“We were talking about this romance novel,” Marie explains. “What was the name again?”
“Me Before You,” Tarryn weighs in.
“That’s the one.” Marie rolls her shoulders, trying to ease her stiff muscles. “Anyway, Nisha got all teary-eyed over it. We”—she points to her friends—“were just trying to console her.”
A creepy smile tugs at Amara’s red lips. “Isn’t that sweet of you girls?” She points to the phone in Marie’s hand. “Trying to console Nisha by shoving that horrific video under her nose? How very thoughtful of you.” Amara tilts her chin at the door. “I think you should leave before I call your parents to let them know how miserably they failed at raising you.”
Marie hesitates, but Tarryn hauls her toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Adrianne hisses. “Better get out of here before we catch a deadly disease.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when the door slams shut behind them. Amara, on the other hand, looks like Mike Tyson moments before he bit Holyfield’s ear off. “How long has this been going on?”
I grab a few paperbacks and arrange them on the shelf. “Don’t worry about it.”
Amara jerks the books out of my hand. “Don’t worry about it?” She arches a brow. “They’re harassing you at my store. The hell I won’t worry. You have to stand up for yourself, Nisha. Don’t let anyone walk over you. Ever.”
Déjà vu is when your boss gives you the same speech your cousin gave you just yesterday. No wonder the two get along so well. The good thing is I already have an explanation prepared. “They’re just scared, Amara.” I avert my gaze. “Everyone is.”
“That’s no excuse,” she hisses. “No one deserves to be treated like this. Especially you.”
If anyone deserves it, it would be me. “I almost got her ex-boyfriend killed, remember?”
She puts two fingers under my chin and lifts my head. “You didn’t.” She makes it sound as if someone else was there when the branch of the tree crushed Mole beneath it. There really wasn’t. Unless you count Anubis. My favorite hallucination.
I’m done talking about the Heathers. “Did you get the book you were looking for?” Amara doesn’t just sell books. She also hunts down rarities for collectors. My dad used to be her best customer.
A halfhearted smile crosses her lips. “I did, but the seller is a hard-ass. We’re still negotiating the price.”
I have no doubt Amara can convince him of her terms. “What book is it?”
“The first edition of The Book of the Dead.”
Seems like good old Egypt just won’t leave me be.
“You okay?” Amara asks when she catches my frustration.
“Mr. Thornton asked me to organize the annual Halloween Ball at the Bavarian Inn,” I explain. “He set his eyes on Ancient Egypt as a theme and wants me to go through Dad’s books.”
Her eyes widen. “He does?”
I nod. “Weird, huh?”
“Did he ask you to look at a specific one?”
“Nope.” I grab another copy of Harry Potter and shelve it. “Just wants me to collect some ideas for costumes and decoration.”
“I see.” Amara grows distant. “Well, I have to make a few calls,” she murmurs. “Are you going to be okay?”
I kind of expected a different reaction from her. Amara wasn’t just my mom’s friend. She’s mine, too. Usually when I tell her about school, she offers open ears and plenty of advice. Not today. “Sure. I’ll be fine.”
Without another word, she disappears to the back of the store.
Talk about weird.
I head down West German Street, hugging myself to fight the bitter cold. With the cold season comes a clear sky. A million stars are scattered across it. At first glance, they appear disorganized and uncontrolled, like spilled paint on an artist’s canvas. In reality, every single one of them is part of a bigger picture. Take Enif for example. The supergiant, a hundred and eighty-five times the radius of the sun, is visible to the naked eye. Its enormous size and firepower are impressive, but by far not the most special thing about it. When I was a kid, my mom would take me outside and tell me stories about each star. Enif—which, according to Mom, is Arabic for nose—had always been one of her favorites. I remember the day she introduced me to it as clearly as if it were yesterday.
“He’s beautiful,” she said. “But don’t let his size fool you, princess. He might be bright, but like all of us, he’s just one piece of a much bigger puzzle.”
