by Sherry Soule
“Oh, um...” Viola takes a seat at my desk, swirling on the chair to face me. “There’s not much to tell, except I might’ve mentioned that I knew he wasn’t a human—”
“Viola!” I grind my teeth and let out a deep, hissing breath. “You were sworn to secrecy! You can’t be trusted at all. Why don’t you just set up a camera and broadcast it on your YouTube channel?”
I need to duct tape her big mouth shut. Best friends are not supposed to betray the secret bond of trust. Ever. Guess it’s a good thing I haven’t told her about The Blackmailer.
“I’m sorry.” Rubbing the back of her neck, Viola twirls once in her seat. “It wasn’t on purpose. It just, um, sorta slipped out.”
“And then what? Was Zach pissed at me for telling you?”
She flips open her textbook and sets it on the desk. “Not really.”
I blankly stare straight ahead at the wall. “Arcane is gonna kill me.” My head moves stiffly like a zombie with rigor-mortis as I turn to glare at her. “Zach is a selfish jerk and you’re too good for him.”
Her cheeks flush. “He asked me to be his date for the prom. I mean, we have to go only as friends, of course.”
Holy crapola. My mind reels and ‘what-the-hell’ thoughts are flowing faster than a candy addict can inhale an extra-large Belgian chocolate bar.
“Zach’s your date to the dance,” I slowly repeat.
“Sloane, get over it.” Viola inclines her dark head. “Zach and I are both eighteen, and we can date if we want to.”
“You’re trading bodily fluids with the enemy!” I say sharply. “And it’s against the rules for Meleah to date humans.”
“Whatever.” Viola rolls her thickly lined eyes. “Zach’s kinda sweet when you get to know him. Maybe it’s just you that he has a problem with.”
My eyebrows furrow. “And maybe you have a blind spot for douches.”
“At least when I date a douche, I know he’s one.”
Taking out my study notes and books from my bag, I ask, “When did you become the relationship expert?”
Viola shrugs. “I’m not. Oh, yeah. Zach said it’s just a coincidence that the Meleah stumbled across you.”
“It sure didn’t seem coincidental.” I grunt. “Zach obviously hasn’t watched enough horror movies. The attack was like some wacked out version of a Jamie Lee Curtis slasher film.”
Viola stops spinning and leans forward. “Why would anyone want to kill you?”
“There’s always some senseless reason to go on a killing spree.” I roll my eyes. “Better if it’s kept simple. A screenwriter never wants the motivation of the killer to become too confusing, because then they lose their audience.”
Viola frowns. “Are we talking movies or real-life?”
“Take your pick. But I have plans to show up in the conclusion to this saga. So I just gotta follow the central rules to survive. Which means a PG-Thirteen relationship, no drinking or drugs, and never say, ‘I’ll be right back.’”
“Where’d you learn all that?”
“I’ve seen Scream at least ten times.”
Viola gets out a textbook from her battered backpack. “Zach also thinks that ST will kill anyone who gets in their way.”
“In their way of what?”
“World domination?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Anyway, I can tell Hayden still cares about you. I think he’d be with you if he thought it was safe, which changes everything. Right?”
I bite the corner of my lower lip. “Yeah…but that’s not the kind of relationship I want. I don’t want to be anyone’s obligation.”
She opens and closes the front flap on her textbook sitting on the desk. “It’s more than that. I see the way he looks at you during lunch with that romance novel stare. When you two are in the same room, you can eat the dang attraction with a spoon.”
I sigh and pretend to study my notebook. “Viola, I think the only reason Hayden looks at me is because I’ve still got his alien residue all over me. He can smell me from across the room. It’s like catnip to him.”
“That’s kinda sexy.”
“Really, Viola? ’Cause it’s so not,” I insist.
She knocks the heavy textbook off the desk. “But you have to admit, it’s an awesome paranormal romance trope.”
I groan. “Skunks spray people, Vi. It’s not romantic. But you’re right, my life is becoming somewhat of a cliché.”
