue I’m coming over soon, okay?”
“You got it. See you later, Sarah.”
“Bye!” She flashed a gap-toothed grin and trotted across the playground to her mom’s waiting minivan.
Amy gazed heavenward. How had she forgotten about Susan’s playdate with Chris? Worse, she had forgotten to get his address. How was she supposed to pick Susan up? She turned toward the road. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. First, she had to survive Friday night at Pete’s. She rubbed her tired eyes.
Amy plodded the six blocks to work through thickly falling snow. She’d arrive an hour early but might score some chocolate cake.
Warm air scented with cinnamon and nutmeg enveloped her the second she stepped into the diner. Pete’s was a homey, comforting restaurant. It had wide front windows and a sweeping veranda for outside dining. Its walls were painted a soft baby blue, and checkered linen tablecloths adorned every cozy booth.
The diner was deserted except for Hal Jacobs, a grizzled Vietnam veteran in his midseventies. He was contentedly eating an early steak dinner in a booth by the large front window. Amy met his crinkled green eyes and smiled. Hal had dinner at Pete’s five or six nights a week. He had made his way through the menu at least a dozen times but kept coming back for more. He was by far Pete’s number one customer and Amy’s favorite patron.
Amy removed a slice of apple crisp from the display case and plated it for him. The elderly man’s wrinkled, weathered face split in a delighted grin as she delivered his favorite dessert. “You’re going to make some young fellow mighty happy someday, missy.”
“It’s on the house.” She smirked. Hal knew she’d sworn off boys. “Will you keep an eye on things while I go change?”
“Young Steve already put me on the job,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That boy is mighty sweet on you.”
Amy made a derisive noise in her throat. Steve Araya was a slacker. A lovable, good-natured slacker, but a slacker nonetheless.
“Thanks, Hal.” She retrieved her uniform and ambled to the washroom, discreetly slipping a five-dollar bill into the register as she passed. She decided what was and wasn’t on the house by paying for treats herself.
She changed into her uniform and returned to the dining room for a vivid war story from her wise, old friend. She dragged herself to the counter after Hal left, deeply despising her invisible boss. The owner had never set foot in the diner, yet he always knew what went on. She theorized he had cameras watching them while they worked. A nap was out of the question. She yawned for what felt like forever. How was she going to make it through the next five hours?
Amy regularly worked evenings with three other young employees. She, Steve Araya, Andrew Reyes, and Katie Summers were a tight-knit group of co-worker friends. Andrew and Steve were roommates, and she and Katie were often mistaken for sisters.
Steve Araya was stocky but short with cinnamon hair, dark skin, and a bit of a mustache. His moss green eyes crinkled cutely at the corners, giving him a boyish, joyful look.
Andrew Reyes was a sweet, shy, Latino kid with soft onyx hair and kind brown eyes. He worked in the kitchen to avoid talking to the public and had an enormous crush on Katie.
Most girls hated Katie Summers for her stunning good looks. She was a tall, slender bottle blonde beauty with perfect, straight white teeth and fair, flawless skin. She had a fabulous sense of style and a hilarious, confident personality. Girls loathed her on sight, but Amy adored her. Katie radiated positivity whenever she worked.
Andrew and Steve were both nineteen. They had dropped out of high school in their junior year without any plans or goals. Katie, in contrast, was on the fast track to success. She was a freshman at the University of Toronto and had a social calendar the size of a phone book.
“Hey Amy!” Steve sauntered out of the kitchen with his hands deep in the pockets of his too-baggy jeans. She ignored him. It would take too much energy to respond, and if she did, he would never shut up. Steve waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anybody home?”
She slumped forward onto the counter and rested her head on her arms. “No. I’m curled up at home with popcorn and Netflix.”
“Wow.” He mimicked her emotionless tone. “That’s interesting, because somehow I can hear you all the way from work.”
“Ha-ha.”
“All set for another five hours of fun?”
Amy sat up and brushed hair out of her face. “I need coffee.”
She headed into the spotless kitchen with Steve trailing in her wake. Andrew stood scrubbing pots at the sink.
“Must. Have. Coffee,” she announced by way of a greeting as she zombie-walked to the counter.
Andrew smiled. “Just made a fresh pot. Help yourself.”
The coffee addict in her danced a jig. “Oh my God, I love you!” She poured a cup with reverence and held it out to Steve. Andrew made the world’s best French press. They sat across from each other at the stainless steel island. “Now we’re going to sit here and watch you work.” She and Steve clinked mugs.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “By all means, make yourselves comfortable. There’s cake in the fridge.”
