Deadgirl Read online

  Wanda peeked out from Morgan’s curtain of spun-gold hair and offered a smile that was in critical condition at best. I gave her a lop-sided grin.

  “What do ya say? This is an exploding offer, honey-child,” I said, throwing on an awful attempt at a Southern drawl. “I can’t wait all day. So many offers, so many suitors. Enough to give a girl an awful case of the vapors.”

  I fluttered one hand at my face and laid the other across my forehead. My inevitable collapse onto the plush carpet felt authentic, I thought.

  “Oh, shut up,” Wanda said, her voice breaking. “Of course I’ll go. Just stop being Southern.”

  When she calmed down, she disappeared into the bathroom for a good half-an-hour to regain her composure and reapply. Mom looked to be cooking up some delivery, so we helped her sort through the drawer of menus and traded them between each other like baseball cards.

  While we waited for our delivery smorgasbord, Wanda and I fiddled with printer settings and page spacing while Morgan rifled through my bookshelf. Wanda and I only ruined two of the fliers before we got the printer worked out. It chugged away, making robot sounds as I went to help Morgan with her selection. As I reached for Garth Nix’s Sabriel, Morgan’s phone let out one high-pitched beep.

  We gave each other very serious looks before we both leaned over the phone to see the message.

  So u coming or not? Tell Lucy popcorn on me. If it helps. Bring Daph or Sara 2.

  Morgan raised an eyebrow and brought up a reply box to send back. She stared at me with her victorious grin. It tugged my face into a big stupid smile before too long.

  “What is it?” Wanda asked, turning on my big office chair.

  Morgan cocked her head to the side. I nodded.

  “Hey, Wanda,” Morgan said, looking over my shoulder. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Um. Well, I planned on doing my laundry. I’m really behind and my mom stopped doing it for me last year because she says it builds character. I also have this Spanish project and—”

  “We think Zack and a couple of his friends want me, you, and Luce to triple date at the Set tomorrow. Possibly.”

  I glanced at Morgan—playing poker with her in Vegas was out.

  Wanda’s eyes rounded.

  “Oh, I don’t think I can go,” she said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I still have to figure out me and Tyler and what—”

  Morgan snapped, “Wanda. Where is Tyler right now?”

  Wanda sighed, “He said he’s at the movies.”

  “With who?” I asked.

  “I’m not really sure—”

  “Who is he at the movies with, Wanda?” Morgan asked.

  “I mean I could guess—”

  “Wanda,” I said. “Is Tyler at the movies with skanky Lisa Barnes?”

  She paused a beat.

  “Yeah.”

  Morgan nodded and crossed her arms over her chest, “And where will you be tomorrow night?”

  Wanda sighed, “At the Set, with Zack’s friend.”

  Morgan beamed and threw her hands skyward. I gave a huge grin and jumped onto my bed. There it was, I realized. Hope. Hope was now officially curled around my heart, warming it with unimaginable heat even as it got ready to incinerate it completely.

  I gave in. I threw my own arms up and let out a strangled cry of glee.

  “Someone’s in love,” Morgan said.

  “Oh, shush,” I said. “I think this is my first date.”

  “First of many,” Morgan corrected. “You’ve got at least another ten years of dating in you, I imagine. Fifteen if you make it to thirty without snagging a rich investment banker.”

  I gave her a face, “Don’t be a cliché. Plus, I have the rest of my life to worry about investment bankers.”

  Chapter Two

  One Day ’til

  The next day at school I was on a mission.

  Over dinner we’d planned strategy. Dad ate in his office—apparently too busy to join us. My mom listened to our war plans with a combination of amusement and genuine attention. She threw in a few ideas, and we incorporated almost all of them. Mom knew her stuff, I’ll give her that—she was the retired General to my up-and-coming Captain. Morgan was my Sergeant—in the trenches, ready to fight, determined to push us onward. Wanda hadn’t even made it out of boot camp.

  And now I was heading for the front lines.