“Absolutely.” She lifts the fallen textbook and dumps it on the desk. “You’ve got danger, mystery, and even forbidden love.”
I flop onto my back on the bed, staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling. “Zach gives me all this crap about how Hayden and I can’t be together, but he’s a hundred percent on board with dating you. This makes no sense! How does that logic even work?”
“Must be my mad charms, and I thought you’d be more supportive.” She hangs her head like a dying flower. “We’re keeping it totally off the radar.”
“My life is a nightmare.” I sigh heavily. “Do you actually even like Zach?”
She stands and plops down beside me, the mattress springs squeaking under her weight. “It’s not like I’m ordering matching coffins for two anytime soon, but I find him interesting.”
“If by that you mean stomach-turning and vomit-inducing, then yes, Zach is certainly interesting,” I say.
“Stop!” She laughs. “I get it. You guys hate each other.”
“Do you really like him?” I ask softly again, turning my head to glance at her face.
She sighs. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“Think? That’s it?”
“Under that crunchy exterior, Zach’s not a bad guy. And Meleah shouldn’t be afraid to date humans. They have a right to be happy. It shouldn’t matter if they love an alien or another hybrid, or even a human...”
“I completely agree.”
Viola flips onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “Honestly, I’m relieved you know about Zach and me. I hated having to lie to you.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me the truth?”
She chews her lip. “Because I thought you’d be all judgy.”
We go quiet, with only the distant echo of a yowling cat filtering through the walls from outside.
“Okay, so yeah, I can be somewhat judgmental…I’m working on it.”
“What are you wearing to prom?” Viola asks.
I sit up. “Omigod. I have no idea.”
“Hmmm, I think we need some fang-tastic black dresses. That new thrift-store should have something amazing and vintage we can buy.”
We make plans to go shopping with Tanisha tomorrow, but Viola doesn’t look happy. We study for our upcoming finals and don’t mention the Lancaster boys again.
The next day, Tanisha and Viola pick me up, and we drive into the downtown area to shop for dresses. The senior prom is one of the highlights of our high school year, so we plan to standout with our unique flair. Fortunately for us, the gothic style lends itself suitably for formal attire.
We enter the store like kids on Christmas morning. Thrift stores are just all kinds of awesome. While secondhand shops can be a great way to grab cute clothing for cheap, this store reeks of mothballs and incense, which reminds me of the sawdust carnies use to soak up puke at the fair. Bleh.
“Ah-ha!” Viola holds up a devilish mask to her face. “I was looking for the perfect ceramic disguise to wear to my next goat sacrifice.”
Tanisha and I laugh while searching through the racks of formalwear.
Anyone would think we were shopping for clothes to wear to a funeral instead of a colorful springtime dance. Tanisha already has an idea of what type of look she wants: rockabilly and sexy. Viola steers toward the dark red velvet gowns. While I just want a dress that minimizes my curvy hips and enormous boobs.
I inwardly groan at all the poufy pink monstrosities.
Viola tries on a stunning evening dress with a fitted bodice and a sweetheart neckline, trimmed with black broc
ade lace along the skirt. When she steps out of the fitting room, I clap.
“You look like a vampire princess,” I say.
Viola twirls like a demented ballerina, the hemline of her long dress flaring around her pointy, black heels. “If I say black power to myself when I’m looking fierce, is that the wrong usage of the term?” She glances down at the onyx gown.
I shake my head with a smile. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s abuse of the term.”
Tanisha shrugs. “I’m black and say it all the time.”
We all giggle.
Tanisha picks out a cute, steampunk dress with a corset over a ruffled white blouse and a tight, calf-length skirt.
“What’d you find Sloane?” Viola asks.
I grunt. “Nothing. I’m not sure there’s anything here that’s gonna fit me.”
“What are you complaining about? You have the perfect hourglass figure,” Tanisha says.
“I just hate being the chubby best friend,” I reply. “Although, while I’m owning my curves, I would like to lose a few pounds.”
