Lost in Starlight (Starlight Saga) (7 page)

Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Mrs. Morris tells me that I can see the principal.

My stomach twists. I shuffle through the door into Principal Allen’s beige office. I claim the leather chair directly in front of the large cluttered desk and warily place my stuff near my feet. The principal props her elbows on the desktop and frowns. She’s fortyish with short brown hair, brown eyes, and pink lips. Her suit is neatly pressed and the rayon fabric fits her slim figure like a glove.

Is everyone around me as thin as a supermodel? Are they all drinking the same Kool Aid except me? No wonder I have body issues.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Masterson? I don’t think you’ve ever been in my office before.”

“Mrs. Brooks thinks I was cheating on the calculus test, but I wasn’t.” I fold my arms over my flabby midsection. “I wouldn’t do that.”

She leans back. “Don’t look so crestfallen. I know you have a splendid grade-point-average and you stay out of trouble, but looking at other people’s tests is not tolerated at this school.”

“I know. And I swear I wasn’t cheating.”

Principal Allen drummed her acrylic nails on the desk. “Mrs. Brooks’s note stated quite emphatically that you were leaning over and inspecting another student’s test. Care to explain?”

This is a total freaking disaster.

I slouch in my seat. “I didn’t cheat. It’s
not
who I am. I just got distracted.”

“Well…I actually believe you.” She nods thoughtfully. “And I’ll smooth things over with Mrs. Brooks. You can spend the rest of the period in study hall and retake the test next week,” Principal Allen says kindly.

Relief pours over me. I grab my things and stand. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Just make sure your eyes don’t wander from your own paper again.”

“Got it.”

Out in the main office area, a commotion is going on. Two boys with bloody faces and dirty clothes are brought in by the Vice Principal, Mr. Snyder. And one of them is Zach.

Guess one brother’s a bully and the other one’s all about anti-bullying. No wonder they don’t seem to get along.

Principal Allen sighs. “Shoo. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Gotcha.” I hurry through the room and past Zach, who’s leveling me with the evil eye. But instead of going to study hall as I was instructed, I speed-walk to the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, I park my VW Jetta near the arched entrance of Shadowland Memorial Cemetery. I leave my backpack and purse safely inside the trunk, and tuck my notebook and pen into one of my jacket pockets and my iPod into the other.

The ornate gate issues a rusty moan as I push it open. When I pass through, a sense of peacefulness instantly whooshes over me. My gaze darts across the terrain. It’s a lovely spring day with bursts of daffodils poking their pretty heads out of the ground. The scent of freshly cut grass blends with the aroma of rotting roses. Granite tombstones reflect the sunlight and mausoleums stand proudly.

The cemetery is quiet today, even with several people standing near a grave. Two older women and one man. Not crying, just looking somber while paying their respects.

I stroll through rows of tombstones left and right while I search for a quiet place to hang. Some headstones are crumbled with the weathering of centuries, some are smooth marble with new engravings and adorned with floral tributes.

I guess I’m a weirdo because I feel so at peace here. Sometimes I wander amongst the tombstones, reading the inscriptions. I like to link generations of families, and wonder what their lives had been like and contemplate both the meaning of life and the permanence of death. Occasionally, I come here with my friends if I’m having a rough day. We never vandalize the property or anything bad—except for the occasional underage drinking. But I don’t usually partake. The taste of beer is seriously over-rated.

Locating a nice spot under a shade tree near my grandparents’ graves, I get comfortable. I tell my grandma all about my horrid day, and then I fish out my Hello Kitty notebook and scan my notes on “Operation Lancaster.”

Startling eye color and member of the Amazing Hair Club.

Hayden, hacker and computer geek.

Sexy bad-boys.

Hayden’s a lefty and brings his lunch to school.

Hayden can bend metal objects with his mind.

I giggle at the next entry.

Criminal mastermind.
And
Proceed with caution.

Hayden is a dog lover.

I frown at the following note.

No amount of hot boy exterior is going to make up for the fact that he’s a rude jerk
.

Hayden dodges cars at warp-speed to rescue puppies.

Hayden is a defender against bullies.

Super smart. Takes an hour-long calculus test in minutes.

Most redeeming quality: He stands up to bullies.

Sighing, I scribble in:
What does all of this stuff mean? Is Hayden even human or something else? Maybe he’s actually a mutant of some kind.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the tree. Slipping on my earbuds, I switch on my iPod and let the soaring music of
Fall Out Boy’s
“Sugar, We’re Going Down” drown out my roiling thoughts.

I must’ve dozed off because the slam of a car door jolts me awake. No. Freaking. Way.

Red alert!

Hayden uses his remote to lock the doors of the Range Rover parked just outside the gate with a soft
beep.
He traipses over to a large headstone not twenty feet away.