At the age of five, I didn’t exactly understand what she was trying to say. I found myself staring at the sky, trying to locate the missing puzzle pieces. It was a sheer impossibility. There were just too many of them, and they all looked as if they’d been randomly put there. “What puzzle?” I asked her after a while.
She sat me on her lap. “Look closely.” She drew lines with her finger, pointing from Enif to a smaller star. From that one she moved to another, and so on. “Do you see it?”
Concentrating, I followed her drawing. Four of the stars formed a square. The others were lines, like legs. “What is it?” I was mesmerized by the order within the chaos.
“A star constellation called Pegasus,” she explained. “The old Greek believed it to represent the son of Neptune and Medusa. A winged white stallion who became the carrier of Zeus’s lightning bolts. He fought the Chimera, a vicious monster set on the destruction of the world.” She ran her fingers through my hair, holding me tighter. “Your ancestors, the people of Egypt, worshipped a similar god. His name was Seth. Born a human, he fell in love with a goddess. But their love was forbidden.”
“Why was it forbidden?” Love is beautiful. There shouldn’t be a law against it.
“Humans were mortal, and gods were blessed with eternal life,” she went on. “They could never be together. The goddess’s parents, however, saw how fiercely they felt for each other. So, they allowed the boy to undergo the greatest trial of all—the journey through the underworld, where he was to slay sixty-four demons to gain eternal life.”
Something about the story made me shiver. “Did he succeed?”
She rested her chin on my head, sighing heavily. “He not only succeeded, princess. Seth became the most feared warrior of all Egypt, the god of the desert. And when the great serpent Apep—god of chaos and destruction, archenemy of the sun god Ra—infiltrated Egypt to bring upon the end, it was Seth and his loyal friend, a mighty Medjay, who slayed the beast and sent it back to the underworld.”
Relief washed over me. “Did the goddess and Seth live happily ever after?” All stories of princesses and their heroes ended that way.
Mom looked up at the gleaming stars. “I wish, Nisha.”
My belly cramped. “What happened?”
“That’s a story for another night,” she said, kissing my forehead.
I kept staring at the constellation, but never saw a stallion or an Egyptian god. But I understood what my mom was trying to say. Enif was beautiful, big, and bright. Without the smaller stars, though, there’d be no Pegasus, and Enif would just be a single star without purpose.
The memory fades and my eyes water. I miss listening to Mom’s stories of ancient Egypt. The nights spent on the porch gazing at the stars. I miss her hugs and kisses, her endless optimism, and her passion for everything she did—even preparing dinner. Short: I miss my mom. Every memory I have of her, except the one of last Devil’s Night, is a happy one. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again—carefree, protected, loved? I doubt it. And there’s just no point in dwelling on a better past, or a lost future. I shove the memories back into my little treasure box, lock them up safely, and continue down the deserted street.
It’s only half past eight, and Shepherdstown is already a ghost town. The grown-ups are glued to their TVs or having dinner. Everyone my age is headed to the Red Shed or is meeting up at a friend’s place. And me? I’m heading home, where I’ll be stuffing myself with leftovers and finishing the new Jenni
fer L. Armentrout book I started yesterday.
Somewhere behind me, I hear footsteps. They sound distant at first, but quickly come closer. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I feel like I’m being followed. Totally insane. No sane person deliberately treads on my heels. They’re too terrified to end up dead.
Yet, I look over my shoulder. A couple of feet away is a guy in a black hoodie. I think it’s a guy, but the hood covers most of his face. Hands jammed in his pockets, he moves down the street, keeping a safe distance. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There’s something odd about him. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.
Focusing on the street ahead, I walk faster. I’m almost home. I can see our green fence. I dig my keys out of my jacket. A few more steps, I calm myself, then you’re inside.
The guy adjusts his pace to mine. I can feel his presence behind me. He’s too close. Way too close. The creepy sensation in my tummy grows stronger. So much so, I break into a run.
By the time I get to our porch, I turn one more time, half expecting Hoodie Guy to be right behind me. He’s gone. Nowhere to be seen. That’s impossible. There’s no place he could have gone, no alley or hiding spot. I search the area. He simply vanished. Since that’s impossible, I blame it on my hallucinations. My brain makes up a lot of weird stuff, so why not a hooded predator, right?
