B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

Wanda broke off from me and skirted toward our group. Her speed and strange backward glance made me halt. It was the same look the guy in the toll booth gave Sonny Corleone before hitting the deck.

“Wow,” a voice said behind me, making me jump. “I didn’t suddenly turn into the Hulk did I?”

I turned around. Zack stood just behind me, his hands in his pockets. I gave him a wide, if admittedly brainless, smile. He returned it with his patented half-smirk.

“Why? Why do you ask?”

“Wanda ran away like I was going to grind her bones to make bread.”

“Are you?”

Zack shrugged, “I prefer tortillas. Mind if I take a seat?”

“With,” I said, but choked it off. My voice was abnormally high, and so I dropped it back down again, “With the guys?”

I waved over my shoulder toward the girls.

“Sure,” Zack said.

I hated him for a second right then—Zack never seemed nervous. If he didn’t like me, then he didn’t mind putting me in an awkward situation. If he did like me, then he had the poker face of a world champ. Ugh.

I led Zack over to the group, trying not to look freaked out and thus broadcasting my freak-out on all channels. Morgan and Wanda picked up on it—they flashed me tiny sympathetic smiles. Daphne had her hands over her head and her voice raised in anger, talking to Jamie and Will. She wouldn’t have noticed a cow bell around my neck. Sara seemed as enthralled with her fervent speech as the boys were.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “Zack has a proposal.”

I gestured to him like Vanna White and stepped aside. He gave me an unreadable look and took a step forward. Daphne stopped mid speech and turned. Sara and the boys followed suit.

“Well,” Zack said. “I heard the plight of fair Morgan.”

He pointed an open hand at her, and I felt blood pulse behind my eyes.

“And I have a fairly unorthodox but unquestionably exciting plan. Who’s in?”

Daphne’s hand shot up toward the sky. Sara gave Zack an incredulous look, and Morgan raised her hand with marked reluctance. Neither Jamie nor Will looked excited by another male stalking up to their pack.

“I need at least three,” Zack said, turning to me. “For a consensus.”

I raised my hand at the wrist—my arm didn’t leave my side.

“All right,” Zack said. “Daphne, how well can you climb a trellis?”

Daphne flashed a wide smile and sat up.

“I already love this plan,” she said. “I’m for it. I’m totally for it.”

I shook my head, and we all crowded around Zack to hear his scheme. Zack tucked in close to me as he talked, his right side pressed up against me. My fears for the plan vanished. Then again, I didn’t hear most of it either, and my excitement probably wasn’t related to Zack’s strategic mastery, but I didn’t care. I listened to his voice, stared at the ground, and focused as hard as I could on the closeness of his body.

I knew right then, that tonight would be the happiest night of my life. The irony is that it was.

Chapter Three

Waking Up Is Hard to Do

The preparations for the night went in a blur. Hair, makeup. The skirt Benny talked about, the boots. I didn’t care about the source of the fashion advice anymore. I didn’t care about anything. I was the center of the universe—I was a flaring star in the night, burning brighter as I neared the explosive finale I had no comprehension of.

Morgan and Wanda were at my house after school. We all dressed and glammed up together, giggling, and laughing in fits of nervous energy. Daphne showed up before long, her route slightly alternative —she climbed through my second-story window with aplomb. Give it to Daphne for commitment. Black combat boots, black fatigue pants, a tight black tank top, and a long black coat with the hood tugged up around her pixie face. A small black backpack completed the outfit.

“You’re so dead , Lucy,” Daphne said.

“What?” I said to her.

“In trouble, silly.”

“What?”

“Oh forget it.”

I only gave her a few seconds of stare, to her credit. It wasn’t the strangest Daphne-occurrence, not by a mile. I shook it off and thought about the plan.

The plan enlisted Daphne as the phone-ninja—Zack’s phrase—and it was her job to connect a three-way-call from my house. Daphne would sacrifice her night and stay hidden in my bedroom, so my parents wouldn’t catch wise. She would then call Morgan on my house phone and then make a three-way call with Morgan’s mom. In theory, the plan was solid.

“And if there are any complications, I’ll text you on my new…phone, oooooh!”

Daphne produced the thing, a shiny silver touch-screen phone. I rolled my eyes at her.

Benny, on account of his junior-ness, picked us up in his mom’s minivan. Not the coolest ride, but spacious and certainly more effective than the Shoelace Express. Morgan had her permit, but that wasn’t terribly helpful in any situation that didn’t involve driving her mom to the grocery store.

The front seat was empty—it looked like our fates were predetermined. Zack sat alone on the bench behind Benny, and their friend Marco sat alone behind Zack. When the sliding door rolled open, Benny’s voice ratcheted up to its usual explosive volume.

“Morgan! How do you feel about shotgun?”

I glanced at Morgan, and she hid her surprise well. Benny and Morgan had been friends for years, and he’d never shown any signs of interest. Well, any abnormal signs of interest. Where Morgan and her Aphrodite looks were concerned, the distinction was necessary.

“Sure,” she said, and slid into the front seat.

I hopped in next to Zack. It was an impulse—most of me wanted to stand there until he invited me up, but something in me, the part that yearned for caution, had broken. I clicked the seat belt in place and gave him a sideways glance.

His brow was crinkled and his tan skin sported a light sheen. Everything else about him was normal, but the look on his face was only shocking because of its uniqueness—Zack was nervous. Part of me thrilled at the thought of seeing behind his calm façade—part of me quailed in terror. To know that maybe it wasn’t all in my head. The thought was crazy, but I’d wanted Zack for so long that I think I was afraid of what would happen if I actually got him.

Wanda slid timidly into the seat next to Marco. Neither of them looked ready to be on a triple date, and shared identical looks of tension.

“Get the door, Luce?”

I reached out and trundled the big sliding door closed. Right as it whumped shut, I felt Zack’s fingers slide over mine against the seat cushion. My breath caught with a jagged gurgle. Wait .

The feeling of his hand on mine—

Wait.

When I turned to look at him, I felt the hot explosion in my stomach, a would-be-rapist’s bullet slinging through my body—

Wait .

Zack smiled at me. I touched my stomach, where hot blood oozed through the ragged hole in my shirt and welled up through my fingers. Zack’s smile didn’t falter as I raised my red fingers to the sickly yellow light streaming down from the streetlight overhead.

No. I shook my head. I was in a van, not an alley. On my way to the movies.

The light streaming through the windows gave the blood a maroon tint. It all seemed so unreal—

It is unreal, Lucy.

—that I felt a strange urge to smell it, or taste it. The pain in my chest quadrupled, and Zack’s face began to sag. Finally he noticed the blood, and he cocked his head to the side.

“Luce?”

“I’m…fine.”

“I think you’ve been shot, Luce,” Zack said to me, his eyes glancing toward the ground. “I think you’re dead, Luce.”