I’m lost in the touch of his lips on mine, my mind is so wrapped around him that I forget we’re in the car until he breaks the kiss. Both of us are breathing heavy when he rests his forehead against mine.
“Let’s go and get you something to eat,” he says.
I just nod my head, and before I can say anything, he’s releasing me and getting out of the car.
I only have a few seconds before he’s at my door opening it for me, but in that time I take a few steadying breaths and figure I’m okay when I step out of the car and he takes my hand in his.
But we’ve only taken a couple steps, hand-in-hand, boyfriend and girlfriend, when I see it.
A dark form hovering around this man like a shadow. The man is walking fast to his car, bags in one hand, keys in the other. He’s wearing dress shoes, and they click across the cement. The form follows him, attached to his every motion. I keep staring, even once the man is in his car and about to pull off. The form is gone with him, and I wonder if I imagined it. Then I hear the laughter—it’s loud and echoes throughout the parking garage.
Antoine is still walking, his expression hasn’t changed, and he hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t hear it. I know this. But I do.
I hear it, and I know what it is, what it wants.
And I’m afraid.
fourteen
It’s close to eight at night, and the mall is still crowded. They close at nine, but people are milling about like they have hours and hours more to shop.
We head straight to the escalators, avoiding all the stores on the lower level, and aim for the food court on level two. Antoine’s still holding my hand, and I really like that. I guess we look like the other couples I’m seeing as we walk. Except some of them are really hugged up—I mean to the point that I’m ready to shout, “get a room!”
Still, I’m happy to be walking with my boyfriend. Happy that I now have a boyfriend. That makes me instantly think of Krystal and Franklin because now I can see that some of my irritation with them always being joined at the hip was because I didn’t have anybody to join at the hip with. But now I do. I’m pleased.
Except my eyes are determined to play tricks on me. Right in front of the music store is a group of teenagers. The guys—three of them—all have on skinny jeans hanging off their butts to show their boxers. Don’t ask me why this is a style. It’s crazy to think that showing your underwear is cute.
There’re two girls with them, both wearing leggings and short ruffled skirts. At first glance they look normal—whatever normal is for teenagers these days. The standard is always changing, it’s a struggle to keep up. That’s why sometimes I wish for the moment I can officially say I’m an adult and do my own thing.
Anyway, they look just like other groups of teens congregating, talking, not buying a thing, just hanging out. In which case I would have normally shrugged them off. Except this group did have one distinct difference—their faces aren’t like normal teenagers.
The two girls have long, pale faces. Around their eyes are dark brown circles with lashes that don’t look like they are using the store-bought mascara. Both of them have golden eyes and black marks on their face in some weird pattern. But it’s their hair that really startles me. Snakes, that’s exactly what the long, moving strands resemble.
And the boys, their lower bodies remain the same, but again their faces are different. Caved in at the cheeks so that they look more skeletal than human, and their complexion a dusty gray, and yet it’s their eyes that have my heart thumping wildly. Or their lack of eyes, I should say. The pits where pupils should be are empty, dug out.
Just like the boy at the lake.
“Sasha!”
My head shakes once, twice. Then I jump as if waking up from a bad dream. Antoine is standing in front of me, his hands on each of my shoulders, shaking me.
“You okay?” he’s asking as I look over toward the group of strange teens, then back at him.
They’re still there, and they still look weird. “Huh?” I finally manage to answer.
“Are you okay? You zoned out for a minute, staring over there like you know one of them. You want to go speak?”
His voice sounds a little irritated. I lick my lips nervously. “Ah, no. No. I don’t know them.”
“Then why are you staring at them like that?”
“I don’t know,” I answer quickly and purposely keep my head still and my eyes trained on Antoine so I won’t look at them again. “I’m fine. Let’s eat,” I say, hurrying to move toward the food court.
At the only burger stand in the entire mall, Antoine orders me a cheeseburger, fries and a root beer. For himself he gets a big beef hot dog with every condiment they have dropped onto it. We sit at one of the tables close to the wall and, for the most part, eat in silence.
Until a girl comes up to the table.
“Hey, Twan. Haven’t seen you in a while,” she says.
I finish chewing my French fry and look up at her. The voice is definitely feminine and the body is definitely all girl. She’s wearing a leather push-up bra and a matching swatch of material that just barely covers her other vital parts.
“Hi, LaToya,” Antoine says in a less than enthusiastic voice.
“Why haven’t you called me?” she asks.
Now he’s even more irritated. “Can’t you see I’ve got company?”
“Oh,” LaToya says, then she looks my way.
I almost fall out of the chair.
She’s beautiful. I mean, picture-perfect beauty. Flawless golden skin, hazel eyes, thick arched brows, perfect pouty lips painted with a light lip gloss. Her hair is long, an auburn color, rolling down her back in heavy ringlets. But on each side at the top of her head like antennaa are two small horns.
I’m losing my mind. I have to be. There’s something in the air, some airborne virus that’s affecting my sight. Or maybe it’s in the food, the brown bag lunch that was packed by Mrs. Cullinson, the crazy cafeteria lady, and handed out on the field trip this afternoon. Maybe it’s something from the lake, like poison ivy, or some other bacteria coming from the polluted water.
