“You look fine.” But she didn’t really. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had a sheepish grin on her face like a dog that had been kicked. Neither one of us was addressing the fact that she’d refused to tell me about Phase Two or that I’d turned Ninja Monster on her. What felt even worse was the fact that she’d accepted it when I turned into an alpha bitch.
“See you at lunch!” she said, a forced cheeriness in her voice.
Then the bell ending first period rang and she turned and dashed toward the school building, leaving me with a dark hole in my gut.
Who was I? And why was I acting like this?
...
I fumbled with that piece of paper as I walked through the halls, folding it, unfolding it, then folding it again, hand tucked inside my jacket pocket, head down. I knew now that the list of names was a catalyst, forcing me to move forward, ignoring the burning buildings and scorched bodies I would leave behind. People were going to get hurt along the way. I knew that, but still I couldn’t stop.
Whoever was taking these girls was worse than me.
I toyed with that slip of paper until it felt like fabric between my fingers, soft and pliant, names stitched with razor-sharp needles and sinew for thread. This paper was my secret history, it was the map that was going to lead me into my own personal cave of secrets. I might go in and never come out; my search could cause me to get captured again; the next ditch could be stained with my own blood. Agent Bennet’s fancy little tracking device might let him know where I was, but it wouldn’t protect me if somebody came at me with a knife.
I could be on a collision course with my own death.
What secret could Lauren be hiding that was more important than me finding out who had kidnapped me?
Everybody else sat in U.S. History taking notes because we had a test next week. Twenty-four other students sat curved over spiral notebooks and laptops and tablets, listening to Mr. Garcia drone on, none of them lifting their heads. The sound of keyboards clacking and pens scratching against paper filled the room, occasionally accompanied by a harried whisper, what did he say? or a hand shooting up followed by, will this be on the test? Like me, three other girls were pretending to pay attention, but they were secretly texting each other, stifling giggles and rolling their eyes. All three of them sported purple dragon tattoos that snaked down their right arms, curving from their shoulders to their wrists.
I couldn’t remember their names, but just looking at them put me on edge. Every now and then one of them would glance at me with a sly grin.
Tacky bitches.
I wasn’t myself today. A dark cloud had drifted over me. Some switch had flipped on when Agent Bennet followed me—when I thought Kyle might be in danger—and I hadn’t been able to turn it off. The back of my head ached and I was subconsciously rubbing my fingers over the track marks on my left arm when one of those tatted girls looked at me.
She laughed—a short ha, almost like an exclamation—then she quickly texted something to her friends. I soon heard muffled giggles and the other two girls turned around to look at me.
I gave them all the finger, then lifted my eyebrows and thumbed toward the hallway.
Wanna take this outside?
What the heck was I doing? Did I just challenge three girls to a fight?
Two of the girls instantly looked at their spiral notebooks, their shoulders hunched, their heads down. The third one gave me a wide grin, revealing silver grillwork on her upper teeth. Her eyes remained fixed upon mine, lids narrowing, until finally my expression forced her to shift in her seat, turning her focus back on the teacher.
Apparently I wasn’t the only crazy alpha bitch in this school.
Feigning disinterest, I turned away from the Dragon Tattoo Girls and stared out the window instead, looking down at the cars that drove past the school. At the trio of pine trees that lined the front walk. At the cherry blossoms that had drifted onto the lawn and now collected in fragile, white clusters.
Most of the class continued to transcribe every word the teacher said.
Not me.
I was counting the minutes until I got out of school. Until I could go looking for the girls on that list.
...
The bell rang and part of me—the part I didn’t understand—wanted to follow those Dragon Tattoo Girls out the door, my fists clenched. Lunch was here. I knew I could easily corner one of those tramps, maybe lure her into the upstairs girls’ bathroom—nobody went up on the third floor during lunch—and there I’d have a chance to teach her a thing or two about classroom etiquette. Number one being don’t laugh at me. Number two, don’t act so tough because you really aren’t.
Number three evaporated, a morning mist driven away by the heat of the sun.
Dylan stood outside my classroom, waiting for me. Black leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a pair of broad gray wings spreading over his long-sleeved shirt, pensive gray eyes smudged with black liner. He looked like a dark angel, ready to take me somewhere I’d never been, and here I was, more than willing to go.
He gave a brief nod to the Dragon Tattoo Girls as they exited the room and they all nodded back. It was a clandestine greeting, almost a symbol of respect. But I could tell by the expression on Dylan’s face that he hated them almost as much as I did.
One more thing to add to my ever-growing WTF list.
Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to take away the excitement I felt now that he was here. Nothing could change that, not Agent Bennet, not the Dragon Girls, not Lauren. All the confusion in my life vanished whenever Dylan was around, although truthfully, he might have been the biggest mystery of all.
When, how, why had we become a couple?
He didn’t seem to wonder about it, though, didn’t seem to like me any less, even though I wasn’t the same girl he had been hanging out with for the past year. His mouth curved in a smile as I approached, his lip ring catching the fluorescent light and holding it like a star, poised on the edge of his mouth. His fingers laced with mine, as if our hands belonged together and always would, the warmth from his body flowing into mine, giving me strength. We walked toward the cafeteria united, shoulder to shoulder, two black-clad warriors pushing our way through the crowds and the other students moving aside. I hadn’t noticed until now how the other teens bowed away as we passed them, heads turned aside, eyes looking down.
