Lost in Starlight (Starlight Saga) (27 page)

Welcome, Snarklings!

These overused clichés in zombie flicks make me want to gauge my eyes out with a rusty spoon!

There can be literally zombies shuffling everywhere, and nobody believes the main character that the walking dead are attacking everything with a pulse.
Get a clue, people!

And then there’s always one character who’s been bitten and denies it, or talks someone into promising not to tell the others. They’ve got an oozing bite mark on their arm and declare, “But I’m okay, seriously.”
So campy!

Worst cliché? How nobody in these movies has ever seen a zombie film.
Seriously?

Have an emergency survival plan, folks! That’ll inject some much-needed spinal fluid into the genre.

Peace, love, and horror flicks,

Zombie Queen aka Sloane

I hurry inside the house and up to my room. I toss my purse on the bed and crumble to the floor, tears prickling my eyes.

My brain is deep-fried and barely functioning. But I’m too wired to sleep. What I need is a hot shower, some food, and a shot of much-needed caffeine, so I can formulate a plan. Arcane asked me to walk away or I might get my memories wiped. Neither is an appealing offer. There has to be a way Hayden and I can be together without endangering my life or pissing off the hybrid clan.

I take a quick shower, scrubbing off all the dirt and grime and bloodstains from the warehouse ordeal. Wrapping a towel around me, I hurry back to my room.

Dressing quickly in loose khaki hipsters with a wide leather belt and a burgundy halter, I pull my damp hair into two low ponytails. Then I slip on my
Iron Fist Misfits
skull flats with a cute ghoulish green bow. I feel ten times better and more clearheaded.

Going downstairs and into the kitchen, I put two frozen waffles into the toaster and crack open a diet soda. Music seeps from under my mom’s studio door and the soft strands of Bach fill the room. I down the whole can while I’m waiting for my waffles to defrost.

I eat them without butter or syrup over the sink and wash my breakfast down with another cold soda. Now I’m vibrating from the caffeine buzz, although my brain is still trying to process last night’s near death experience. But at least I’m all set to call Hayden, so we can figure out what to do next before more crazed hybrids decide to visit Winter Haven.

Back in my room, I grab my purse lying on the bed and shake it upside down. My iPhone and other stuff spills out and scatters all over the bed.

My breath hitches.
Oh, god.
Where is it?

Everything is there except for one thing.

The Hello Kitty notebook with all of Hayden’s secrets.

Devin must’ve stolen it when I went inside to put on a jacket. He’s just all kinds of skeevy!

My shoulders stiffen. “Damn him! Being my editor and so-called friend sure doesn’t give him a free pass to Douche-land.”

What am I going to do now? I promised Arcane, Dixon, and Hayden that I’d never tell anyone. They all trust me. But this isn’t my fault. I just have to figure out how to fix this. Fast.

Snatching up my cell, I dial Devin’s number. His slimy voicemail recording plays, “This is Devin, but I’m busy scoping out a new story. Leave your number and maybe I’ll call you back.”

“Bastard.” I throw my phone on the bed.

I need to confront Devin about this morning’s shady theft and demand my personal property back without anyone finding out. Especially, Hayden.

How I’m going to do that is still a mystery.

The next edition of the
Haven Gazette
doesn’t come out for two more days. The thing is not to panic. Stay coolheaded. Remain calm. Rational.

I need some sort of leverage. But what?

Grunting, I scoop my stuff off the bed and heave the items back into my purse. I need to get my ass over to Devin’s house and make nice.

After a few deep breaths, I’m ready to conquer the world. Or at least a thieving, boob-leering, butthead.

Feeling adrenaline building up in my chest, I take the stairs two at a time and fly out the front door. I stalk across the lawn and get into the Jetta.

I’m on a mission. That notebook is
mine
. He had no freakin’ right to take it.

Once I get it back, I’ll need to muster up the guts to tell Devin off once and for all. He’s a creepy pervert, douchey, and completely unapologetic about his fixation with my breasts. About time that I read him the riot act.

I zoom out of the driveway and drive across town to Devin’s house, praying that he’s at home and hasn’t had a chance to look at my notes yet.