“Stop whining. At least you have boobs,” Viola mutters, lifting the long hair off her neck and checking out her butt in the mirror. “It’s not fair. I have the figure of a twelve-year-old boy—all legs and no curves. And a size fourteen is not fat!”
“I need help.” I push aside dress after dress on the rack. “None of these are what I’m looking for.”
Still wearing her fabulous gown, Viola digs through the dresses. “Hmmm, what about this one?” She pulls out a dress I hadn’t noticed yet and holds it out to me by the hanger.
Grabbing it, I tilt my head and study the knee-length dress made of black satin and lace. It has a fitted corset top, decorated with chiffon lace and roses, and a poufy skirt with layers of awesome tulle underneath.
The formal dress is fierce from head-to-toe, and like McDonald’s—I’m loving it.
As I stand there admiring the lovely gown, a shivery sensation glides over my skin. I glance around the store. The girls are mining through a mound of vintage jewelry on a table, and the salesclerk is busy reorganizing a shelf with antique dolls.
My gaze sweeps to the big front window and past a mannequin with a missing arm. I startle when I spot a tall man standing on the sidewalk, watching me from the shadows.
Viola lifts a choker to her throat. “Are you going to try it on or what?”
I suck in a shaky breath. Is that Xavier waiting for me outside?
The room is void of air. My pulse is shallow and rapid. I start to point out my stalker, but when I gaze through the glass again, he’s vanished. I try to remain calm. Maybe I’m only being paranoid. Or hallucinating. Must be the stench of mothballs.
“Um, yeah.” I dart into the fitting room and quickly change into the gown.
On shaky legs, I emerge and model for the girls. Their “ooohs” and ahhhs” are enough to convince me TO READ the dress with the last of my allowance.
We pay for our purchases and leave the store. From the doorway, I look behind us, then up and down the street. On the way to the car, my heartbeat ramps up. I glance over my shoulder.
A car eases around the corner and idles twenty feet away. I can’t see the driver’s face through the tinted windows, but I can’t shake the eerie sense that they’re staring at us. Or more likely moi.
TWENTY-SIX
At school, I trudge along the corridor with my head down. I had to stay after school to take a makeup test that I missed while I was rehabbing at home after the theater parking lot attack, and most of the students have already fled the premises.
I bump into someone and their backpack falls off one shoulder, the contents spilling out. A stack of black envelopes scatters across the floor. Bile climbs into my throat. I lift my head and stare at Tanisha. She bends over and rushes to shove them back inside the opening.
But it’s too late. Like a kick in the face, it hits me.
She’s the evil schemer trying to ruin my life!
“Oh, hell to the no.” I step on a black envelope, barely missing her hand and bend to pick it up. I wave the envelope in her face, swiping her nose with the edge. “You’re my damn blackmailer?”
Tanisha slowly stands to face me, her dreadlocks bouncing on her shoulders. “That’s an ugly word. I was only trying to help.”
“Help with what? By leaving threats in my locker? And creepy dolls?” I accuse. “Where’s that rule in the BFF handbook?”
She shrugs. “If you’re scared, then you’re less likely to get caught by Sector Thirteen.”
“How do you even know about them?” My stomach contracts so fast I might implode. I take a wobbly step back. “You’re supposed to be my friend!”
Strike that. My ex-friend. She’s screwed with my mind and my life. Not to mention my relationships, my schoolwork, and my friendships. Bile fills my mouth. I want to hurl on her high-heeled boots. Want to slap her upside the head. Rip out her bouncy dreads.
“You don’t understand,” Tanisha says, her big brown eyes shine with emotion, although whether it’s amusement or arrogance I can’t tell. “I had to do this to be sure. To know if you could handle the pressure. I needed you to prove who I knew you were all along.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” I demand. “A paranoid schizo?”
“No.” Tanisha grins and starts rambling. “One of us. But, well, you’re more like a Meleah crossbreed because you’re half-human. Although, I have a small percentage of human DNA, it was only so our species could resemble humans. That’s it. I’m more like ninety-five percent Zeta.”
