by C. C. Ekeke
Hugo had just saved himself from getting shown the door. The lull in conversation drew J-Tom back to when he’d gone to see her in the hospital. His visit had turned into a weird interrogation, which really upset her. Why had Hugo cared so much? And who was the cute and curvy Mexican girl he’d come with? Maddie? Marta? She wasn’t his Fall Fling date, that Asian punk rock princess.
Perhaps Brie was wrong about Hugo having a serious girlfriend. Then J-Tom questioned why the hell she cared about his love life.
Hugo moved to stand and leave.
J-Tom wasn’t letting him go yet. “Look…” She placed her hand on his thick, corded forearm. Wow…
Hugo sat back down. “What’s up?”
J-Tom paused, searching for courage she currently didn’t feel about Halloween weekend. Hugo knew something about what had happened to her. But his intentions couldn’t have been shady after he’d carried her to safety.
So J-Tom went with her gut. “We don’t know each other well.” She studied his face. “But I feel I can trust you.”
Hugo’s steadfast gaze grew so intense, it was almost too much. “You can.”
“At Rocco’s party…” J-Tom began. “One moment, I’m cosplaying Black Widow.” Tears stupidly welled up but she pushed through the trauma to continue. “The next thing I know, I’m in a hospital bed. When the doctor examined me,” J-Tom leaned both elbows on her knees, “a third of my blood volume was gone.”
Hugo’s eyes widened. “What the WHAT?”
J-Tom studied his reaction, which appeared genuine. “No clue how. But since they couldn’t explain it, the doctor wrote in that I got severe alcohol poisoning and anemia.”
Hugo leaned back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Huh,” was all he said.
J-Tom watched him like a hawk, desperate to know what he’d seen. “Those Paso High cheerleaders you saw me with at Rocco’s?”
Hugo nodded. “I’ve never seen them before.”
J-Tom blinked as a coincidence popped into her brain. Her friends, Kendall and Natalie, were supposed to attend Rocco’s party as sexy vampire cheerleaders. Their boytoys were coming as vampire football players. About as original as Spencer’s sexy nurse costume. Kendall and Natty apparently woke up at Kendall’s home with their dates but without their cheerleading outfits or any memory of how they got there. And both girls had sounded exhausted over the phone. Sounded familiar…
J-Tom kept that to herself and refocused on Hugo. “Did you see those girls spike my drink?”
“Nope.” Hugo shook his almost hairless head. “I…” He glanced away as he searched for the right words. “I saw them with you upstairs. But you weren’t drinking.” He grew angry. “Then Spencer and I started arguing in the bathroom.”
J-Tom leaned in, desperate for more. “Then what?”
“Rocco got attacked and…” Hugo’s face darkened. “Then I saw you on the floor in the hallway.”
The visual blossomed in J-Tom’s brain, uncomfortable to digest. “How bad?”
“I didn’t feel a pulse right away. Thought you were dead at first.”
J-Tom stared at the floor, horror radiating down her sternum. “Did you see those fake cheerleaders again?”
“No.” Hugo’s reply was immediate.
His answers only presented more questions…and more fear. J-Tom met Hugo’s gaze again. “Thanks.”
Another awkward silence followed.
J-Tom frowned. No way could she let his visit end so tragically. “Wanna see something awesome?” A tentative grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Hugo arched a curious eyebrow. “Humor me.”
J-Tom clapped eagerly and reached for her cellphone. “So my dad’s a computer engineer,” she began while clicking on an app of her own design. “I’ve read lots of his notes and used them to create a virtual assistant app to help research and fact-check schoolwork. But I’ve been adding more functions and all. After my latest upgrade, I transferred it from my main computer to my cell—” J-Tom paused and searched Hugo’s face. Usually when she went full tech nerd, the dull glaze in her friends’ or teammates’ eyes indicated their disinterest.
To her surprise, Hugo was watching intently—paying actual attention.
J-Tom grinned savagely. She knew he was a good kid. “Check it out.” She brought the cell to her mouth.
“Shinobi. Who was Malaysia’s prime minster in 1992?”
Hugo snorted out a laugh. “Shinobi…”
J-Tom jabbed his shoulder. “Hush!” She winced from smarting knuckles. Hugo’s arm was solid steel.
“Hello, Jennifer,” the phone replied seconds later, sounding like Vin Diesel. She was still tinkering with the VA’s voice. “Mahathir Mohamad was the 4th prime minster of Malaysia in 1992, his tenure lasting from 1981 to 2003. He was also Malaysia’s 7th prime minster between 2018 and 2020.”
Hugo’s smile vanished.
J-Tom savored a triumphant grin. “Then I programmed Shinobi to pick ten stocks and mutual funds with the best ROIs and lowest fees,” she boasted. “And put $3500 of my savings into them. I made ten times what I invested.”
Hugo stared back in open-mouthed astonishment. “Oh shit. Really?”