When I pull to the curb in front of his house, his Taurus is nowhere in sight. My heart plummets into my stomach. Maybe Mr. Megajerk parks his car in the garage. Or if his parents are home, they might know where he is, and then I can talk to him calmly. Or with my fists.

Please, oh, please be home.

I get out of the Jetta and hurry to the door. I pound on it twice, then back up and wait.

No answer.

I knock again, harder and louder. Two minutes pass. Five. Ten.

Nada. Zilch, zero, zip.

Sweat travels down my spine. Where the hell is he? I clench my jaw and lightly tug on my ponytails. What now?

Haven High!
He could be at the newspaper’s workroom. He’s buddies with the janitor, so it might be possible.

On my way back to my car, I kick the tire. Sometimes it feels good to let off a little steam. Especially, when you’ve been operating on nerves and adrenaline for hours.

If Devin isn’t at the school, then I’ll have no choice but to tell Hayden.

And I really, really don’t want to do that.

Like I’m driving in the Indy 500, I race toward the school and whip into the parking lot. My stomach tightens at the sight of Devin’s Taurus. Maybe I’m not too late. He couldn’t have written up an article or posted anything yet. The paper is not even out for a couple more days. And Devin is always very thorough and wordy in his articles.

A spark of hope fills my chest as I hurry across campus. I’ll calmly talk to him and persuade him that all the stuff I wrote isn’t true. That I made it up. I’ll say that I have a writer’s wild imagination. Devin’s an extremely logical person, so he won’t believe any of it. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

The side door is unlocked and it seems my luck has changed. Speed-walking through the deserted school corridors is like being in a chilling teen horror flick. I half expect to bump into a man with a disfigured face, wearing a red-and-green striped sweater, brown fedora, and a metal-clawed glove. (One of the few slasher films I actually like.) Up ahead on my left, light spills from a door out into the hall.

Yes! Score one for me.

Stepping inside the workroom, I spot Devin sitting at a desk with his laptop and pounding away on the keyboard. My pink Hello Kitty notebook sits unassumingly beside his wallet and car keys.

Every fiber of my being hankers to seize the notebook, and then hightail it outta here. But Devin ran track last year, so I might not be able to outrun him. Even in flats. Sigh.

Well, I guess it’s time to get this over with.

“Devin,” I say, surprised my voice sounds so composed while my heart’s beating like mad.

He twists around in his seat. “I thought you might show up.”

I bet, slimeball. Pervert. Jerkface.

“I need my notebook back. You had no right to take it.”

Good job. Nice and calm.

“Absolutely, Sloane. If it means that much to you.”

“It does.” I step further into the room. “You haven’t read it?”

“Oh, I have. Fascinating stuff. So, Hayden and Zach are actually descendants of aliens, huh?” His gaze lingers on my boobs and he licks his lips. “Are all those things true?”

“Of course not. That would be crazy. I just made it up.”

“Really? Because I did some research based on your notes and discovered some rather interesting facts on the Internet. Those websites you found were very insightful.”

Don’t freak. Relax. Deep breaths.

“Like?”

He folds his arms and cocks his head. “It doesn’t really matter. At the moment.”

My skin burns so hot it’s going to set fire to my clothes. Then Devin could die a happy man. “Why not?”

He wears a sinister smile. “Well, that all depends on you.”

My chest rises and falls rapidly. “What do you want, Devin? Just spit it out. Money?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Nah.”

“Name your price, but you
cannot
run the story on Hayden.”

“I had hoped you’d say that,” he says smoothly. “But what I need to know now is what you’re willing to do to get it back.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.” He stands up, his body blocking my notebook. “We can start with two things. One, I want you to break up with him.”

Whoa. He did
not
just tell me to break up with Hayden. Doesn’t anyone on this planet want us to be together?

I swallow. “And the other?”

“Take off your shirt. I wanna see them.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He moves gradually closer, like a mountain lion stalking a deer. “You can leave your bra on this time,” he tells my breasts.

This time? Bile rises in my throat. I’m going to puke all over the floor. I’m stuck in the middle of a nightmare. Whenever I find myself in a perplexing dilemma, I ponder whether or not it’s something I want dug up on my
E! True Hollywood Story.

