by Sherry Soule
An awkward silence lasts for several agonizing seconds.
With tears burning behind my lids, I take in Hayden’s gorgeous features. He has red-rimmed eyes as if from a lack of sleep and up-close his clothes look rumbled like he just threw on whatever was clean. At the sight of my ex-boyfriend so tangibly close, the intense anger gripping me moments before dissolves into an angsty puddle at my feet.
Please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop, folks. My emotional rollercoaster is just getting started!
Hayden’s shoulders rise and fall with noticeable tension. “Hello, Sloane. Is there something wrong?”
Those butterflies in my stomach do backflips. “Uh, not really…but I need to talk to you.”
Hayden flicks a glance at Zach. “I’d like to speak to Sloane.” His tone is brisk and unyielding. “Alone.”
Then the extraordinary happens. Zach’s expression softens and a caring, gentle brother replaces the condescending jock. I can’t help but gape a little.
“Bro, why do this to yourself?” Zack pats his shoulder.
Hayden folds his arms. “Please.”
Zach curses under his breath, then stomps away like the Neanderthal he is, and turns a corner out of sight. Good riddance.
“Thanks for the rescue, Hayden.” Saying his name scalds my tongue and the heat slides into my heart. His unique gaze holds mine. I want to turn away, but I can’t move—as if I’m being hypnotized by the charms of a charismatic snake. “Why are you staring at me like that? You’re not planning on mind-wiping me now, are you?”
His chuckle sounds deep and throaty. “No, Sloane.”
I put a hand on my hip. “By the way, thanks for ignoring my texts.”
A lock of light brown hair dips onto his forehead. I almost reach to brush the hair off his face, but resist the urge. I inhale his scent, a spicy, exotic aroma, like a precious memory that makes my body quiver.
His eyes close slowly, the thick lashes brushing his cheekbones, before reopening and settling on me once again. “I’ve been busy,” he says, his voice tight.
An ache burns in my throat, like I’ve swallowed a hot coal. Nothing like having a boy repeatedly reject a girl to boost her self-esteem.
“Busy ignoring me,” I mutter, then in a louder tone say, “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
Hayden shakes his head, his eyes downcast. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
“Please.” I reach out to grip his wrist. The heat from his skin pulses fiery and smooth under my fingers. I suck in a breath and snatch my hand away. “It’s important, but we can’t talk about it here at school.”
A resigned expression shutters his face. “What more is there to say? I made myself very clear a few days ago. I think some distance might be a good idea for a while.”
“But we need to talk about…” I lower my voice. “The Meleah.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. And I’m late for class.”
I inch closer. “Hayden—wait…”
He marches down the hall and into the classroom, leaving me in the dust. Hayden’s back to his annoying habits. Evade. Evade. Evade.
I stalk into trig just as the warning bell rings, and stomp to my desk, dumping my backpack at my feet. A few students glance in my direction. If Zach’s not the culprit, then any of these kids could be The Blackmailer. In fact, everyone is an über suspect until proven otherwise.
The teacher, Mrs. Brooks, writes calculations on the whiteboard, but I can’t concentrate on anything. My thoughts are consumed with telling Hayden about my epic hybrid-status, if only he’d listen.
Now I’m trapped sitting in class, not really listening to Mrs. Longwinded Brooks drone on about angles and measurements. I glare at the back of Hayden’s head, silently willing him to turn around and acknowledge me. It feels like I’m a minor character being faded out of a TV series, as if I’ve had one minute of total screen time with Hayden.
I hate how he just blew me off. I hate that my parents aren’t trustworthy. I hate Zach and his fat-shaming slurs. I hate the mysterious person leaving threats in my locker. And I hate this uncomfortable metal desk with gum stuck to the side of it.
The seconds tick by. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall. Thirty-nine tortuous minutes before class ends. I want to be anywhere but here. I almost wish demons would attack the school and drag me to Hell, or worse…somewhere where there’s no chocolate. Now that would be pure evil!
