by Lysa Daley
"I think they look cool," he replies, and I feel my inside start to melt.
"Thanks," I nod because I can't think of anything else to say. "We should probably start with the anatomy chart."
"Right." He picks up a chewed pencil.
"I got halfway done before lunch," I say, digging mine out of my bio folder.
"Is it true you have a blackbelt?" he asks. "In karate?"
I laugh because that's the last question I was expecting. "Actually, I have two blackbelts. One in karate and one in tae kwon do."
"That's so cool!"
Boys are usually super impressed by my martial arts pedigree. Not in a way that makes me more appealing or attractive to them, but rather in a way that makes me some sort of a cool, weird, boyish girl who can probably kick their ass.
"Well, it's not like I had much of a choice," I explain. "My uncle -- that's who I live with -- runs a karate studio. So studying martial arts is pretty much mandatory at my house."
He's listening and nodding, and I realize he's even more beautiful close up than from a distance. You sort of figure that when you get up real close to an attractive person, you might notice a flaw or two that isn't visible from a distance.
This is not the case with Chad.
"I wish my parents would let me do martial arts," he says with a sigh. "But they're pretty much peace loving hippies. My dad's a forest ranger, so we're all about nature and sunshine and granola at my house. Which is awesome. I want to be a ranger just like him. But they'd never go for karate."
"Actually, a big part of martial arts is about resolving potentially violent situations in a peaceful manner."
"Really?"
"Oh, sure," I say because this it totally true. Then I add, "Of course, there's a whole other part dedicated to becoming a highly effective killing machine."
He laughs, "Which are you? A peaceful resolver of violent situations or a killing machine?"
"I like to think I'm a little of both," I reply and notice that he's staring at me again. "But I'm not sure I'm either." Our eyes lock for a moment, and I can feel myself blushing. I force myself to look away and ask, "So the lab report?"
"Oh. Right," he says, flipping through a stack of rumpled school papers jammed into his history book. By the condition of his textbooks, school does not appear to be a top priority for him.
"Astrid," I hear a familiar voice calling my name. I turn to see Ruby standing by the checkout desk twenty feet away, motioning for me. "C'mere."
Oh jeez. I shake my head no. Her timing could not be worse. "I'll text you when we're done."
She makes an insistent face and says louder, "I need to tell you something. It's super important."
I turn back to Chad and say, "I’m sorry. My friend, she's... I'll be right back."
"Okay," he nods.
I hurry over to Ruby. "What!?"
She grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the library entrance. "I've come to warn you. Meegan McGovern is on the warpath. Carly Birch told Lizzy Grover that she is totally pissed and wants to rip your face off."
"So?" I say as we make our way out into the hallway, and I get a sip of water from the fountain. "Rip my face off? I'd like to see her try."
"Meegan is going to freak if she finds you two together." Ruby looks at me like I'm a moron. "Apparently, Chad broke up with her at lunch."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't think that has anything to do with me."
"What are you, an idiot?" she asks. "He told Bret Marlowe who told Paul Gordon that he wants to ask you to the spring formal."
"Me? He said me? He used my actual name?"
"Well. Okay. Not exactly," Ruby confesses. "Not in so many words, but he said he wants to ask someone else. Someone other than Meegan."
"You're crazy," I say, starting back toward Chad "You know that, right?"
"Who else could it be?" Ruby asks.
"It could be any girl within a ten-mile radius. Now please let me get back to my study session."
I catch my reflection in the glass of the door as I storm back inside. My hair is sticking up funny on the left side of my face, so I stop to flatten it back out. Also, there's a smudge of something on my cheek. Was that there the whole time! I rub it off and take a look at my reflection.
Is it possible Chad Olson might ask me to the dance? I mean, why not? I'm as pretty as Meegan. On a good day, anyway. And way nicer. Everyday.
I take another deep cleansing breath then head back toward our table like I'm totally chill. But I pull up short as I come around the corner of the reference stacks, and I see that the table is empty.
Chad is gone.
So are his books and backpack. Only my stuff remains scattered across the tabletop. My heart sinks.
"Great," I mutter as I slump back into my chair.
He bailed. Of course, he did.
A white paper on the floor catches my eye. I immediately recognize it as Chad's anatomy worksheet. It must have slipped off the table when he was racing to pack up his stuff so he could get away from me as quickly as possible.
I reach down to pick it up. His handwriting is small and hard to read.
There’s a whole bunch of little doodles in the margins including a baseball bat and little sketches of baseballs. He's drawn a pretty decent car and motorcycle.
Plus, across the very top of the page, there's a drawing of a meteor complete with a flaming tail.
That's weird.
I set the worksheet down, unsure what to do next. Should I leave or wait? What are the chances he might return? Probably slim to none. He’s gone. For sure.
I decide to wait.
Just in case.
I text my uncle to tell him I might be late to weapons class. The only possible excuse that will get me off the hook is homework. So I tell him the truth that I'm in the school library.
I half expect my uncle will show up to check on me. Cause, you know, that's just how much he trusts me.