And no, this is mortifying enough.

“Please,” I whisper, clutching the collar of my shirt. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You want me to run the story?”

I swallow hard. “...no.”

“Then do this one small thing for me.” He raises an eyebrow and steps closer. “C’mon, Sloane. Like you
never
showed a guy your bra before? I only want what Hayden’s already had.”

“Why you sick son-of-a-bitch! You
would
think like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hayden hasn’t copped a feel yet? Get real.” He points a finger at me, his eyes glassy. “I know your kind. You walk around acting like a tease.”

“Devin, you’re crazy. I
never
asked for any kind of attention!”

“Liar.”

I step back, feeling cornered. Hours ago, I had the courage to shoot two crazy hybrids, but now I can’t seem to find the nerve to stand up to this guy.

Time to grow a backbone and fight back.

I shift nervously on the balls of my feet. “Devin, I know you were the one who tagged Hayden’s locker. I saw the can of spray paint in your backpack. Why?”

“Because it’s obvious you’ve been crushing on that dude ever since he moved here,” he says slowly and evenly. “But I don’t get it! I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Except you’ve never given me the time of day—”

“That’s not true. You’re my friend—”

“I don’t
want
to be your friend!”

I clear my throat. “I know, but I don’t feel that way about you, and I never meant to hurt you. That still doesn’t explain why you spray painted his locker.”

“Mr. Perfect should know he’s not wanted here. That he can’t just take what’s mine.”

“I’m
not
yours, Devin. I never have been. And you shouldn’t have vandalized his stuff.”

“So what?”

“I’ll turn you into the principal, and you’ll get suspended unless...”

“Unless I kill the story? Really? Is that all you’ve got?” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “You’re a smart girl, and I assumed you’d have a better bargaining chip. The cans are long gone and you can’t link me to the crime now. You got nothing.”

Damn, he’s right. Only my word against his. And after I was caught supposedly cheating, Principal Allen may not believe me. But even if Devin ran the story, he doesn’t have any solid proof to back up his claim. Plus, who would believe him? Still...the damage would be done.

“Don’t be shy. Lift up your shirt and give me a peek.” Devin’s voice is beseeching, his tongue wetting his lips. “No one will ever have to know. It’ll just be our little secret.”

He takes two more steps and now he’s standing right in front of me.

Why am I so freaked? He just wants to ogle my boobs in my black lace bra. Just like if I was wearing a bathing suit top. It’ll keep Hayden’s secrets safe. All I have to do is lift up my shirt and give him a peek. No big deal. It’ll be over in less than a minute and I’ll have my notebook. I can do this. For Hayden.

“You promise to give me the notebook back?” I ask, biting my lip. “And you’ll kill the bio and hacking story?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

It’s my fault that I left my purse outside. They’re only boobs, and my bikini shows more. I’ll let the little perv have a quick look, because it’s the closest he’ll ever get.

“Okay. But only for a minute.”

Reluctantly, I reach down and lift the hem of my shirt slowly upwards. Past my belly, over my ribs, inching up, up, up. The cold air of the room strokes my hot skin like icy fingers. The hem rises over my breasts...almost there. I yank my blouse over my face so I don’t have to look at him.
I did it, it’s done.
My entire body is trembling and I break out in a flushed sweat. I stand there wondering how long this will take.

“Oh, wow,” he says excitedly. “You look like a playboy model.”

Kill me now. I grind my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. My hands are shaking on my shirt. Already my body heat is skyrocketing.

“Can I touch you? Over your bra, then you can put your top down.”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Hot tears burn my cheeks. Something squeezes my throat. Crushing all the air out of my lungs.

A tentative finger brushes across my breast and I flinch back, swallowing a scream. I yank my shirt back down and lurch away from him. The hatred bubbling up inside of me is so fierce, I want to hit him. Want to kill him. Want him dead, dead, dead so I’ll never have to feel this way ever again.

“Stop! I can’t do this!” Tears stream down my face and I glare at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?” I gasp between sobs. “Just please give me back my notebook.
Please
.”

From behind me, heavy footsteps stomp into the room. Devin freezes, and all the blood drains out his face.