Mrs. Brooks lectures on equations and her shrill voice sounds like braying sheep in heat. A sharp throbbing spreads across my forehead. I rest my elbows on the desk, then lower my head into my palms and close my eyes.
“If Miss Masterson would be more attentive…” Mrs. Brooks walks down the aisle, the rubber soles of her cheap pumps squeaking on the floor. “Then I wouldn’t have to waste everyone’s time by re-explaining how the trigonometric ratios derive from triangle similarity considerations.” Her footsteps pause at my desk.
I keep my head down, my eyes squeezed shut. If I lift my head and look at her, I’ll be compelled to stare at that mole on her chin. The one with the long, black witch hair sticking out of it.
“Are you paying attention, Miss Masterson?” She taps an impatient foot, then moves further along the aisle. “I do not tolerate sleeping in my classroom.”
Jeez. Adults think they’re so superior all the time. Just like my lying-deceiving parents.
“You do know that it’s not Halloween, right?” Emma says in a loud whisper, twisting in her seat. “You look like a wannabe vampire in that strange getup.”
The sarcastic edge in her voice grates on my last nerve.
With my head still cradled in my hands, I’m feeling the height of bitchiness coming on strong. So my style’s dark with a side of edgy? What’s the issue?
Slowly, I lift my head and shoot Emma a heated glare. “If you must know, it’s Halloween every day at my house.”
Emma’s pink mouth gapes, then snaps shut. Most of my classmates turn in their seats to watch the impending showdown. Several kids even stop scribbling in their notebooks. Hayden hangs his head and shakes it in disapproval.
“You call that style? More like chubby couture.” Emma snickers. “You must’ve read one too many Anne Rice novels. Unless you’re praying you’ll never come in contact with direct sunlight.”
My cheeks heat, my skin piping so hot it feels as if I’ve stuck my face in an oven.
Several students giggle. Hayden’s shoulders stiffen. Emma smiles and her best friend Kaitlyn rolls her squinty eyes.
I wonder if Emma is the blackmailer. Or maybe it’s her evil sidekick, Kaitlyn. Their combined Sloane-hate places them on my 'Do Not Trust” list. I size Emma up. She’s wearing what might be the most preppy outfit I’ve ever seen outside an 80’s Brat Pack movie, a white button-up shirt under a pink cardigan and capris with plaid flats. She almost looks too innocent to be a suspect, but her bitchiness is singeing through her good girl persona.
“Emma, cut it out,” Hayden says under his breath.
Mrs. Brooks crosses both arms over her chest, obviously expecting me to apologize. “Are you quite done disrupting my class, Miss Masterson?”
Usually, I’m incapable of making people feel bad. Even if they’re in the process of mocking me. Not today.
“Yeah, can I go back to taking my nap now?” I yawn, then mumble, “As if I’ll ever use this stupid math anyway.”
“Get out of my classroom!” Mrs. Brooks points an index finger at the door. “Go to the principal’s office.”
Hayden faces our teacher. “Mrs. Brooks, Sloane’s had a rough time lately—”
“Be quiet!” Mrs. Brooks’s face has gone blotchy red and she pierces him with her eagle eyes. “Or maybe you’d like to join her?”
“Of course he wouldn’t.” I flick a glance at Hayden. “I have it on good authority that he’s too busy.” I bend to retrieve my books and backpack from the floor.
Everyone watches me leave, t
heir stares scorching into my back. When the door shuts behind me, my posture slumps. I have no idea what’s gotten into me. Maybe it’s some weird alien aggression in my genes that’s rearing its ugly head. Now I am so screwed. I never talk back to teachers or authority figures. Like ever. My pace slows. I consider going back and apologizing to Mrs. Brooks, but keep moving to the office.
The halls are empty. When I reach the office door, I stop. My palms are slippery with sweat. I think this is the second time that I’ve ever been sent to the principal’s office.
I need anxiety chocolate. Like now.
Taking a deep breath, I swing open the heavy door. It closes behind me with an echoing bang.
