by Sherry Soule
Me: Is Hayden at school today?
Viola: Nope. Where R U?
Me: Need some downtime. At graveyard. Call U later.
Shoving my phone into my backpack next to my laptop and a bunch of plastic flowers, I open the car door and get out. The warm sunlight brightens the cloudless blue sky and filters through the lush trees dotting the landscape. Weeping willows sway in the breeze, the droopy branches scraping nearby tombstones. A patch of clover attracts the attention of several whirring bumblebees.
Once I find a shady place to sit, I get comfortable and power on the computer. I pirate onto somebody’s Net—the graveyard’s usually like a Dead Zone, so to speak, but I get lucky—to write two new posts for my column, and then surf the Web on upcoming horror movies that I can review during spring break.
At noon, I scarf down a tuna sandwich that I packed this morning. While I consume my lunch, I watch two mourners pick out a gravesite, then I slip in a DVD to watch. Once the horror film ends, I check my emails and answer a few comments on my last editorial, then shut down the laptop and put it away.
Getting up to stretch, I roam around to rearrange the fresh roses placed near tombstones and distribute the plastic flowers I brought so that neglected graves have a minor tribute, too. A glance at my phone says two o’clock, and I wander over to Hayden’s grandpa’s headstone to read the inscription: John William Lancaster - Beloved Father, Husband, and Grandfather
No date of birth or death carved into the stone. No indication of how long he actually lived. Those Lancasters are too dang smart.
Footsteps stomp over the grass and I look over my shoulder.
Well, bury me alive. If it isn’t Zach Lancaster.
He stops three feet from me, his lips pulled downward in a sneer. “What are you doing near my grandfather’s grave, fat ass?”
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “What’s your problem, anyway? What’ve I ever done to you?”
“I just don’t like your kind.”
What a butthead. I couldn’t care less what he thinks of me. But I do care about his brother.
“My kind?” I pretend to be clueless. “You’re not my type either, but that’s no reason to be a hater.”
He steps closer. “Oh, I dislike you for lots of reasons, fatty.”
Every ounce of skin prickles with heat. I keep trying to suck in air, but nothing happens. My lungs start to burn. I take a shuddering breath and exhale. My cheeks feel hot as stove burners.
Relax. Don’t let the jerk get to you.
I rest both hands on my love handles. “How’s Hayden? Why hasn’t he been in school?”
“Ask him yourself.”
“I would if he’d return any of my calls,” I mumble.
He rubs his chin. “Never thought of Hayden as a chubby chaser, but I guess I don’t know my brother as well as I thought I did.”
That strikes a raw nerve. If it’s not guys like Devin with his boob-obsession, its jerks like Zach with their fat-shaming jokes. Maybe that’s why I like Hayden so much. He’s never outright mean to other people and not once has he ogled the twins. Zach should take some pointers from his politer older brother.
Do yourself a favor and don’t quit school to become a comedian. ’Cause you’re not funny.” My bearing is stiff and proud, but my self-confidence is still in chaos. “
Zach swats me away with one hand like an annoying gnat. “Do you mind? I’d like to pay my respects to my grandfather in peace.”
“Whatever, douchebag.”
He chuckles darkly. “You’ve got some fattitude—I like it!”
I feel the scald of shame for being overweight warm my face, like I need to start wearing a large crimson “F” for fat on all my clothes. Even though my self-esteem takes another plunge. I can’t let him know that.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, but I’ve yet to find a single redeeming quality in you.”
Before he can have the last word, I stamp back to the Jetta. I debate sitting in my car and following Zach home to find out where they live, but think better of it. It’s still daylight and with my purple hair, I’ll be easily spotted tailgating someone. Instead, I go home and sulk in my room.
“Knock, Knock.”
I glance up from my textbook and smile. “Hi, Dad. When did you get home?”
“My flight got in about an hour ago.” My dad moves into the room, stepping over a pile of dirty laundry. His polo shirt and khakis are rumpled. “You hungry? I was going to order Chinese takeout. Got a craving for lemon chicken tonight.”