J-Tom nodded bobblehead-like. “Now I programmed it to learn Canadian French by scouring the internet.” She slid the phone to Hugo. “Ask him anything.”
Hugo eyed the phone like it might leap up and bite his face. “Uh, Shinobi. What is the meaning of the number 42 in science fiction?” He leaned back, folding his arms in satisfaction.
J-Tom arched her brow at the adorkable query, but her confidence never wavered.
Shinobi didn’t disappoint. “42 is the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. So says the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” the virtual assistant growled. “Calculated by an enormous supercomputer over 7.5 million years.”
Hugo laughed hard, prompting J-Tom to laugh too. His mirth was so infectious and free.
“Jen,” he said after they’d both calmed, staring as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re sort of a genius.”
The compliment gripped J-Tom like a warm hug. “Thank you.” This boy sure knew how to make a girl feel special. She glanced down, an intense blush almost burning her scalp off. “Spencer makes fun of my tech geekery.” She stiffened. Why did I admit that?
Hugo’s sideways glare needed no words.
“I know!” J-Tom threw her hands up in exasperation. “She’s a bitch.”
Hugo clapped in approval. “How good did you feel saying that?”
“Splendiferous!” J-Tom exclaimed. Yet she kept accepting Spencer’s hot and cold behavior? Someone besides Mom and Dad appreciating her geekery felt so good.
They chatted a while longer about Shinobi, Hugo peppering her with questions that she gladly answered.
Unfortunately, he had to leave.
“I’m so glad you came over,” J-Tom gushed while walking him to the door.
Hugo shouldered his backpack. That boyish grin was magnetic. “Me too, Jenny.”
J-Tom reached for him. “C’mere, big guy.”
Hugo enveloped her in his arms while she hugged his waist. His rock-solid body was so cuddly.
J-Tom closed her eyes and relished the contact…until a grey heaviness reared its head again.
Two hours of her life gone. Two hours that she couldn’t recall. Two hours where she could’ve died, according to her doctor. Waking up in a hospital bed, no idea how she’d arrived or been changed. The heaviness pressed on J-Tom’s chest with increasing weight.
A sob shook her frame, then another. Now her eyes were watering. She attempted to pull away. God, this was embarrassing.
Hugo didn’t let go. He pecked her forehead and gently drew her in closer, one hand caressing the back of her neck. “I know,” he whispered into the top of her head. “You’re okay.”
Something about his words soothed away J-Tom’s fears. Or was it the rhythm of his heartbeat syncing with her o
wn? Or how his embrace seemed to shield J-Tom from the whole world? Just like that, everything was safe again.
She melted against Hugo’s rock-hard frame, basking in his warmth. She didn’t mind one of his hands sing lid down the length of her spine–until he gave her butt a gentle squeeze.
J-Tom’s breath hiked, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Nope, don’t mind at all.
His hand on her bottom triggered something inside J-Tom. Suddenly she was on her tiptoes, burying her face in the crook of Hugo’s neck. The fit was perfect.
J-Tom breathed Hugo in. His natural fragrance overwhelmed her senses. She sighed and sank deeper into the hug, too comfortable to leave—
A cellphone vibrated between them.
Both teens jumped back.
Hugo reddened. He’d felt whatever that was too. “Sorry. Hold on.” Hugo pulled out his cellphone.
“Oh God,” J-Tom mouthed, massaging her temples to clear the mental fog. She turned to hide her furious blush.
“What’s up?” Hugo sounded annoyed answering his phone. “Okay. Okay,” he stated, gesturing sharply with his free hand. “No, get the horse glue. It’s stronger.”
J-Tom wheeled back around. Horse glue?
“Sounds good. Later.” Hugo hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket. Him nervously shuffling his feet revealed the teenager beneath his manly exterior. Just when he couldn’t get any cuter. “I should go.” He jabbed a thumb at the door.
“Oh…” J-Tom’s heart panged in displeasure. But she forced her face to stay neutral. “See you at school.”
After Hugo had left, she sagged and slid to a seat against the door.
She shook her fuzzy cranium to clear it. “I swear Bogie’s hugs have magic powers.” That buy was so yum. If not for that phone call…
Two things were certain for J-Tom. One, cozying up with Hugo couldn’t happen again. Brie would excommunicate her if she knew about this meetup. After the Fall Fling disaster and Brie’s parents separating, J-Tom needed to support her bestie without question.
Two, she must be unsatisfied with Spencer based on that reaction to a boy she barely knew…yet wanted to know better?
J-Tom slapped her cheeks for such dirty thoughts. “Stop it.” Hugo was right. J-Tom deserved better. “I need to break up with Spencer.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth at how swiftly she reached that decision. She missed their deep friendship more than this hot-and-cold romance she couldn’t share with anyone.
“Lemme think that one through.” A computer project or something similar always helped clear her thoughts.
She smiled, knowing just the thing—which she was told not to touch. Time to be a rulebreaker.
J-Tom rose and strode for her garage with purpose.