Behind a scarred wooden reception desk, Lisa Morris turns in her chair. “Mrs. Brooks called. However, Principal Allen and Vice Principal Snyder are at a staff meeting off campus, so wait here until the bell rings, then go to your next class. The principal will deal with you tomorrow.”
“Or…” I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye and sniffle. “We could just not tell the principal and I’ll apologize to Mrs. Brooks.” For emphasis, I hang my head to hide my pale face. “The thing is, I-I just broke up with someone and I’m having troubles at home.”
All true. Plus, I’m being blackmailed, so there’s also that.
I lift my head and peek through my curtain of hair. Lisa pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. I’m sure she’s heard lots of excuses. Hell, she’s been here since the dinosaurs trudged across the Earth. I sniffle again, trying to look pathetic, which really isn’t all that difficult.
“All right, Sloane.” Lisa lets out a resigned breath and her expression softens. “I’ll let this incident slide since you’re a good kid, and everyone has an off day.”
“Thank you.” I scribble a quick apology on binder paper from my backpack and stuff it into Mrs. Brook’s cubby near the counter.
The bell rings. That’s my cue to exit before Lisa changes her mind. I venture into the corridor now jammed with students to my next class. The air thickens with a dense multiple of scents, various perfumes, floral hairspray, and eau de sweaty boys.
My steps slow when I pass my locker, but I don’t stop.
Every time I enter a room, all I sense are the icy stares of my human classmates. One of them has discovered that hybrids are secretly living among them and about my under-the-radar relationship with the broody Hayden Lancaster. It seems impossible. Maybe Viola leaked the news. No, she isn’t that stupid. Sure, Hayden and I used to hang out a lot, but only as friends in public. But somehow, someone knows the truth, and they’re holding it over my head.
Well, hello paranoia!
I inhale slowly then exhale, trying to calm my frayed, paranoid nerves. Part of me can’t wait to get the hell outta here and away from prying, blackmailing eyes.
My last class speeds by in a blur and I’m able to avoid any more teacher confrontations. When the final bell chimes, I find Viola waiting for me after class.
Tilting her head to the side, Viola clucks her tongue. “Heard you imploded in trig. I’m all for rebellious teen angst, but what was that all about?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I think everything’s just getting to me, you know. Hayden, my parents…” I hesitate to add that my blackmailer is also making me extra wiggy.
“Yeah, well, you’d better get your shit together.” Viola pats my shoulder. “I think Brooks is out for a public flogging.”
“Once I talk to Hayden, I’ll feel more like myself again.” I bump her shoulder with mine and change the subject. “Crap! I almost forgot to tell you. You’ll never guess who transferred here.”
Her thin eyebrows lift. “Some hot dude in leather pants who loves chicks in mourning attire?”
“Nope. Saxton Ridge.” I sigh. “Now I gotta find Hayden and tell him my big secret.”
FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE
Hey there, Grinning Gremlins!
My least favorite trope in the science fiction genre is the plethora of alien invasion storylines. Usually the cliché follows the same plot, where evil aliens arrive on Earth and we make contact with them. These space guys are extra crabby (it must’ve been a long flight or hyper-sleep) and they decide to wipe the majority of us out instead of making nice.
Don’t worry, the humans eventually take advantage of a weakness the aliens try to hide and survive the invasion.
But what if “humans” are the villains and the aliens aren’t so wicked? Hey, I always rooted for The Fifth Element to save the world from being wiped out in an interplanetary hot mess, and for E.T. to finally go home. If aliens ever do make contact, who’s to say we won’t shoot first and ask questions later?
And if they’re such a superior race, why wouldn’t aliens negotiate for whatever it is they need from our planet? Why do we assume these highly intelligent (they did build a spaceship and fly millions of miles to Earth) are going to just invade?
Well, I think they deserve the benefit of the doubt before it becomes War of the Worlds.
Peace, love, and horror flicks,
Sloane
SEVEN
I wait for Hayden in the hallway outside his last class with a speech prepared that I worked on all afternoon. The breakup was to protect me, but screw that. I have an agenda, and it’s to prove to Hayden that his decision to breakup with me was just plain dumb. I check the time on my phone again.