“Not really.” Jinx sashays into the room, jumps on my bed, and stretches out his furry body next to mine. “Working on a new article? You’ve been gone a lot.”
He leans against the wall, arms folded. “Actually, a big murder trial in San Francisco just came up and I’m going to cover the entire story. It’ll be long hours, which means I’ll need you to help out more around here, kiddo.”
Translation: babysit the nuisance they spawned while my parents are working.
“Sure.” I stroke the cat’s head. “Um, Dad...”
“Yes, honey?”
“Um…I’ve noticed this weird guy creeping around lately. Are you still part of that Neighborhood Watch thing?”
His arms fly apart and his hands tense at his sides. “What does he look like?”
“He wears dark sunglasses and black clothing.”
“How many times have you seen him?” he asks.
“Um, he appears at these totally random times, but there’s definitely something super creepy about him.”
He heavily sighs. “Do you think he’s actually following you?”
I shrug. “Possibly. I’m not a hundred percent sure.”
“Look, honey, don’t worry, I’ll look into it.” He scratches the scruff on his unshaven cheek. “Does your mother know about this?”
“No. I didn’t want to bother her with it…in case, you know, it turns out to be nothing.” I sigh. “It could just be my overactive imagination, anyway.”
“Good. No need to worry her. She’s stressed enough right now.”
I nod, petting the cat. “Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.”
My dad crosses his arms over his chest again, one finger absently tapping his elbow. “I’ll talk to the neighbors,” he says irritably. “But I strongly think you need to stop watching so many of those scary movies, young lady.”
He’s acting like my possible stalker is just a big inconvenience to him, something else he has to deal with at the moment. I love my dad, but he can be a tad self-absorbed, like my mom. Maybe that’s why they get along so great.
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
“Sloane, I just meant that if you spent half as much time doing homework as you do reviewing movies, you’d get excellent grades and stay on the honor roll.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” I scratch Jinx behind the ears. “Let me know when dinner arrives.”
“Will do, kiddo.” He turns and goes back downstairs.
After dinner with my family for a rare change, I go back to my room and finish writing an essay before going to bed. I toss and turn most of the night, dreaming about Hayden. In the dream, he’s the love of my life, whisking me into his arms on a secluded beach. We dance on the sand and waves crash over our bare feet. Hayden tells me that he doesn’t care about the rules or that dating humans is forbidden by his people. He only cares about us being together. Hayden dips me backward and kisses me deeply as if I’m the air he needs to breathe.
The next morning, I awake to my dad banging on my bedroom door and interrupting my amazing dream.
“Sloane, school! Now, young lady,” he yells through the wood.
“Okay!” I say groggily. “Stop banging.”
I peek at the alarm clock, then sit upright in bed.
Crapola! I’ve overslept and missed my first class. Skipping a shower, I get ready lightning quick and spe
ed off to school.
After going to the office with a note from my dad excusing my tardiness, I rush into second period and take my seat. Today, I attempt to pay attention. I don’t want to fall behind more than I already am. I need to focus on normal stuff. It’s the only way to keep my mind off the things eating me up inside. Like worrying about Hayden.
When the freedom bell chimes at the end of the long day, I bolt from my seat and rush out of class. Just as I’m getting into my car, someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and sweet relief floods my system, leaving me woozy.
My gaze lingers on those blue/green eyes, then I take in the full shape of his beautiful mouth. And that floppy light brown hair—that I yearn to brush from his forehead.
“Where have you been hiding, stranger?” I lean back against the Jetta’s door.
Hayden wears a dazzling smile. “I’ve been around.”
Cars back out and students walk past, but all I can focus on is Hayden. His nearness fills me with warmth and happiness. But I grind my teeth because he’s ignored me for days, and now I’m acting like a love-starved puppy.
Lifting up my cell, I jostle it in his face. “Why haven’t you called or texted?”