Over the next hour and fifteen minutes, I manage to get all of my homework done for the next two days, as well as a solid second draft of my lit paper.
At one minute to 5 p.m., the librarian calls out, "We are closing, people. Please check out any needed materials."
As the other students shuffle out, and the lights begin to click off section by section, I reluctantly get up to leave. Now I feel like a complete and total loser for waiting for some guy who basically ditched me.
The hallways are nearly empty as I trudge back to my locker on the far side of the campus.
Usually, there's a bunch of drama geeks or jocks wandering around after school. But at this late hour, only the weird custodian pushing his jangling cart of cleaning supplies is around.
The atmosphere of the dim hallway feels so creepy that even the custodian's creepy presence gives me a little comfort.
I stash my books in my locker and grab my jacket. Slamming my locker door closed, I'm startled to see Chad standing way down at the very end of the hallway.
"Hey!" I call out as my heart flutters like a stupid little girl. I should be angry, but I only feel elation. He must have come back to explain. "I found your bio homework."
I reopen my locker to retrieve his forgotten lab sheet. I hold it up as I head toward him. "It must have slipped to the floor."
He doesn't budge. Doesn't start toward me. Instead, he just lingers, motionless and unblinking in the murky green glow of the emergency exit sign right next to the stairwell.
"So what happened to you?" I ask, trying not to sound too clingy. I know guys hate clingy. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I saunter as casually as I can toward him. "You were gone when I got back."
Still nothing. I stop a couple of feet away from him.
"Chad?" I'm getting a bad feeling. "What's wrong?"
Suddenly, his eyes start to glow blood-red with the same dead expression as the salesgirl. A wave of fear ripples through me. Oh God. It can't be happening again.
; I try to turn to run, but he lunges forward, grabs me and pushes me hard down to the ground.
Looking up at him, a flash of darkness on his neck distracts me. It's that weird tattoo. Just like the crazed salesgirl, the silvery-black mark on his neck swirls and turns around itself like some sort of a living organism.
I'm so shocked that I don't initially move when he pulls a dagger with the same strange blood red blade that cut me in the dressing room.
My eyes widen in recognition. This is not happening.
He raises the dagger, ready to plunge it down into me.
Chad Olson is trying to kill me!
Chapter 10
As he plunges the dagger down, I roll to the side at the last second just barely avoiding it. It clangs to the hard tile floor.
Stunned and confused, I scramble back on the floor. “Chad! What are you doing?”
His dead, blood red have a dull, lifeless cast. They seem to look through me instead of at me.
He lunges, grabbing my arm right on top of my still unhealed cut. I wince in pain.
As he violently yanks me forward, I somehow manage to throw an elbow into the side of his head.
Startled, Chad loosens his grip long enough for me to push backward, get to me feet and break into a run down the hall.
I don’t have time to think. Instead, I’m up and running. Running away from this madness.
I sprint as hard and fast, past my still open locker, toward the wide double doors that lead out to the big sports practice field.
I glance over my shoulder to see evil Chad Olson chasing me. I may be fast, but he’s easily keeping up.
While I’m all pounding feet and loud breathing, somehow, he's totally silent like a panther in the night.
I explode out the exterior door, into the brisk evening air, silently praying that the soccer team will still be practicing.
Fifty athletic high school boys might come in handy when you’re being chased by an evil, knife-throwing predator.
Unfortunately, the vast practice field stands empty. There's no one in sight; no one here to help me.
I glance over my shoulder as Chad comes busting out through the double doors not far behind me. The cold, mean look on his face scares me.
What is going on?
I can’t wrap my mind around the transformation from the cute, sweet boy I talked to in the library a couple of hours ago and the horrible thing that’s chasing me right now. Can it be the same boy?
It’s as if something, or someone, has possessed him?
The only thought in my mind is my uncle. I have to get to my uncle. He'll know what to do.
The problem is I'm about as far away from his karate studio as I can be and still be on school grounds.
I mentally calculate that I can either hook around to the far side of the school property, then swing back up to the street, or I can make a break for it across the vast expanse of open sports field to the gate on the opposite side.
Option two will get me to the fairly busy street sooner - where someone might see me and come to my aid.
As evil Chad comes charging after me, I'm already a quarter of the way across the field.
Still, he manages to quickly catch up then tackle me.
He's crushingly heavy as his forearm locks over the back of my neck making it impossible for me to move.
"What do you want?" I spit out as he flips me over.
He says nothing, his red eyes boring holes into me. Then he pulls another red metal dagger out. It’s the same metal that cut me before.
I know that it's now or never.
If I don't get free, I'm going to be dead in mere seconds. I close my eyes and concentrate. I can feel energy filling my body.
I push my hands up under my shoulders like I'm getting ready to do push-ups. Then I lift up. But it's an explosive adrenaline-filled push because I end up flying all the way up to my feet.
The Chad Olson monster flies back and lands flat on his back, surprise written on his face.
A strange thought flashes through my mind. Is this why my uncle has pushed me so hard? Has he been preparing me for an attack like this one all along?
