“I don’t have a political agenda,” Riley announced, emerging from her office. It still surprised me to see her so grown up. She was tall and slender, her hair loose and wavy around her shoulders. Unlike other business owners, she didn’t adhere to a stiff dress code. Instead of a pencil skirt or a collared shirt and dress shoes, she wore heavy snow boots, moisture-wicking cargo pants, and a forest-green fleece sweatshirt with the Crimson Basin Recreational Park logo embroidered on the chest. She beamed, her cheeks pink and healthy, as she hugged me. These days, she was taller than I was. “Hi, Lucia. You look amazing. How’s L.A.?”
“Flawless,” I said. “The Parlour got nominated for another Emmy.”
“Congratulations! How’s your mom?”
“Thanks! She’s great. She’s about to finish her Masters in psychology. But today isn’t about me or my mother.” I steered her to the glass lookout and pointed at the crowd waiting for the resort to open. “It’s about you, Riley. Look at what you’ve built. I’m so proud of you.”
Riley smiled at the crowd, waving when the people below caught sight of her. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Lucia.”
Lourdes pointedly cleared her throat.
“Or without you, Lourdes,” Riley said, grinning. “Or Jazmin. Are you all ready for the grand opening ceremony?”
“I’m so ready,” I said.
“Great,” Riley said. “Because I want you to cut the ribbon. Lourdes?”
Lourdes scurried over to the front desk and revealed a massive pair of scissors. She handed them to me, then glanced over my outfit. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“I just got off a plane, Calvo,” I said. “Cut me some slack.”
She ushered me toward the elevator. “You’ll have to change. Your suite is all ready for you. I got you a Crimson Basin fleece to match Riley’s. People love that kind of crap—”
“Hold on,” Riley called. “There’s something else.”
“What now?” Lourdes asked, exasperated.
Riley and Jazmin exchanged a loaded look.
“Oh, boy,” I said. “What are the two of you up to?”
Jazmin brushed her hair over one shoulder. “Well, we don’t just need you to cut the ribbon for the ceremony, Lucia. You see, Riley has a new friend.”
“A dead one,” Riley added.
I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!
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Little Girl Lost: Book 0
1
In a Flash
Spring that year came hot and fast, as if the seasons were as eager to skip to summer as I was. A distinct energy was present in the halls of Belle Dame High School, each student buzzing with the anticipation of the impending months off. It was the end of May, and the temperatures soared into the nineties. Sweat was a regular patron on my skin. Great dewdrops beaded up at my hairline and dripped down my temple, and the feeble moan of the school’s decrepit air conditioning system had no hope of combating the heat. The teachers had given up on enforcing the modest dress code. They sat by the open windows of their classrooms, fanning themselves with attendance clipboards and praying for a breeze to bless the stuffy, fluorescent-lit interiors. They couldn’t be bothered by the occasional tank top that didn’t meet the four-finger rule or the shorts that rode up above the knee or the flip flops that clacked in the hallways. Such trivialities faded into the sleepy humidity of Friday afternoon.
End of the year exams were over and done with, which meant that the final week of school had devolved from structured education to busy work, yearbook signing, card games, and general tomfoolery. The seniors were gone, and the juniors had performed the traditional takeover of the upperclassmen courtyard. The sophomores, in turn, rolled our eyes at the display of conformity, but on the inside we all knew that we’d follow along with the same trend next year.
“Hey, Bee. Bridget! Snap out of it. It’s your turn.”
Apparently, the teachers weren’t the only ones getting light-headed from the sweltering heat. I plucked myself from my daydreams. Autumn Parker, my best friend, sat with her legs up on the desk next to hers, ankles crossed, her tank top riding up to reveal a scandalous stretch of skin around her hips. Across the room, Coach Karofsky, who spearheaded—or rather babysat—our Driver’s Ed class, spritzed whiteboard cleanser across his forehead, totally oblivious.
“Uh, hit me.”
Autumn flipped the next card in the deck. It was a king.
“Damn,” I said, flicking my cards onto the table. “Bust.”
Autumn checked my hand, revealing two tens. “God, woman. Are you even paying attention?”
“Not really.”
I gathered my damp hair from the nape of my neck and secured it in a messy bun at the top of my head. Then I rolled over the waistband of my running shorts, letting the hem creep up another inch or so. Driver’s Ed was our last class of the day. In another ten minutes, the shrill vibrations of the final bell would send us fleeing toward open air and the chance to dunk our heads under the garden hose at home. It felt like hours.
Someone tapped my left shoulder then moved to the right so that I’d look in the wrong direction. I didn’t fall for it.
“No boys allowed, Emmett,” I drawled.
Emmett pushed Autumn’s feet off the desk and sat down. The feeble metal desk legs creaked under his weight. A thin dark line of sweat trailed down the center of his gray Belle Dame Junior Varsity Football T-shirt, and the cotton material clung to his midsection in the strategic outline of his defined core. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he’d planned to perspire for the sole purpose of showing off his abs.