On edge, I unlock the door. The lights are on. I hear voices coming from the living room. Seems like I won’t be home alone after all.
I slam the door shut behind me and throw my key onto the small silver plate on the dresser next to the stairs. Izzy strolls out of the kitchen with a massive bowl of popcorn. “There you are,” she says. “I thought you’d never come.”
I could tell her Amara and I decorated the store for Halloween after we closed down, but there’s a more pressing matter I want to address. “Why aren’t you at the Shed?” Izzy, Oz, and the rest of the gang spend every weekend there. I did once too. Ages ago.
A spark of mischief flickers across her pale gray eyes. “We’re always at the Shed,” she says casually. “The boys wanted to do something else for a change.”
“Like eating popcorn at home?” Sorry, not buying it. The boys love the Shed way too much to trade it for a boring night at home. Because here’s the thing: they don’t just hang out there and get drunk. They have a fully equipped boxing gym in one of the back rooms where they fight each other regularly.
Izzy shrugs it off. “If Nisha doesn’t come to the Shed, the Shed will come to her.” She has a way of twisting sayings. Gotta give it to her.
Doesn’t mean I like what I just heard. “Don’t tell me Aunt V and Rob put you guys up to this.” They hate for me to be alone at home, but I kind of thought Aunt V and I had it figured out. She didn’t seem like she was going to call the MMA league to babysit me when we spoke this morning. Or did she?
My cousin puts the bowl on the dresser next to the keys. “Mom and Rob had nothing to do with this,” she assures me.
“Then, whose idea was it?” I cross my arms to prove a point. “And don’t lie to me.”
She studies me. “You really want to know?”
“Yes, I do.” Or else I wouldn’t be asking.
“Your wish is my command, little cousin.” She seizes hold of my hand, hauling me to the living room. “See for yourself,” she says, kicking the door open.
Can a heart stop at the sight of a guy? Mine just did.
“Dude.” Shaggy nudges Blaze. “She’s here.”
He drops the PS4 controller and turns to the door. He turns to me. “Finally,” he cheers. “We were about to come get you. Drag you out of the bookstore if we had to.”
A thousand questions bolt through my brain. How does he know where I was? My friends told him. Why did they tell him? Because the boys are crazy about this guy and my cousin thinks he could be crazy about me. What the heck is he doing here? At my house? Judging by the TV screen, he’s playing Battlefield. No. I mean, why is he really here?
Blaze is on his feet. “Whoa, are you okay, princess? You look awfully pale.”
I clench my jaw, not sure what to say or do.
The boys are staring at me as if I’m some kind of Avatar—amazed, surprised, alienated. “He’s right,” Shaggy says. “You are pale.”
I have to get a grip, or else this is going to get even more awkward than it already is. “I’m just tired,” I mutter, my heart going ninety miles an hour.
Izzy shoves me to the easy chair. “Kick your boots off, put your feet up, and watch how Shaggy gets his ass handed to him by Blaze.”
“He’s not handing me my ass,” Shaggy defends himself.
Blaze hides a smile behind his hand. Scooby is less subtle. “Dude, he beat you four times in a row. What do you call that?”
Shaggy shrugs. “Warm-up.”
Oz rolls his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Defiance gleams in Shaggy’s eyes. He grabs the controller from the couch and throws it at Blaze, who catches it without much effort. “One more time,” he snarls, pointing at the screen. “We’ll see who’s the better gamer once and for all.”
Blaze sits back down and arches a brow at Shaggy. “Sure about this?”
Mr. Stubbornness presses the play button. “Absolutely.”
I lounge in the gray-brown easy chair. It was my dad’s favorite spot. He used to watch football games here, with me. Now, I’m supposed to witness the Shaggy-slash-Blaze Battlefield showdown from the very same spot. The world is a very strange place indeed.