“Chocolate?” She clutched the island and held her breath.
“Of course.”
She raced to the fridge like a five-year-old and held the round chocolate mousse cake aloft like a prized spoil of war. “Andrew, will you marry me?” Anyone who knew her knew how much she adored chocolate cake.
“Sorry. I’m saving myself for Katie.”
Amy raised a cake knife high into the air. “I’ll challenge her to a duel.” She cut generous slices.
“How was school?” Steve passed her plates and accepted a mountainous slice of cake.
“It sucked.” She shrugged. She had cake, and cake made everything better.
Pots clanged together as Andrew loaded the dishwasher. “You ask her that every day, and every day you get the same answer. Why keep asking?”
Steve beamed. “Because one day she’ll drop out like us and work here full-time.”
“Aha, the plot thickens. You want me to suffer.” She took a bite of moist chocolatey heaven.
Steve regarded her with a lopsided grin. “No, I just want to see more of you. Come work with us full-time.”
Amy screamed with a mouthful of cake and nearly choked on it. She swallowed through a coughing fit. “I love you guys, but you would drive me insane.”
“You act as though you’re sick of me. But you’re not, right?” Steve faked a wounded, doe-eyed expression. The effect was ruined by the forkful of cake halfway to his mouth.
Katie burst through the door with donuts for everyone, saving Amy from the impossible task of trying not to crush Steve’s heart. Customers flooded the diner with the hectic certainty of impending disaster. The afterschool rush had begun.
Amy feebly waved goodbye to their last group of customers and sagged against the counter with an exhalation of relief. It was already after ten. The last five hours had battered her, body and soul.
“Have fun hanging out with Katie,” she stage-whispered to Andrew as she stuffed her uniform into her backpack. It was Andrew and Katie’s turn to close. Amy felt bad for not staying to help but not bad enough to follow through with her guilt.
Andrew’s brown eyes widened in shock. “Katie’s closing with me? What will I say? What will I do?”
She giggled. “How about asking her to turn out the lights and lock the back door? That’s usually what you do when you close.”
“It’s also what you do before other things.” Steve guffawed.
“Shut up, you.” Amy jabbed him in the ribs. “Don’t worry, Andrew. Katie thinks you’re adorable.”
“And dorky.” Steve snickered. Amy gripped his arm and towed him toward the door.
“No! Amy, wait!” Andrew’s eyes were wide
with panic. “Don’t leave me!”
Katie sashayed from the kitchen and gawked at the trio. “What’d I miss?”
Steve grinned. “Welcome to the soap opera starring Amy Christiana Evans!” Amy dragged him out the door. “Andrew needs you!” Steve faded out his voice as if she had dragged him into oblivion.
“You shouldn’t tease him,” Amy said. “And how the heck do you know my middle name?”
Steve brushed his hair out of his eyes and grinned, unashamed. “You started it. And you mentioned your middle name a while back.” Amy rolled her eyes. Steve remembered the details of her life better than she did herself. They walked through the dimly lit parking lot together, their hilarity fading as post-Friday night exhaustion set in.
“Need a ride?” Steve unlocked his ancient, flame red pickup truck. Amy had always admired its flashy coloring.
She shook her head regrettably. “I have to pick up my sister.” Steve’s apartment was in the opposite direction. She couldn’t ask him to drive that far out of his way.
“Okay, another time.” He clambered into his truck. “Have a good one, Amy.”
“See you Sunday.”
She adjusted her scarf and trudged to the bus stop through the thickly falling snow. She had searched Chris Donnellson on the internet during her shift and dug up his address and phone number. She needed to have a chat with him about his social media privacy settings.
Amy nodded off during the bus ride and woke in another world. The high-class neighborhood she found herself in boasted block after block of enormous, fancy houses. They were the pretentious, in-your-face kind with perfectly manicured lawns and swimming pools in their backyards. She disembarked onto a pretty, poplar-lined street where full-fledged mansions rose up toward the night sky. Each breathtaking structure had extensive, sprawling grounds and a garage half the size of her house.
She checked Chris’s address and scanned the row of beautiful estates. The Donnellson residence was the fanciest home on the block. The Victorian-style mansion was three sprawling stories of wide, curved windows and ornate, little balconies. Its wraparound front porch was lit up like a Christmas tree, and an expensive array of cars lined its circular, sweeping driveway. Obnoxiously loud music was blaring from an open window on the second floor.
Blood Moon's Fury: A Young Adult Fantasy Thriller (Curse of the Blood Moon Book 1) Page 3