I felt like I was Odette, the swan queen in Swan Lake, and Dylan was Prince Siegfried, my beloved, and the rest of the school was populated by people who had been turned into swans. It was a strange bit of fiction, but once I latched onto it, it settled in my mind and took root. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye—he was truly adorable, in a scary, breathless way, and I still couldn’t get over the fact that he was interested in me. That was what I got out of lunch period. I don’t remember what I ate or if I ate at all, I don’t remember if we sat with that strange group of kids or if we sat alone. All I remember is how he looked at me, with those big, gray eyes, his black hair wet and tousled from a PE shower, and how he smiled, as if he was sending me a coded message...wish we were alone, can’t wait to kiss you again, it’s been too long.
I had to agree with his unspoken words. It had been way too long. Like my whole life. As far as I was concerned, we’d never kissed before.
With every word he spoke, I found myself wondering what his mouth tasted like. Were his kisses soft and tender, or were they firm and passionate? Were they short and did they come in breathless clusters, or were they so long that they stole my heart?
We sat beside each other, knees touching, him leaning closer with each word—I think he was talking about his art class or something his coach said to the wrestling team, though I’m not sure. Words seemed to blur and become incomprehensible whenever he was around, which was strange because words meant so much to him. They were his DNA, the tools he used to understand life. The first line of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven flowed in a tattooed script, spiraling around his wrist, and he carried a leathe
r-bound journal with him all the time, the tips of his fingers stained blue from jotting down snippets of text whenever he was alone.
At one point, I remembered that I had a question for him.
I fumbled awkwardly through my pockets, finding and retrieving that note I’d discovered attached to my memorial, the one I thought he might have written. I slid it on the table between us. “Did you write this?” I asked.
He glanced down at it, then nodded.
“I can’t read what it says.”
“I hung it up before the rains started.” His hand found mine beneath the table and his fingers brushed my palm, sending tingles up my arm. “Then the rains came and the water washed away my words—but, even though no one could read it, the poem did what it was supposed to do. It brought you back.”
I sighed, my heart melting.
“I have—uh—some stuff I need to do tonight,” he said. “But I was wondering if you might want to hang out Friday night.”
Friday was tomorrow. So close and yet so far away. I didn’t know if this was a real date or if we were supposed to hook up with a gang of kids somewhere. I paused, speechless, not sure what to say.
“I can pick you up on my bike. I’ve got an extra helmet you can wear.” He sounded a little nervous, like he just realized I might say no.
I flashed on the two of us riding a Harley through night streets, my arms wrapped around his waist, me leaning against him, his heat warming me, the world flying past, a blur of colors and shapes that didn’t matter. It was a memory—one of my first—and I gasped, low and soft, air flowing over my lips like I’d just woken up from a long nap, like an enchantment was lifting.
“I’ve ridden on your bike before, haven’t I?” I asked.
“Lots of times.” He gave me a shy grin. “Is that a yes?”
I nodded, suddenly eager for Friday. I didn’t care if we were going to be alone or in a crowd of a hundred. As long as we were together, that was all that mattered. As far as I was concerned, Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Fourteen
I didn’t see Kyle again until after school. I kept expecting to find him lurking outside one of my classes, a worried expression in his eyes, his voice lowered as he asked why I’d been acting so strange on the way to school this morning. He didn’t know Agent Bennet had been following us or that I was now wearing a tracking device. I hoped it would stay that way.
The less my brother had to worry about, the better.
I found Kyle waiting for me by the side exit, backpack draped over one arm, attention focused on his iPhone as he intermittently texted, then chuckled, then texted again. He stuck out his foot like he was going to trip me if I tried to walk past him.
“Hey,” he said, never looking up from his cell, thumbs punching in yet another message. “What the holy effing crap was going on this morning?” He gave me a sidelong glance, eyes peering through hair that had fallen over his face. Then he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and loped along by my side, his legs longer than mine, his steps carrying a lazy bounce. “Why’d you take that crazy route to school and then dump me off at the front door?”
We were threading our way through the horde of students leaving the building, half of them jogging down the steps, the other half ambling slowly, some talking, some turning around to gaze back at the open doors as if they’d forgotten something.
“Just felt like doing something different,” I told him, ruffling his hair as I kept walking, never breaking my stride.
Kyle shook his head. “You’re weird,” he said. Then he gave me a mischievous grin and held up his right palm, revealing a phone number written in blue ink.
“Amber’s digits. Total score, despite your attempts to ruin my social life earlier today,” he said. He scampered away from me then, running and jumping and whooping.
“I wasn’t trying to wreck your life,” I grumbled, knowing he was too far away to hear me. “I was trying to save it.”