Everyone else is glued to the screen. I can’t focus. I’m itchy and vexed. Can’t keep my dang eyes off the tattooed perfection across from me. How could my cousin and so-called friends do this to me? Why would they bring Blaze home without giving me a heads-up? Had I known, I would have stayed at Amara’s for the night. Or caught a plane to Cairo to pay my estranged grandparents a visit. Literally anything is better than being in the same room with Blaze.
“He’s killing you,” Oz barks at Shaggy. “Jesus, get the gun.”
“Leave it and get the hell out of there,” Scooby weighs in. “No, dude, the other door.”
Izzy plummets down on my armrest. “Don’t be mad,” she whispers. The girl knows me better than I thought. “The boys invited him to the Shed at lunch, but when he heard you wouldn’t be there, he didn’t want to go.”
I shoot her a dirty look. “So, you figured you’d invite him home?”
She bites on her lower lip. “Would it help my case if I said it was Shaggy’s glorious idea?”
Not at all. I know my cousin just as well as she knows me. No one, not even Oz, can talk her into something she doesn’t want to do. It might have been Shaggy’s idea, but she had the final say in it.
She holds the popcorn bowl under my nose. “Forgive me?”
“No.” She gives me the famous don’t-be-mad-at-Izzy look. “But I will take the popcorn.”
About twenty minutes later, I’ve devoured half the bowl, and poor Shaggy is defeated. I mean that literally and in every sense of the word. “My controller is broken,” he justifies the setback.
“Dude.” His brother pats his back. “Just admit it. He’s the better gamer.”
Shaggy will do no such thing. “Impossible.” He regards the controller, looking for evidence to back up his theory. I get why. He’s never been beaten at shooter games. Scratch that. He’s never been beaten at any of the hundred games he owns.
I expect Blaze to gloat in his success. To come up with a snarky comment. Or to bathe in Shaggy’s misery. To my surprise, he does neither. Instead, he offers a smile that melts my heart. “You’re probably right, mate. Your controller was slower than mine.”
Shaggy looks up at him. One could think he just came face to face with his favorite actor, rock star, and personal hero all rolled into one. “Thanks, man.”
Blaze shrugs it off. “No worries.” Then, he meets my gaze. “Do you play, princess?”
I almost choke on
popcorn; that’s how nerve-racking the whole thing is. By whole thing, I mean being under Blaze’s scrutiny and staring into his magical eyes.
“Nisha?”
Say something. “Huh?”
“Do you play?” he asks again.
Fire burns through my cheeks. “N-No,” I stammer. “I don’t.” That’s a flat-out lie. I only leave the house when I have to. Sometimes, when I’m not in the mood to read or watch TV, I play. Doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to engage in a game with Blaze. He kicked Shaggy’s butt, he’ll do worse to mine.
“Nisha and war games?” Shaggy snickers. “She’d rather spend all day with her nose stuck in a book, dude.”
Izzy casts him a sidelong glance. “Shut up, Shag. She loves reading. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah,” Oz says. “Nisha loves her books as much as you love your weed.”
“Only difference?” Scooby murmurs. “Books don’t make you want to dive out of a window because you think you can fly.” He’s talking about that one time Shaggy got so stoned, he thought he was a student at Hogwarts. He grabbed a broomstick and climbed onto the windowsill of a second-story building, determined to give Quidditch a go.
Oz drums his fingers against the table and sings, “I believe I can fly, I believe I can play—”
“Okay, okay,” Shaggy barks, blushing like a boy whose mom caught him masturbating. “Got the message loud and clear.”
We all laugh. Except for Blaze. He’s ogling me. After a while, he puts his hand on Shaggy’s shoulder and says, “Never underestimate a woman who reads, mate. They are extremely imaginative.” His gaze locks on mine. “In all aspects of life.”
Did he really just say that, or am I hallucinating again? The haunting silence and my friends’ dropped jaws speak for themselves. A dozen emotions flood my system. The only two I recognize are shame and the need to kick this cocky British macho where it hurts most—his nuts.
Exploding out of my chair, I push the popcorn bowl against Izzy’s chest. “Soda, anyone?” I don’t wait for their replies. I just stomp off to the kitchen.
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