“How’d you know it was me?” he asked.
“Eau de Axe body spray.”
Autumn chortled, cutting and shuffling the cards over and over in amateur casino dealer fashion to stave off her boredom. Emmett ignored her, untucking his yearbook from beneath his arm and plopping it down in front of me. The cover was damp.
“I was hoping you’d finally sign that.”
With a well-practiced gesture, I traded him my own yearbook. “Got a pen?”
He produced a black permanent marker. I uncapped it, flipped to a busy page, and scrawled a short message between the loopy signatures of several cheerleaders. When I finished, Emmett was still hunched over mine.
“Are you writing a novel?” I asked him, propping myself up to peek over his shoulder.
He tucked the yearbook closer to his chest. “You can’t read it until I’m done.”
“Fine.”
I sat down as he finished up and caught Autumn’s eye across the desk. She smirked and mouthed, “So hot.”
“There,” Emmett said. We traded again, and he immediately opened his yearbook to see what I had written. “‘Emmett, have a good summer. From Bridget.’ Wow, you really pulled out all the creative stops on that one, didn’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m a people-pleaser.”
He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to read mine?”
“At some point.”
“How ‘bout right now?”
He wasn’t going away and the three min
utes left before the bell were too slow to save me from replying. I found Emmett’s messy paragraph, which he had scribbled beside a picture of us on the Junior Varsity athletes’ page. The photo showed me and Emmett in matching Belle Dame Athletics T-shirts. Much to my chagrin, the caption read, “Belle Dame’s Sophomore power couple: JV Football tight end Emmett Marks and JV Fastpitch first base woman Bridget Dubois.”
I wrinkled my nose, skimming through Emmett’s recap of our year together. At the bottom, he had written, “Happy birthday. I hope I know what your wish is this year.”
I composed my expression before looking up. “Nice.”
He waited for more. “That’s it?”
“Uh, good sentence structure? You’re missing a couple commas though.”
Autumn stifled another snigger. I kicked her under the desk.
“You’re such a jerk,” Emmett said, but his smile and teasing tone offset the insult. “By the way, what time’s the party? I never got an invite.”
“I told you already,” I replied. “I’m not having a party this year.”
“It’s your sweet sixteen,” he pressed, spinning the yearbook flat on the palm of his hand. “You have to have a party. Your parents have to buy you a car and put a big bow on the hood.”
“Have you met my parents?” I took the cards from Autumn and bridged them over the desk, savoring the swift whisk of plastic against the composite wood. “They think teenagers are too materialistic already. Besides, my dad took a pay cut. We can’t afford a new car or a party.”
“I’ll throw you a party then,” Emmett offered. “Tonight. What time should I pick you up?”
“She’s busy,” Autumn cut in. She lifted her feet to the desk again, nudging Emmett out of her way. “We have plans.”
Emmett retreated, surrendering the area. “I get it. Best girl friend trumps best guy friend.” He leaned over me, his breath rustling the hair around my ear as he whispered, “Let me know if you get bored.”
“She won’t,” Autumn assured him.
One of Emmett’s teammates called his name from across the room, so he gave me a wink before vaulting over the desk and joining the other football players who lingered by the classroom door. Autumn shot me a mischievous grin.
“Don’t,” I warned her.
“I can see the Cutest Couple senior superlative already.”
I groaned, resting my forehead on my arms. “Stop.”
She laughed. “I do love the enjoyment you get out of torturing him though.”
“I am not torturing him.” I propped my chin in the palm of my hand, the skin of my elbow pooling on the desk. “He needs to understand that girls and boys can be friends without dating each other.”
“This is North Carolina, not New York,” Autumn pointed out. “The pickings are slim. You’ve known Emmett since kindergarten, your moms are best friends, and you’re both star athletes. Face it, Bee. Those are the classic signs of marrying straight out of high school.”
“You love to mock me, don’t you?”
The final bell drowned out what was sure to be her snarky reply. As I shot up from my seat, my skin peeled away from the plastic chair. I winced. It was like ripping a butt-sized band-aid off of your thighs.
Autumn linked her arm through mine, steering me out of the classroom and into the sea of our peers in the hallway beyond. “So what’s the deal with this no party thing? Your parents still haven’t caved?”
“Nope. They’re picking me up today. Apparently, we’re going to have an early family dinner instead of a party.”
“I would say ‘ew,’ but you actually like your family,” Autumn replied. “If my parents pulled that, I’d be out of here before you could say ‘see ya!’”
She accompanied the declaration with a sharp two-fingered salute then left her hand at her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun as we stepped out into the courtyard. As usual, the after-school swarm was in full swing. A hot breeze rippled through the cherry trees, coaxing the blossoms from the branches until the schoolyard was dusted with the pink and white buds. The creamy scent mingled with the acrid fumes of the buses idling on the curb as the underclassmen piled into them like sardines in yellow tin cans. We navigated through the crowd, making our way to the pickup loop. Autumn had her own car—a bribe, she called it, to pick a side in her parents’ divorce—so she unhooked her arm from mine.