  Mom dropped me off in front of Atlanta—not my usual insertion point. Normally I landed in the parking lot near the band room. My first period class was Journalism, in the Art quad. Still, the front wasn’t far, and it gave me valuable positioning. First, recon—the true sabotage wouldn’t begin until lunch, if all went well.

  Morgan and I got out of my mom’s car and separated—we didn’t even give each other a parting look. She wasn’t a Drama-geek, but she had more than a few friends who were, and she made a beeline for the steps up to the auditorium. Benny, best friends with Zack, was her first target. Benny was president of the drama club, and even now sat on the steps of the auditorium, holding court in a circle of fellow thespians. Dark featured, black hair framing his face, Benny had a certain attractive quality. Still, his personality drove the point home better than his rail-thin body—Benny had charisma. He’d be a great lawyer, a better salesman, and the world’s worst spy. You couldn’t not notice Benny in the room. He made sure of it, in fact.

  But I wasn’t heading that way. My vector angled for the primary target.

  Zack.

  I took a deep breath, cinched my backpack up, and sallied forth.

  Teenagers flooded into the school like shambling zombies into a mall. I drifted through the sea with practiced ease—dodging other people being the native art form of the average high school student. Through the front gate, past the office, toward the library. I knew where Zack would be—anyone who’d met him knew where he’d be.

  I thought about the odd, unbreakable predictability high school forces you into. Something about the immutable routine of classes and bells encourages you to hang out with the same people in the same spot every morning before class, every lunch, and after school. Shifting from one bench to another during lunch would cause bedlam—you’d invade other territories, reshuffle boundaries. Contradict the norm. Mass hysteria, in other words.

  I had my school ID out before I even went inside the library—I flashed it to the assistant, who waved me through the turnstile. I took a moment to lament the picture on my sophomore ID—I looked like a cross between a slut and a maniac. Too-low shirt, rat’s-nest hair, abominable make-up, worse lighting. The fact that it had only been two months ago made it all the more depressing. And I had no explanation for the picture, either. It was just a really bad day to take a picture.

  Most of the time, the library featured only one or two students wandering quietly through the stacks.

  Now, before school, the library bulged with bodies. Students who didn’t do their homework, didn’t do the reading, or never even picked up their needed book in the first place spent their last few desperate minutes before the bell rang buzzing through the library. A press of students milled or sat around, searching or praying or working or all three.

  I fit in just fine. I rushed to the periodical section and tugged a few magazines from the rack. It didn’t take long for the fishy to bite, and that fact alone nearly completed the first leg of the mission. When his hand touched my shoulder I almost jumped out of my sneakers.

  “Sorry,” Zack said as I turned toward him, “didn’t mean to spook you.”

  Zack looked down at me with azure eyes. His face was handsome, almost boyish, but his bright blue eyes drew my attention every time. They didn’t seem to fit his look—they were too intense for his friendly face, too bright for his tan skin. They begged to be stared at, to be swum in. I obliged without hesitation.

  His hair, messy-spiked in the current fashion and deep brown, made him look even taller than he was, I realized. He stood above me by
a solid six inches, which was inherently ridiculous—I wasn’t even remotely short.

  He wore a solid white short-sleeved button down shirt and jeans. Nothing fancy, but the white shirt made his skin look even darker. His tan couldn’t have been sun-based, I realized—he spent more time indoors than I did. I wondered what ethnicity he was. Then I wondered how long I’d been gawking at him while he asked me the same question over and over.

  “Are you okay, Luce?” He asked me, again.

  “Fine, fine, sorry,” I said. “You just scared the heck out of me.”

  “Heck?” Zack asked, half-smiling.

  I frowned, “Being a sailor isn’t cool. I am a lady.”

  Zack’s half-smile ripened into a full one. His lop-sided grin made my stomach start doing gymnastics. Stupid girl. Clamp down.

  “Not wrong there,” Zack said. “Whatcha looking for?”

  He gestured to the stack of magazines in my hand. I flipped through them and shrugged.

  “Forgot my Journalism assignment,” I said. I hadn’t, of course. “Needed an article to comment on.”