“Whoa.” He holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, Sloane. I...I just wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”
“Why wasn’t it a good idea to at least text me back and let me know that you were okay?”
“Truth? I was worried about mingling our two extremely different worlds, Sloane. If it was even smart…” He sighs. “But you’re very persistent.”
You got that right.
“So, all better?” I ask, softening my tone. “No more broken limbs?”
“Much.”
“Then why no contact?” I raise a brow and serve up some well-deserved attitude. “Here in Sloane World, we return texts and calls. And I don’t know about you, but I treat my friends with respect.”
“Uh, yeah about that—”
“So not cool.” I grasp his shirt and twist it in my fist. “Friends don’t pull that crap on each other, understand?”
“Got it.” He shakes his head. “We still on for Saturday night?”
Oh, we’re still on, trust me.
I release my grip on his shirt. “Just don’t pull another disappearing act.”
“Never again.” He shuffles his feet and stares at a crack in the asphalt. “Sloane...you ever get the feeling that this is one of those things that maybe shouldn’t happen?”
“What do you mean?”
He lifts his head and clears his throat. “You’re the kind of girl that leads the pack, and when I saw you in the graveyard, it was like I knew you were different. But I never would’ve approached you...but that doesn’t mean, I didn’t notice you before that, though.”
“Oh, I’ve seen you, too,” I admit. But I don’t tell him that I’ve been crushing on him since his very first day as a new student at Haven High.
“I’ve seen you see me.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Before now there was no way I would’ve gone there.”
“Why not? Was it the human thing?”
“No. I mean, I liked you, anyway. You just lived in another world.” He moves closer to me. “Now I’d really like to get to know the real Sloane.”
Just kiss me now. Full surrender.
I try to swallow, but he’s suddenly so close I can’t think clearly or speak.
“I’ve missed you the last couple of days,” Hayden says.
He has no idea how much I’ve missed him, too.
He smiles ever so slightly. “Have you missed me?”
I twist and untwist my fingers. “Much more than I’d like to admit.”
My cheeks heat. Kill me now. I did not just say that.
His gaze is alight with humor. “Life is meaningless without me?”
I roll my eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments.”
Hayden stares into my face. “So…seriously, you still want to go to the party or not?”
“Yeah, if you still want to go.”
“Unquestionably.”
He is so tantalizingly close, his scent so intoxicating that I’m just stupidly grinning in response. Then I impulsively hug him and—Surprise! Surprise!—he hugs me back. My boobs press into his chest, but Hayden doesn’t even seem to notice.
When he pulls back, a wry smile forms on his lips. “Maybe I should skip school more often.”
FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE
Welcome, Snarklings!
This post is on another horror flick cliché that drives me batty!
Why is it that the characters in horror flicks don’t own a decent flashlight?
Whenever they use one, as soon as the character goes into a dark room, it begins to flicker, and then goes out. Then the character repeatedly flips the switch and smacks the flashlight against their palm, only to have the light blaze brightly just as the killer/monster strikes?
Ugh! I’m going to recommend LED here. Lasts a lot longer and might save your ass.
Peace, love, and horror flicks,
Zombie Queen aka Sloane
SIXTEEN
The night of Diego Velazquez’s party finally arrives. Which means I’ll soon be hanging with Hayden. Alone. Sort of.
I check my reflection in the mirror and try to decide if I need to add a choker to my outfit. I’m wearing a red bowling shirt with onyx shorts and suspenders, over black-and-white ripped stockings that rise above my knees. Then I slip on a pair of platform Mary Janes. This is my first date in months and I want to look perfect. My hair flows loose down my back, the purple highlights glossy under the lamplight.
“I look pretty good,” I tell my reflection, then glance at the heap of clothes on the bed.
Jinx peeks out from under a lavender corset. No way am I going to change again. I’ve spent all evening rummaging through my closet, mostly driving myself crazy. Picking this outfit was hell, and I’m not going to search for something different.