Minutes later, she flicked on the garage light switch.
Pale amber light flooded the partially cluttered space. Her feet made mild slapping noises on the concrete floor as she entered.
The garage hadn’t housed a car in maybe three years. Its familiar, rust-tinged stuffiness brought a smile to her face. Piles of junk metal, old desktop computers she’d constructed with Dad, and other discarded projects littered the edges of the garage. Much of her childhood stood in stacked boxes against the walls.
The only things out of place were the two silvery human-sized android drones sprawled across Dad’s broad worktable in the center. Both robots resembled Dynamo’s armor so much.
J-Tom’s heart galloped into a sprint when she took in that view. These drones brought up almost too much to process.
Besides some scorch marks and slight dents from their crashlanding, the pair looked in good shape, from her novice opinion. Dad had agreed.
She rounded the table slowly, studying every dent, every groove, every angular line separating parts of the drones’ hulls. She wished she’d seen the crashlanding herself. But she’d been prepping and programing for Fall Fling with her squad at Natalie’s house.
The damage could’ve been worse, tearing tracks halfway across the backyard. According to Mom, who had a flair for the dramatic, the impact had shaken half the block.
J-Tom stopped and stared at the capsule-like head of one drone.
According to Quinn Bauer’s insane exposé in SLOCO Daily about Titan’s death, these drones were stolen by Morningstar to frame Dynamo for the murder.
Dynamo… Ramon Dempsey’s retirement from superheroics saddened J-Tom all over again. The least she could do was peek at his robotics work.
Her hands trembled from nerves as she placed her cell on the table next to the drones.
“Shinobi,” J-Tom asked after activating her virtual assistant. “How long before Dad gets home?”
“Given the hours left in his work day and current traffic conditions,” the AI replied in its Vin Diesel growl, “three hours.”
“And how long before Mom comes back?”
“Three hours and twenty-three with usual rush hour traffic. Two hours fifty minutes with regular traffic.”
Dad had said not to touch the drones until he’d figured out what to do. But J-Tom knew that once he saw what lay under these robots’ armor, Dad would geek out and dig in right beside her.
J-Tom cracked her knuckles. “Let’s see what’s inside these bad boys.”
She reached for her dad’s toolbox on the nearest shelf.
Want to know what happened on Halloween?
Grab Friday Night Frights!
By
C.C. Ekeke
Generation Next © 2019 by C.C. Ekeke
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of C.C. Ekeke, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles.
C.C. Ekeke
www.ccekeke.com
Cover Art: Carlos Cabrera
1st Edition
ShatterHouse Press
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
Author Notes
About the Author
For JH
Thanks for your encouragement and friendship.
Prologue
Sunlight stabbed through his closed eyelids, drawing him from sleep.
He winced, clumsily shielding his face with both hands. “Whoa…hangover…” His head pounde
d, chest feeling squeezed like in a vise. More awareness returned, registering the feel of cool polished wood pressing against his cheek and right knee. Babbling from countless people forced his eyes open. And the smell of fresh produce.
A sunny outdoors turned sideways greeted Landon Lang’s eyes. He jerked up to a seated position, and a migraine walloped his skull. Wincing, he focused on the familiar boulevard. “What the…?”
Landon last recalled walking home from Mac Wilder’s house party on Stowell Road. Now, on a blazing Saturday morning, the teenager was on a bench in the middle of Santa Maria Town Center farmer’s market.
Landon ran shaky hands through his curly hair, studying his surroundings.
Numerous people surged past, many who were swarming vendor stands of fresh produce. Sunkissed couples displaying excess PDA. Parents handling rowdy kids. Elderly folks enjoying a morning stroll. It was a typical farmer’s market crowd. Quite a few bystanders glanced critically at Landon’s unkempt state.
He blinked, baffled by how he’d arrived here, two miles from home. Landon had had like five beers last night, all shit quality since Mac was cheap. Not enough to get blackout drunk.
Probably one of Hank Weatherby’s stupid pranks.
“I’ll get that motherfucker,” Landon growled, rubbing his chest. Something hard and plastic was beneath his plaid shirt.
Frowning, Landon groped his chest more thoroughly. “What—?”
A buzzing in his pocket startled him. He fished through it to pull out his iPhone. Instead, Landon produced a generic black burner. He squinted at the device in bewilderment. “Where’s my phone?” Landon spied a new text onscreen.
UNKNOWN: Unbutton your shirt.
Landon recoiled. “Excuse you?” Growing dread burned away the fatigue clouding his brain. “What freakish game is this?” The realization that Hank Weatherby wasn’t behind this settled in Landon’s mind.
Another insistent text appeared.
UNKNOWN: Unbutton your shirt, Landon.
His heart raced into a gallop. He whipped his head around. Only the usual throng of farmer’s market shoppers flooded the street. Most ignored him. Some sick freak was out there watching. Probably whoever had dropped him off in the Santa Maria Town Center. Against his better judgement, Landon unbuttoned his shirt.