  “Ah,” Zack said, and held up a newspaper, “There’s a good one in here about gangs.”

  I made a face. “Seriously? Is that still a thing?”

  Zack shrugged. “I guess no one’s told them how unfashionable gangs are.”

  He wasn’t joking. He actually looked a little annoyed.

  “Oh come on,” I said. “It was a joke. I’m just saying you don’t hear about gangs very much anymore.”

  Zack nodded. My insides did a triple somersault. A 9.5, I imagine.

  “So, uh, what brings you to the ole libraria?” I said in my best Spanish accent, which is also my worst Spanish accent.

  I knew the reason he was in the library, but it didn’t hurt to reaffirm. Or to drive over a couple small-talk speed bumps before hitting the scary-talk freeway going eighty.

  “Biblioteque,” Zack corrected, still smiling. “Just like to catch up on the paper before class.”

  He waggled the newspaper in his hand again.

  “You know,” I said, “I don’t know anyone our age that reads the newspaper.”

  “Besides me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, besides you.”

  Zack smirked. “Well, I’m special.”

  I agreed, but I wasn’t exactly going to admit it then and there. Maybe it was a little old-school, but I preferred to be the chased, not the chaser. Still, it was hard with him looking into my eyes like that not to just blurt out “I love you,” sling my arms around him, and tear his lips off with mine.

  I took a deep breath. Whoa, girl.

  “Does your mom tell you you’re special?”

  “Constantly,” Zack said. “So, worst-segue-ever, by the way, are you going to the movies tonight? With us, I mean.”

  My well-arranged cocky/flirty smile disintegrated. I was ready to play cat and mouse, and he was playing, well, dog. Straight to the point. I gathered myself together as fast as I could and gave a non-committal shrug. I’d been ready to play out his intentions, to see if he really wanted me to go or just wanted someone to go. The eager look on his face blew my spy attempts out of the water.

  Raw excitement shot through my body like an electrical current. Calm down, Lucy. Play it coolish.

  “Well, I want to,” I said. “But Morgan is technically grounded. We’re still scheming a way out of it.”

  Zack frowned, “She’s grounded? Wasn’t she at your house last night?”

  Warning, warning. Why the hell did I bring up Morgan? When trying to flirt with dream guy, mentioning goddess-like, super-hot, best friend is off-limits. Now he was thinking of her. Hell, I was thinking of her. Brilliant.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “But she was studying. She had to call her mom from my house phone every hour.”

  “Every hour?” Zack whistled. “Did she hit a nun with a shovel or something?”

  I explained her situation. He nodded along and finally gave that long low whistle again.

  “Well, that’s not so tough,” Zack said. “If you have a crazy friend.”

  I had Daphne. No one crazier.

  “Okay,” Zack said, and glanced around. “Sit with me and I’ll tell you my idea.”

  My heart did a drum roll on my ribcage. But right as I opened my mouth to accept his invitation with whole-hearted glee, the loud electronic wail of the bell blasted through the library, through the school. Turned my excitement into ash.

  “Crap,” Zack said. “What about lunch? Meet me at lunch?”

  I swooned. I didn’t even know I was capable of swooning. In fact, my grasp of swooning mechanics might be described as loose. Still, I felt something that seemed to fit into that category pretty well. Wow. Just since yesterday I’d gone from cynical teenage girl-about-town to dumb-struck, marble-mouthed puppy dog. I hate hormones.

  I nodded my affirmation, mostly because I didn’t come close to trusting my mouth. It might have spazzed and said “your eyes are like blue fire,” or “do you mind if I nibble your earlobe?” and then I would have to kill myself.

  “Okay,” Zack said. “You still sit by the statue?”

  I nodded again. It was too early in the day for making a fool of myself.

  “All right, peace.”

  Zack turned and bolted through the turnstile and out of the library. The Devil would show up for Sunday mass before Zack would be late to class. I realized by all technical definitions Zack was either a nerd or a goody-goody, but his casual confidence, not to mention boyish good looks, seemed to make him label-proof. I couldn’t call him a geek and make it stick anymore then I could call him a saucepan or a lima bean.