The doorbell chimes.
Oh, my zombie bits.
My palms start to sweat with first date jitters and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. My hybrid date is here. I should’ve told him that I’d meet him at the party. Already I want to blow chunks and I haven’t even seen Alien Boy yet.
My gaze roams over my reflection one last time. Maybe I should wear boots instead of heels...
The doorbell rings again.
I’d better get my butt moving before Jonah answers the door and does something embarrassing. I grab my velvet handbag and dash down the attic stairs.
“Sloane!” my mom calls. “Hayden Lancaster is here.”
“I’m coming,” I tell her when I get to the second-floor landing.
Thankfully, it was my mom who greeted Hayden and not my bratty little brother. When I reach the foyer, she’s waiting by the front door, holding it open. I kiss her on the cheek.
“Have fun.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me as if to say, hubba hubba at Hayden’s epic hotness. “And try to be home by sundown,” she teases.
“Mom. Please.” Rolling my eyes, I shut the door behind me.
Hayden looks extra yummy in dark jeans frayed at the bottom, with a leather belt, and a snug gray, cotton shirt. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s irresistible to all women. Which, let’s face it, he is.
“Damn, Sloane,” he says with an appraising stare. “You look amazing tonight.”
My heart flutters, and I play with my suspenders. “Thanks.”
He crooks his arm. “Shall we?”
I link my arm through his and he escorts me to the Range Rover. A crescent moon peeks out from behind a thin veil of clouds. The stars shine coldly through the warm spring night.
Hayden opens my door, then goes around and gets in on the driver’s side. He starts the car and we speed into motion.
Hayden drives fast—at warp speed—and my nervousness increases with every mile. I can’t believe I’m going to a party with Hayden. A week ago, I would’ve sworn on my moth
er’s life that I’d never hang with the in-crowd cronies, let alone with a Lancaster. Now look at me. At this rate, I’m going to have to start reminding myself that I prefer originality over social acceptance.
“Excited about the party?” he asks.
“It should be fun.” I rub the leather seat. “I was curious, how can you afford a Range Rover as nice as this?”
“It’s actually my dad’s. He drives a company car, and never uses this one, so I sort of inherited it on the condition that I stay on the honor roll.”
“Which is easy for a brainiac like you.”
“Yup. If you need any help—”
“I’m good. Got a 4.0 this semester.”
“Any other areas of tutoring you need help with?” he asks suggestively.
Smiling, I shake my head. “Just keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel, buddy.”
He grins and turns up the radio on an Imagine Dragons’s song while I inspect every inch of him. His square cheekbones. The curve of his shoulders beneath his shirt. His muscled arms and strong hands. Those full lips. My throat catches. I can’t help but imagine what it’ll be like to kiss him.
All too soon, we arrive at the house, which is in full-on party mode. Music blares from the open windows and kids spill out the front door, talking and laughing. Beer bottles and plastic cups are strewn on the lawn, with teens sitting on the porch talking. Diego’s home is a two-story structure built across the street from the beach and somewhat remote. Hayden parks behind a truck with one tire resting on the curb. I open my door and slide off the seat.
It’s showtime.
“You ready to do this?” he asks.
I raise an eyebrow. “Exactly what kind of statement are we making here?”
“The one that says we’re friends and we don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
Only friends? Well, that kinda sucks.
We enter the living room, shoving past gyrating kids dancing to a techno beat. A beach ball is slapped through the air. Emma is talking with a hottie who’s at least six inches taller than her, and Kaitlyn is flirting with some older guy. The stench of cigarettes, heavy cologne, and stale beer overpower my senses. Square couches and ottomans dot the room on a sticky hardwood floor. Half the school seems to be present, along with about twenty other people I don’t know. One look at the outfits and I realize I don’t blend in, but I don’t standout, either. Not that I’m trying to wave the freak flag, but for a change, I feel beautiful—like I belong.