Sweet merciful zombie brains. No effing way. Tanisha is a friggin’ Meleah.
As we stare at each other, a red-hot sensation sparks to life inside my chest. More betrayal by one of my closest friends. First, my parents, then Hayden, and Viola, and now…Tanisha. This betrayal hurts worse than giving a film a one-star review, and more nerve-wracking than emailing a screenwriter I’d give up chocolate to interview.
I cannot trust anyone in my life.
“You’re a Meleah?” A mushy lump of disgust grows rapidly in my throat, clogging my airways. “I don’t suppose just talking to me about what you knew ever crossed your evil mind?” My right eyelid twitches and I viciously rub at the tick. My fingers come away smudged with black mascara. “I can’t believe this is how you treat your friends!”
“The secrecy was necessary to protect myself,” Tanisha says calmly. “No one got hurt because of my notes, right? So why are you acting like I just flushed your goldfish down the toilet.”
“You wanna know why?” I practically scream, backing away from her. A sharp, stabbing pain flares behind my eyes. “Because I’m done with people who lie to my face. I’m done with secrets! So take your twisted alien games elsewhere!”
“Chill out. You should be happy to have a friend who can understand what you’re going through. My parents are supporters in your dad’s new resistance, you know, the integration program.”
I rub my temple, a headache blooming in my skull. “And that’s supposed to justify blackmail? What were those messages? Some cracked test to see if I’d break under pressure?”
“No! Of course not.” She places her hand on my arm, her fingers surprisingly warm.
“Then why in the hell are you making my life so friggin’ miserable? Can you at least tell me what I did to deserve this honor?”
“You didn’t do anything.” I swear an expression of pity flickers across Tanisha’s face. “This isn’t just about you, either. So don’t take it so personally.”
How can the blackmail not be about me? The whole point is manipulation and intimidation. If her vendetta isn’t against me, that makes things so much worse.
“We needed to make sure you were ready,” she says, flinging the straps of her backpack over each shoulder. “That you’re strong enough for what’s to come.”
“What are you talking about? Who’s we?”
“David, your father, asked me to do it, and I couldn’t s
ay no.”
“My dad? He couldn’t have just taught me the secret handshake himself?” I say, my voice sharp and loud. My limbs vibrate. I’m going straight home and smashing his ‘Best Dad in the World’ coffee mug. “Start explaining.”
“If the majority of Meleah rebel against Sector Thirteen with your father, we’re going to need resilient fighters.”
“You’re insane.”
“A shadow war has begun between our species,” Tanisha says soberly. “The GB leaders suspect that ST wants the Meleah neutralized. If Sector Thirteen feels as if they can’t control us anymore, then they’ll devise a containment plan. It must be why they’re on the island.”
“I see you’ve moved onto the comedy portion of your psychotic break,” I say, backing away. “Why should I believe any of this crap?”
“It’s simple Darwinism. Survival of the fittest,” she says. “Meleah are homo superior.”
“You’re making this sound like one of those X-Men movies! And we’re the mutants.”
Tanisha deadpans. “Sloane, of course we are the mutants.”
“I can’t even…” I swallow hard. “I don’t care. My family, my friends, and even Hayden have played me for the last time. Have your war. Just count me out of it.”
I spin on my heel and run out the door. I stamp across the empty lot, shivering in my leather jacket. The wind is fierce today, the leaves fluttering and tree branches quivering. The bright blue skies resemble a cloudless diamond, clear and shining. I shove hair blowing across my face behind my ear, but the breeze moves fresh strands into my eyes. As I pass the football field, I spot kids jogging on the track and cheerleaders attempting a wobbly pyramid.
“Sloane! Wait up.”
My heart turns over heavily at the sound of the smooth, deep tenor. With a resigned sigh, I stop and wait for Hayden to catch up to me.
“You seem like you’re in a rush,” he says.
I open my car door and toss my backpack onto the seat. “I’m heading home to work on my column.” Not that it’s any of his business, or maybe he’s decided that today it is. “And I-I know who the blackmailer is.”