  I went to Journalism with a spring in my step and my books clenched tight to my chest. I know I looked like an idiot, but no power I possessed could scrape the atomic grin from my lips. I think it was visible from space.

  I didn’t have any article in Journalism to comment on—in fact, I’d already finished both of my articles for the school paper that month. As was usually the case, the fast writers finished up within days and sat around playing Text Twist or surfing the internet while the slower or lazier writers stared at their monitors in either terror or apathy.

  I spent most of the period thinking about either Zack, the movies, or Zack at the movies. In other words, I was disgusting.

  I went through second period World History with a slightly more active mindset. I enjoyed history because it was real life without all the boring parts. Edited for maximum excitement.

  I left the class feeling even springier.

  I met Morgan on the way to English. She swept up next to me on one side while Wanda angled in from the other. We joined together like any veteran flock of birds.

  “So?” Morgan asked. Her eyes were wide in excitement.

  “Well...” I said, enjoying the moment. “Let’s just say it was not a blanket invitation.”

  “You think he digs you?” Wanda asked.

  “Outlook is good,” I said.

  My grin split even wider. I felt like the top of my head was going to hinge off of that smile and I’d be looking upside-down behind me.

  I have weird thoughts.

  Ms. Fleece was already scribbling on the whiteboard when the three of us swept into English as nearly one entity.

  “What about Benny?” I asked. “Any info there?”

  “Mostly confirmation,” Morgan said. “Zack seems to have gotten over The Weirdness last year.”

  The Weirdness was our codename for the awkward, hot-and-cold, non-relationship Zack and I had last year. It was everything bad about a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship with none of the good. Mostly just idiosyncratic jealousy, territoriality, and longing glances. No one asked anyone out—we never really held hands or touched each other. We weren’t technically anything. Blah. The Weirdness haunted my dreams.

  Still, if The Weirdness really had ended…

  Daphne and Sara were in their usual seats, just beside ours. Sara—bl
ack, pretty, perfect-skinned—possessed the sort of annoying physique that went with being an avid softball player. Daphne was wearing a floral-print dress that complimented her olive skin and a pair of black combat boots that did not. She must have been mid-rant when we entered—a circle of students were turned to face her, but she shooed them off and looked up at me. A smile transformed her face into something heart-shaped and vaguely adorable.

  “Did I hear Zack?” Daphne said, and I groaned.

  Sara sat up, “Can we talk about Zack again?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Morgan said, and I made a real concerted effort not to strangle her. Judas.

  Morgan filled them in on the details about the sudden and inexplicable intrusion of Zack back into my life. As soon as they heard about The Plan, they clamored for a resolution.

  “Well,” Morgan said, “Benny caught on pretty quickly to my intentions. He said Zack loves when your hair is down and also when you wear boots.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t take fashion advice from Benny,” I said. “He wears all black and skinny jeans.”

  “Technically it’s fashion advice from Zack,” Wanda corrected.

  I flashed her a betrayed look.

  “Skinny jeans are in, you know—” Sarah began.

  “No,” Daphne snapped. “They make your feet huge and your butt enormous.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said.

  “Swell,” Ms. Fleece said.

  When I looked up, I realized Ms. Fleece had been standing in front of Daphne’s desk for some time, listening in. I clamped my mouth closed and felt my face go bright red.

  “Sorry, Ms. Fleece,” Morgan whispered.

  Ms. Fleece stared down at Daphne, who flashed her thousand-watt smile.

  “Cute,” Ms. Fleece said. “Get your book out, Ms. Karras. You do remember books, right? English?”

  I laughed, but Ms. Fleece turned her glare on me and I pulled out Lord of the Flies like I was a gunslinger at high noon.

  “Good, good,” Ms. Fleece said, “Page fifty-six. Ms. Karras and Ms. Day can trade reading out loud for the rest of the class.”