Or maybe…
Something clicks into place in my mind. Maybe…it’s from going to that other plane. The one I can get to because of my astral projection power.
But I’m certainly not there now because Antoine is here. He’s sitting right across from me in this crowded mall with all these other normal-looking people. But as I look past LaToya, I see that some of the people are normal and others…well, let’s just say they aren’t the face of the American people.
“I gotta go,” I say quickly and stand up.
“What? Sasha, wait. You haven’t finished eating.”
“Yeah, I know. I just gotta get out of here.”
LaToya just smiles at me like she knows I know what she really is. I wonder what Antoine sees. Probably just a perfectly stacked teenage girl, trying to get with him.
“Stay away from him,” I get up in her face and warn. Then on impulse I push her. Hard. She falls back against the table, then looks straight at me, or through me.
She throws her head back and laughs, like the wicked witch in the The Wizard of Oz. Old and sick and cacklelike.
I start walking, and Antoine’s right behind me. “Hey, what’s your problem?”
“What’s your problem?” I say, whirling on him. I raise my voice, and a few people look at us wondering what’s going on.
Antoine takes a step back, lifting both his hands in the air like I told him he’s under arrest or something. I turn and keep walking fast until I find the escalator and head down. I try not to look at anyone else because I don’t want to see. Or I do want to see—if they’re normal. But those other things I can do without.
I race ahead.
“I’ll take you home,” Antoine says from behind me when we get to the parking lot.
I expected him to be gone but hadn’t turned around to confirm. I’m too afraid of seeing someone or something else.
Now I feel like a colossal idiot. He’s moving around to unlock the car door, not saying anything, and I’m standing here looking like a fool.
I can’t believe I just freaked out like that. He probably thinks I’m a total geek. What can I say? How can I fix this?
“Well, are you going to get in?”
His words snap me out of my moments of self-pity. “Ah, yeah. Listen, I’m sorry about what happened back there. It’s just that girl, she, um, she acted like you two knew each other.”
He leans back against the car, just staring at me.
I know I need to keep going, I’m not really getting through to him. “I mean, like you two really knew each other. I felt like I was intruding.” Which isn’t exactly a lie. LaToya had totally ignored me until I all but jumped out of the chair at her.
“So you were jealous? Is that why you took off like that?”
He doesn’t believe me. That’s just great! Can this night be any more messed up? No, let me not even ask that question.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Sitting there and continuing to eat would have been a good start.” He sighs. “Look, I know Toya, and yeah, we used to kick it a while back. But not now. Not since I met you.”
“Oh.” Is all I can manage. “I’m sorry.”
The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. “It’s cool. I don’t think Toya’s ever had anybody push her down the way you did. If she was trying to get at me, I think she got the message that I’m taken.”
He sounds way too cocky, and I want to correct him, but I don’t. Just letting the whole scene rest is the best option, I think.
“Whatever,” I say, climbing into the front seat of his car once more.
“Like I said, it’s cool,” he says as he’s leaning over me doing the seat belt thing again. “I like a girl who fights for what she wants. I think it’s sexy,” he says with a smile, then plants a quick kiss on my lips.
I’m too worked up from the scene and from the butterflies dancing around in my stomach at his touch to say anything else.
But on the ride home I think about all that’s happened today and all that’s to come. I don’t like any of it.
The thing about going to Settleman’s High is that it’s the only high school in Lincoln. That means every teenager in town goes here. So just about everybody knows each other and in turn knows each other’s business.
It’s real irritating sometimes.
Like today.
“Heard you ditched Stephen Whitman the Fourth Friday night. Big mistake. I mean, major, major error in the dating arena.”
Of course this is Alyssa who, ever since the dinner party at my house, has started hanging out at my locker in the mornings. Her quest for a new BFF is apparent. However, I’m almost positive I don’t want it to be me.
“Stephen’s an ass,” I say, slamming my locker, maneuvering my books in one arm and balancing my new kaleidoscope Coach pouch on the other shoulder. The turquoise, green and white colors in my purse match perfectly with my white capris, turquoise tank and white flats with turquoise paisley design.
But if I thought I was casually, if moderately expensively, coordinated on this Monday morning, Alyssa certainly has me outdone. The short denim dress she’s wearing is Dolce & Gabbana, and it’s not actually denim, it’s sort of a silky material, but has that stone-washed look. Her cocoa brown legs are bare to the intricately stitched cowboy boots on her feet. The boots match her bag, and her gold hoop earrings match the Chanel bracelet on her arm. Talk about flaunting your wealth.
The majority of the students at Settleman’s are what I guess people would call middle class. They aren’t shuffling for public funds to pay their bills, but work every day to support them selves and their families. A small percentage are a little better off, and even a smaller percentage of them like to show off. Alyssa included.
“Yeah, but he’s a rich, well-connected ass. You know he’s already been accepted into Duke and Harvard. His father owns Whitman Communications, one of, if not the largest wireless communication companies in the world. You know he’s going to be set when he graduates.”