Suddenly, every time he yelled at me in class because I dropped my hands opening myself up for a punch, or chided me because I wasn't kicking as hard as I could, seems like he knew this day would come.
Maybe he's somehow known that I’m in some kind of danger. Could this be why he's tried so hard to turn me into a little butt-kicking ninja assassin?
Evil Chad Olson advances, slashing the dagger back and forth.
I block his attack with my forearm then counter with a palm strike directly into his face.
He reels back, and to be honest, I'm a little surprised by my success.
To follow up, I step forward and kick him in the gut with a thrusting kick. The force of my kick sends his body tumbling to the ground.
Before he can recover, I turn and run.
I may get away from him yet.
But then, ten yards in front of me, I see a second figure blocking my path. The silhouette is familiar and, for a moment, I’m certain my eyes are playing tricks on me.
Chad? How did he get in front of me so fast?
My head whips around and I see the Chad Olson I knocked down a moment ago, just getting back on his feet.
Which means -- there are now two Chad Olsons.
They're wearing the exact same baggy khakis with the patched knee, the same long sleeve crested school shirt, along with laceless converse shoes.
Two identical Chad Olsons are attacking me.
Math may not be my best subject, but I know two against one are lousy odds.
My mind races. The street! No more fighting. Only running away.
If I can make it to the street in front of the school, maybe I can get the attention of the school security guard. Or a passing car. Someone. Anyone.
The two Chads have made eye contact, and their blood red eyes glow even brighter than before. A high-pitched hum echoes between them like a line of connected energy.
It's an unearthly sound, but I've heard it before. I heard it the night the meteor crashed in the canyon behind my house. We assumed it was coming from the cracked open meteor. But maybe not.
It appears as if the two Chads are communicating with each other like some sort of telepathy. They're forming a plan.
If they are, I need to get away. And fast.
I veer right, running away from both of them, toward a side fence. It's nearly twice the distance to this fence than it would have been to run back to the school.
Was this a miscalculation? Should I have gone the other way?
I shake off the doubt. Too late now, anyway. This is my only possible path of escape.
With the two Chads catching up with me, I see a third person in my path. It can’t be! It's another identical Chad Olson.
Three Chads are now chasing me.
"This is crazy," I murmur in disbelief. With one in front and two behind, I cut left, but a fourth Chad blocks my path.
I swivel to the right. A fifth Chad.
How can there possibly be five Chad Olsons chasing me?
I have no chance of defending myself. I'm way too outnumbered. I have no choice but to retreat toward the school.
With five Chads behind me, I'm almost back to where I started. I'm twenty feet from the door when a sixth Chad appears in the doorway.
I pull up short ready to bolt when he speaks --
"Astrid!" the sixth Chad calls. "This way!"
"Chad?" I ask. He’s not the same as the others. There's a trickle of blood on his bruised face, and his shirt is ripped.
"It's me." He flings open the door. "Let's go. Hurry!"
At first, I'm not sure I believe that this is the real Chad, but his blue-green eyes are blinking frantically, full of life. Not blazing red eyes like the others.
It's him! It's the real Chad Olson. Good guy Chad Olson. Please tell me he's come to save me.
"What
's going on?" I say, as relief floods through every inch of my core.
"Something hit me in the library. I know it sounds crazy, but it was like a bolt of energy or something. It must have knocked me unconscious."
He looks up at the five identical versions of himself racing toward us. Utter disbelief registers on his face. “What the..?”
Of course, anyone would probably have the same look if they saw five evil versions of themselves.
"We have to get out of here," I say, taking a chance and grabbing his hand. Together, we duck inside the school. Chad rips a wound firehose off the wall and wraps it around the handles of the double doors to secure them from our side.
"My Uncle Conrad," I say as we start down the hallway. "We have to get to my uncle. He'll know what to do."
Unfortunately, our makeshift lock doesn't even slow the five evil Chads down. With superhuman ease, they break the glass and pour into the building like spiders crawling over their web.
Squeezing his hand tighter, Chad and I run through the maze of halls. He knows his way around better than I do, and it’s not long before we make it to the front entrance.
Luckily, the doors haven't been bolted shut for the night, so we're able to fly outside to the front of the deserted building.
Hand in hand, we dash down the front walkway to the sidewalk, then out into the traffic on Laurel Holly Canyon. Dodging honking cars, we're ahead of our pursuers by not more than ten yards.
From around a corner, I hear the squeal of tires along with the roar of a familiar engine as the beat up white pickup truck comes screeching to a stop at the curb right in front of us.
"Get in!" My uncle flings the passenger door open. "Him too."
I’m flooded with relief as I scramble into the front seat with Chad following right behind me. Before he can even get the passenger door completely shut, the truck speeds away from the now seven -- yes seven -- Chads running after us through the street.
"What's going on?" I ask, looking over my shoulder to see we’re losing the Chads the farther away we drive. "Do you know what those things are?"
I glance at my uncle to see an unfamiliar emotion etched across his usually stoic face. I can't read it. It's not exactly anger. It’s something else entirely.
"We've been betrayed," he mutters. "He was right."