Where the heck is he?
I shift my weight and pick at the peeling black nail polish on my thumb. I consider telling Hayden about The Blackmailer, but if I do, then he’ll just flip out and get all overly protective, giving him another reason not to be friends. Until I can narrow down my suspects, I don’t want to worry him. Besides, he might use these cryptic messages as another excuse to push me away.
When Hayden turns the corner and notices me, he stops walking and runs a hand down his face. I don’t want to stop looking at him for even one solitary moment, despite how inappropriate the moment is for gawking.
Gathering my courage, I walk over to him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He glances at his feet with a heavy sigh. “Now is not a good time. I have to meet Zach.”
I grab his arm and pull him aside. “Too bad. Guess you’re gonna be late.” Hayden begins to protest, but I cut him off, ready to dropkick him if he blows me off again. “Will you just listen to me? I’m not going anywhere until you do!”
My eyes burn and I blink rapidly. I don’t want to cry again—not at school. Still, tears are the ultimate girlish weapon.
Hayden’s shoulders slump and he gives me a slight nod. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“You know, dumping me doesn’t give you the right to be a douchebag.” My breathing is ragged and my voice throaty. “You owe me, Hayden.”
His forehead scrunches. “Excuse me?”
I bite my lip and restrain my temper. “I have something huge to tell you, but I’m not sure school is the best place to have this discussion. Can we talk somewhere in private?”
Hayden backs away, putting both hands up as if to ward me off. “Sloane, I told you—”
“This isn’t about us, Captain Conceited. At least hear me out,” I insist, my eyes stinging.
“You’ll keep bugging me until I give in, won’t you?” His voice is low and taut with frustration, then he blows out a breath. “You win. Meet me at the beach on the south side.”
Finally, alone time with Hayden.
He takes off down the hall and out the doors before I can answer. As I watch him go, my heartbeat slows. My spirits lift slightly because, well, I’m a hopeless case when it comes to him. Once Hayden knows the truth about my Zeta ancestry, then we’ll get back together.
This has to change things between us. Hell, this changes everything.
I hike across the school lot and get into my car. It’s really hard to abide the speed limit as I drive to the beach. His Range Rover is already parked in the lot when I arrive and I zip into the empty spot beside his SUV.
; Hayden sits on a wooden bench facing the crashing waves, watching the seagulls dive into the surf. Briny winds stroke my skin and the air tastes of salt. Across the Bay, the glass windows on the looming skyscrapers in San Francisco glint in the sunlight.
Without a word, I sit next to him, and the scent of expensive body wash swirls around me. He turns his head, his unnatural eyes taking up my whole world. I start leaning toward him, as if Hayden’s mere presence draws me closer to him like a warm fire on a cold, winter night.
“What did you want to talk about?” His voice sounds thick.
“My dad is a Meleah,” I blurt.
Hayden takes a sharp intake of breath and shakes his head. “Are you sure? How did you find out?” He stares intently at me, as if searching my face.
His reaction fortifies me, and I forge ahead. “I’m positive. I saw him teleport into our living room, and after I confronted him, he confessed. And get this, my mom is human.” I bite my lip. “This is huge, right?”
He nods and faces the water again. A long hiatus of silence crams the air with tension. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking.
Sitting beside Hayden feels as natural as breathing. It’s funny how someone can break your heart, but you can still go on loving them with all the little, broken pieces. I glance at his profile. He’s so gorgeous—the sharp angles of his face, his smoldering gaze, and those full lips pressed together. I can’t help remembering our first kiss, and the way his lips lingered on mine, like we had all the time in the world. Being apart is tearing me up inside, and this long silence is killing me.
When I’m unable to stand it another moment, I glance at his face. “Damn it, Hayden, say something.”
His cheeks flush. “Yes. This is incredible,” he says, his voice sounding raspy, barely audible. “You’re on the brink of becoming someone truly extraordinary.”
“Yay, go me,” I say sarcastically, then hunch my shoulders. “Look, I understand why you’re keeping your distance, but it’s not a choice I could ever make—”