“Set to lead a boring, mapped-out-for-him life. No thanks, I’d rather fly solo.” I’ve already started walking down the hall, weaving my way through kids trying to get to class, or kids thinking about ditching class. Alyssa is still beside me chattering away, to my dismay.
Why did Camy have to bail? I mean, hey, I know she was mega embarrassed that she’d been letting Pervert Lyle take pictures of her nude and all, but couldn’t she have stayed in town just to keep Alyssa company? That would have saved me a dozen or so headaches.
“Oh, okay, so riding off into the sunset with that poor, scruffy hoodlum Antoine is the better option.”
Alyssa knows too much. She runs her mouth too much, and her basic existence is riding right along the lines of too much!
I stop, turn and glare at her. “Stay out of my personal business, Alyssa.”
“Oooooh.” She fakes being scared, tossing her rail thin arms up in the air and widening her already big brown eyes. “Is that a threat? What are you going to do if I don’t stay out of your business, Sasha? Who are you going to tell? Your mom? Your dad? Oh, I forgot, they don’t want you with that cretin any more than I do.”
My fingers are clinching my books. “What? How do you know what my parents feel about Antoine?”
Alyssa moves her head so that her long braids fall gloriously over her right shoulder. Her smile turns syrupy sweet, and her voice lowers so that only I can hear her over the chattering kids in the hallway.
“Who do you think told them that Antoine whisked you away from a four-star restaurant to a lovely grease-filled burger joint at the mall?”
At that moment I’m itching to slap her, but the bell rings. So instead I just roll my eyes and stomp down the hall toward my Honors Literature class. Once I make it to the room, I take my seat near the window, dropping my books and my purse down on the desk, then plopping into the chair. I’m not in the mood for Mrs. Powell’s lesson, no matter how much I usually enjoy this class. I want to go home. No, I don’t because I remember the huge fight me and my parents had when I got home Friday night and now I know the reason for it.
Alyssa.
“Oh thank God, we were about to call the police,” my mother had said the moment I closed the front door behind me.
My father was right on her heels, his stern look beating down on me with the intensity of a long leather belt.
“You want to explain to me how you managed to leave this house with Stephen Whitman the Fourth and returned with…” He hesitated and took a deep breath—at which time the tips of his ears and his cheeks turned a flaming red color. “Returned with that person,” he said very tightly, like the words had to be forced out of his mouth.
I was caught. I knew it, but after all that I’d seen today, I didn’t really care. “Stephen was being a jerk, so a friend of mine brought me home instead.”
“That’s not the way Stephen tells it,” my mother interrupted. “Poor Stephanie was so upset when she called.” Stephanie was Stephen’s mother. I know, it’s sickening, right? All their names beginning with S. A bigger group of pompous airheads I’d never met before.
“She said Stephen was beside himself when he arrived home. He was actually afraid for your life. Said this thug came and took you away.”
My mother had said thug like it was the mother of all curse words. She’d actually frowned her perfect-no-wrinkle face and twisted her lips when she’d spoken.
“Who was he?” my father demanded to know.
I could have lied, but figured since they obviously already knew so much, why bother. “His name’s Antoine Watson.”
“Where does he live?”
I shifted from one foot to the other, not really wanting to say, but knowing I’d have to. “Bolten Street, I think,” I said softly.
My mother instantly clutched her heart and stumbled back. It’s almost funny that n
obody moved to catch or assist her. My father actually cut her a weary look. I just stood, still praying this interrogation would hurry up so I could go to bed.
“That is not acceptable, Sasha. We are the Carringtons. We have an image to uphold. What would my backers in the club think if they knew you were running around with such, such…”
“Such what?” I prompted because I wanted to hear my father say it. I wanted to hear his prejudiced lips spit out some ridiculous typecast word that he believed described a boy he’d never met.
His lips closed tightly, and he took a step towards me. It took all the anger I was feeling at that moment to hold myself still. Because actually, on any other day, at any other time, the deadly look in my father’s eyes would have had me running up the steps or out of the house, whichever would have kept me out of his reach.
“You. Will. Not. Be. Seen. With. Him. Again.”
Each word was spoken like its own newspaper headline. Either he thought I was too stupid to comprehend regular speech, or he was trying to make a point.
My mother was wringing her hands and babbling something in Spanish. I didn’t even try to translate because I just didn’t care that much.
Just like they obviously didn’t care about me.
“Whatever,” I said and moved quickly past both of them.
“And you’re grounded,” my father shouted as I took the first couple of stairs.
Grounded? After what I’d seen today, that’s the least of my worries.
fifteen
“The first written literary work of ancient Greece is the Iliad. It was written by Homer around a thousand years before Christ.”
“So this Homer’s like really old, huh?”
My thoughts shift back from my crappy weekend to the topic Mrs. Powell just introduced and Jaeden March’s smart-ass remark. Jaeden is super smart, so much so that he really doesn’t need to sit in these classes to pass. He just, like, knows everything. That means he’s bored most of the time and figures we all need his comic relief to get us through.
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