We’d both made our way down the steps and onto the path that wended toward the parking lot. Other students milled around us, some heading to the football field for practice, wearing shoulder pads and carrying helmets. Brett was among them and he waved at me from the edge of the field—something I still couldn’t get used to, having friends who were either captain of the football team or head of the cheerleading squad. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to me, “Hey, I hear you’re coming to the thing on Friday.” He gave me a thumbs-up.
I waved back, confused. I was going to a ‘thing’ on Friday? I thought Dylan and I were going on a date—I’d been looking forward to us spending time alone together. I sighed, trying not to feel disappointed. We were probably going to some party and hopefully we wouldn’t stay too long.
Then I froze in place, staring down at that kandi bracelet, my fingers running over the brightly colored beads as I remembered all the stuff I’d found in that box yesterday morning—the ballet slippers, the list of names, the ticket stubs.
Maybe we were going to a rave. Maybe a Phase Two rave.
I was so caught up in my thoughts I barely heard Brett when he called out again.
“It’s gonna be a blast!” he shouted, then he turned and jogged onto the field with his teammates.
I couldn’t decide if I was excited or terrified. Tomorrow night I was quite possibly going back to my own personal Ground Zero, the place where my transformation had begun, the place where I may have met my kidnappers.
“Must be nice to be so popular,” a familiar voice said behind me. “Hanging out with the head cheerleader and captain of the football team, dating one of the hottest guys in Lincoln High.”
I spun around and saw Molly McFadden following in my footsteps. Thick, black glasses sliding down her nose, red hair pulled back in a ponytail that exploded in curls, pale blue eyes studying me, looking me up and down. She stooped to pull up one of her sagging white knee socks, but she didn’t stop walking.
“Molly!” I said. I wanted to tell her that I’d been looking for her at school and I’d tried calling her a hundred times, but I’d never been able to finish dialing. Calling Dad today had been the first time I’d been able to make a phone call since I’d gone missing. But I didn’t get a chance to say anything. In typical Molly style, she took over the conversation.
“I know we’re not besties anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care. I’ve been so worried about you and then I have to find out you were rescued by watching the news.” She leaned toward me for effect. “The frigging news, and you’ve been home for what, a week? Two weeks? I don’t even know how long you’ve been home and you still don’t call or answer my texts. And now you’re back at school, which I have to find out through the rotten Lincoln High grapevine. You could have at least posted a status update on Facebook—”
“We’re not best friends anymore?” I asked, puzzled. It felt like she had punched me in the chest.
She shifted her weight, her expression softening just a bit as she cocked her head to the side, her red plaid skirt catching in the breeze. One of her Doc Marten boots tapped against the ground.
“Your little brother told my little sister that you don’t remember what happened. Is that true?” she asked, her voice lowered.
I nodded.
Kyle came up to us, said hello to Molly, then pointed toward the parking lot. “Come on, let’s go, okay, girls? Rach can give you a ride home, but we need to go. I’ve got things to do, important things.”
Molly hesitated and her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to write a paper and I was just gonna hang out in the library.”
“I could still give you a ride to the library,” I offered.
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever,” she said, her tone cool.
Together, the three of us rounded the last curve of the walkway and the parking lot opened up before us, a cement backdrop custom-designed to display the wealth, or lack of wealth, of the students who a
ttended Lincoln. Sparkling Mercedes, Mini-Coops, and Miatas lined up next to Pontiacs with missing bumpers and Chevys with busted headlights. My Volkswagen gleamed like an iridescent green June beetle, parked between a Smart car and a Fiat, as far from that line of cherry trees as possible.
But the fragrance of the flowering trees still swirled around us as I unlocked the car. It was impossible to get away from that smell.
“The holy of holies,” Molly remarked, a smirk on her face as she stepped inside my car. “Never thought I’d be invited in here again.”
“I’m really sorry, Moll. I lost my phone when—when I went—” Someday I was going to be able to finish that sentence, but obviously not today. I clicked my seat belt in place and checked my rearview mirror. “When I got home, one of the first things I thought was, ‘I can’t wait to see Molly, she’ll understand, she always does.’” I hesitated, staring down at my lap, speaking so soft I didn’t know if anyone would hear me, “But I have this thing with phones lately.”
She nodded and thankfully didn’t give me one of her signature are-you-serious-looks. We were pulling out of the parking lot and I was watching the cars behind me, looking for a gray Toyota, hoping Agent Bennet wasn’t following me. He wasn’t. The three of us rode in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of miles until we reached Kyle’s friend’s house. At that point, my brother jolted to life, climbing out of the backseat and heading up the sidewalk.
“Tell Mom I’ll be home later,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll stay here for dinner, K?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. The front door swung open and the two boys gave each other fist bumps. Loud music poured out of the house and I had a feeling there were no parents home.
Now it was just me and Molly and a year’s worth of awkward silence in the car.
“I didn’t really expect you to call me, Goth Girl,” she said as we pulled away from the curb. “I’m not exactly in your pack anymore.” She shifted in her seat, tugging on the satchel she wore over one shoulder 24/7, part fashion statement, part necessity, since she had to carry an asthma inhaler and thyroid pills with her all the time. “How much did you forget, anyway?”
Lost Girls Page 7
