Awaken the Soul (Havenwood Falls High)(15)
She leans in, her light eyes searching. “Well, shoot. We need to Christmas shop.”
“You go then. I can take care of myself.” Fear settles around me. I pull a pillow to my chest.
“I’ll shop tomorrow. How about I make my famous grilled cheeses and we find a good movie to watch?” She pats my knee as I nod. “I’ll start lunch.”
She crosses my room, grabbing a dirty cup from my dresser before turning. “You must have been tired to fall asleep in your clothes. You haven’t done that since you were six,” she says with a smile, pulling the door closed behind her.
My head spins, and I grab my hair to keep it in place. My clothes? I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. I bolt for my bathroom and lose the meager contents of my stomach.
We spend the afternoon watching movies on the couch. This is a normal Sunday for us, but everything feels wrong. I check my phone, re-reading the text I sent Zara last night:
Decided against going to the clinic. Went home instead, feeling okay but tired. Enjoy movie night and I’ll see you Monday.
I recall the Burger Bar. I have a vague memory of snow and being cold. A flash of fire—and nothing else. No memory of texting Zara. No memory of coming home. Mom laughs at a scene in our third romantic comedy, and I tuck my legs closer. My chest is empty, like something is missing. I close my eyes as they burn with tears. Whether from my raging headache or because of the gaping hole, I can’t be sure. What is going on with me?
By the time Zara arrives outside my apartment building Monday morning, I’ve run through every scenario imaginable. Maybe someone slipped drugs into my food Saturday night? Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve been sucked into some alternate universe, like in the last book I read.
“Your carriage, my lady,” Zara shouts through the open passenger side window as I lock the apartment and hurry to the car.
I toss my backpack over the seat and jump in. “You’re letting all the heat out.”
“Feeling better?” she asks as I buckle my seatbelt and get situated.
I consider confiding in her, then swiftly change my mind. What would I say? I keep seeing her standing beside me outside my apartment window, calling me paranoid. When was that? It must be recent, and yet I can’t recall. Nope. I can’t tell her.
“All better.” I switch the air vents to warm my gloved hands and change the subject. “Tell me about the movies.”
Zara gasps as she shifts into drive. “Girl. I finally confirmed it with my own two eyes. Graysin Ravenal and Everett Weston are dating.”
“I thought we’d already confirmed that.”
“It was rumor. Now we can mark it down as fact. They are so freaking gorgeous together. I kind of hate her. I want an Everett of my own.”
“Z, he’s gotta be pushing thirty.”
“Twenty-eight,” she corrects. “I think I need an older man. I’m sick of the boys we have to pick from at school. They’re ridiculous. Saturday night—” I bend over, re-tying the laces on my boots as Zara complains. “—then a bunch of the guys from the football team started shoving each other and screwing around. I swear, they act like wild animals. How they get dates is beyond me.”
“They’re all tall, dark, and gorgeous.” Tossing my hair, I sit up and look out the front windshield.
Zara sighs. “Ain’t that the truth.”
I should remind her how she sat on the knee of one of those football players, flirting wildly during lunch Friday. My mouth opens to do just that when a dark figure captures my attention. We’re stopped at the light at Eighth and Main, and he’s leaning against the side of Pyntz Butcher Shoppe looking like sin—all pale skin, jet black hair, and dark clothing.
“Z, do you see him?” I grab Zara’s forearm, my gaze fixated on the guy. “Across the street.”
“Who? Mr. Emo?” The light changes, and we pull forward. “Isn’t that the guy from Saturday?” She squints as we turn onto Main with the traffic and pass a sidewalk width from him.
From Saturday? Vibrant blue eyes flash, and my stomach drops. Too afraid to turn in my seat, I check the side mirror. Sweat peppers my forehead as he watches us drive away. My body goes cold.
“He’s creepy.” I force my eyes to stop looking.
Zara pshaws. “Creepy? I thought you two were going to need a room after the way you stared each other down the other night. Then he disappeared and you left—” Zara inhales sharply, slapping her palm against the steering wheel. “You liar! You didn’t get sick, did you? You left with him.”
“What? No. Are you kidding? I don’t even know him.” I twist, looking for the stranger over my shoulder. It’s cold and not yet eight in the morning, making him easy to spot on the mostly vacant sidewalk.
“Well, he must be stalking you then, because that’s the guy from the other night. You should totally talk to him next time you see him. He’s hot.” Zara’s finger jabs my side as I watch the object of our conversation.
He walks quickly—too quickly. I do a double-take, surprised at how close he is. He removes his hand from the pocket of his long black coat, and my head fills with visions of him pulling a gun and shooting, like some gangster. Instead he lifts his hand to chest level and moves it from left to right. Strange, but nothing like a shootout.