“This is where we say goodbye,” she said. “Until tonight anyway. Then we rumble.”
“Whatever you say, West Side Story.”
A familiar silver minivan pulled up in front of us, and my mom stuck her head out of the passenger side window. She wore a fake tiara, several layers of plastic beads around her neck, and a T-shirt with my face printed on the front. She hooted loudly as the car braked, swinging a noisemaker around in one hand.
“Sweet sixteen, sweet sixteen, sweet sixteen!” Each chant was accompanied by a pump of her fist.
“Oh, God.” I peered past Mom to see my dad in the driver’s seat. He sported a matching outfit and no shame at the cheap glittery abomination atop his head. “Don’t tell me you made Holly dress up too.”
The back window rolled down, revealing my seven-year-old sister. Even with a garish pink and purple crown atop her strawberry blonde hair, she was the cutest thing on the planet. She slid her kid-sized sunglasses up to rest on her forehead, waggled her eyebrows up and down, and stuck her tongue out through the gap that her two front teeth had recently vacated.
“Happy birthday, Bee!” she shouted, shoving a handful of purple balloons through the window. I caught them by the strings before they could float away.
I ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. “Thanks, kid.”
“Need a ride, Autumn?” Mom asked.
Autumn jangled her car keys. “I’m all set.”
My mom winked. “See you later then.”
I joined Holly in the back seat, buckled up, and waved to Autumn as we pulled away from the curb. Blessedly, the minivan’s AC was cranked to full blast, so I coaxed the elastic out of my tangled bun and let my hair down to dry out.
“So what big birthday plans do you have for me?” I asked.
“We decided to let Holly choose the festivities,” Dad replied, glancing into the side mirror before pulling onto the main road outside of the high school. What with so many privileged teenagers keen to test out their fresh driver’s licenses, traffic was always tricky after school. “So, naturally, we’re going to Twistee Treat for dinner and that place with all of the bouncy houses for the afterparty. Sound good?”
“Flawless.”
Holly took off her crown and plunked it on my head instead. “How old are you again?”
“Sixteen.”
She did the math on her fingers. “So that’s… nine years older than me.”
“Sure is, cupcake.”
Her blue eyes widened and she leaned back. “And I thought I was a big girl.”
Mom, Dad, and I all laughed. I beckoned Holly toward me and whispered, “You should ask Mommy how old she is.”
“Hey, I heard that!”
Mom’s phone rang, belting out a garbled version of “We Are Family.” She flipped it open and pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Ani. Yeah, you have time.” She turned around, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Aunt Ani says hi, girls.”
“Hi, Aunt Ani!” Holly sang.
“Aunt Ani, where are they taking me?” I called loudly.
Very faintly, on the other end of the line, Aunt Ani replied, “The bouncy house place.” Defeated, I sank against my seat, adjusting the AC vent so that it blew directly onto my face.
Mom lowered her voice, muttering into the flip phone, but a sentence or two floated back to reach my ears. “Thirty minutes. Is everyone on their way? What about the cake?”
I waited until the conversation was over to pipe up. Then, when Mom had hung up and put the cellphone in the empty cup holder, I pounced. “So what flavor is the cake going to be at my surprise party?”
<
br /> A deeply satisfying moment of silence followed the question. Dad recovered first.
“What cake?” he asked.
I grinned. “Oh, please. Did you really think I was going to buy the whole ‘we can’t afford a party’ gimmick? The two of you would make streamers out of trash bags if you had to.”
Mom snapped her fingers. “Dang it. Who gave it away?”
“You winked at Autumn and told her you’d see her later,” I pointed out.
“Well, someone had to pick up the decorations,” Mom said.
Holly puffed out her chest. “I helped blow up the balloons.”
“Are all of my friends in on it?” I demanded, wondering how many people had ghosted me that day. “Emmett too?’
The minivan trundled toward a busy intersection near the center of town.
“Yup,” Dad said. “He and his football buddies were a big help with setting up.”
“Dang, he totally played me today,” I said in wonder. “I can’t believe he pulled that off.”
Dad switched into the middle lane to avoid the line of the cars in ours. “Are you ever going to throw that kid a bone? It’s pretty obvious he’s in love with you.”
I crossed my arms, pouting. “It’s not mutual, and if he doesn’t like that, it’s not my problem.”
Dad glanced over his shoulder and grinned at me. “That’s my girl—”
“Dad, watch out!”
A semi-truck had pulled out across the intersection in front of us, running straight through the red light. Everything slowed, like a hundred hours had been squeezed into that one second. There was no time. Mom screamed. Dad slammed on the brakes. The wheels locked up. The van skidded across the pavement. My seatbelt wrenched tight across my throat. I looked left.
Deadly Visions Boxset Page 57