Should I go say hi or slink away and hope he doesn’t see me? Curiosity gets the better of me and I shove my precious notebook back into my pocket and smooth my skirt. I wait about ten minutes just quietly watching him pay his respects, and then I get up. Taking out my earbuds and turning off the music, I quickly anchor my hair into two ponytails with hairbands from my pocket and dab on some lip gloss. I stand up and brush the grass from my clothes. Now I’m ready.

As I’m walking toward Hayden, I check him out. He’s wearing a snug T-shirt, with wrinkled jeans and black Converse. He sighs deeply, and from his profile, I can tell he’s wearing his usual steely-eyed and broody expression. And if he wasn’t so darn cute, I might consider holding it against him.

“Hey.”

His head lifts and turns in my direction. “Well, if it isn’t the infamous, Peaches.” He nods, looking genuinely amused.

“Stop calling me that,” I say irritably. “And for the record, I wasn’t cheating.”

He crosses his arms over his muscled chest, and after a beat, a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “Then what were you doing? Trying to sit on my lap?”

“What? No! I was just distracted, that’s all.” My face is burning and my chest tight. “Is everything that comes out of your mouth a sarcastic question?”

“Not always…” He sighs heavily, closing his eyes, and for the longest time he doesn’t say anything.

“If you’d rather be alone, I understand,” I say.

“No. It’s cool.”

I chew on a lock of hair and lower my voice. “This is where I like to come when I don’t want anyone to find me.”

A strange look is fired in my direction. “But now
I
can find you.”

“Guess so.” I sheepishly smile, and his hypnotic gaze seems to draw oxygen from my brain.

“We need to talk about your stalking habits. I don’t like being filmed
or
followed around.”

Gulp. I majorly suck at sleuthing.

I place both hands on my hips. “I’m a reporter. That’s what we do. It’s
not
stalking…not really…”

“Uh-huh. I think you need to move to Hollywood and get a stalkerazzi card.”

I blink. Huh. His growly mood is back.

“Oh…I’m sorry…” Guess I never thought about it from his perspective. I know I wouldn’t like it if I was being stalked, er, followed.

A twisting silence glides between us. He stares at me with the eyes of a tormented soul. Now I feel like the one being a jerk.

Hayden stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry, Sloane. I’m just having a bad day. I didn’t mean it.”

“No worries. And I am
really
sorry, too. I’m just under a lot of pressure by my editor, and I need an interesting article for the school paper.”

He blows out a breath. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

“Nothing.” I kick at the ground with my BobsMade Converse Chucks, then gesture at the giant tombstone. “Someone you know?”

“My grandfather,” he replies very non-committal.

Whoa. A straight answer. Color me stunned.

“I didn’t know you had any relatives in Winter Haven.”

“How could you?” After taking a few slow breaths, his tone softens. “He lived here for over forty years, but we only visited during summer vacations as I was growing up.” He dares to peer out from behind those shaggy bangs, looking almost shy and vulnerable.

“Aren’t you still growing up?” I say lightly.

“Nope. I turned eighteen last month.”

“Oh.” I twist a strand of hair around my finger. “Suppose that makes you a man now.”

He tilts his head to the side. “I guess in a way it does...”

A breeze ruffles Hayden’s hair, revealing his amazing blue and green stare. They’re as mismatched as we are.

“When did your grandfather pass away?”

He runs his bottom lip between his teeth. “About six months ago. We inherited his house…so here we are.”

I nod. “So here you are.”

This is the perfect time to grill him. The graveyard is void of any outside distractions or nosey classmates.

“Can we finish the interview, you know, just to get it over with?” I ask.

“Now? In the graveyard?” Hayden closes his eyes and looks like he’s counting to ten. When he opens them again, he sighs. “Not a good time, Sloane. I came to pay my respects.”

“Okay…then how about tomorrow?”

Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Please, say…

He looks torn, frustrated, as though he’s deep in thought, completely distracted. He stares down at me, his expression intense. Blinking a couple of times, he slowly grins, a sexy smile that seems to liquefy my insides.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggests. “And get this over with.”

Hayden strolls down the path between the graves, and I hurry to catch up. We fall into step together, wandering around the cemetery grounds. His scent envelopes me, a masculine spice that melds with the crisp spring air. The sun shines down on our heads, warming our skin and birds chirp noisily from a group of birch trees. He appears more relaxed now. Good.

“So, I just want to ask you a few questions. Nothing too serious.”

He rakes a hand through his hair and glances at me. “Do I have a choice?”

“No. Not really.” I smile.

Hayden kicks at some pebbles. “Fire away.”

I pull out my notebook and pen, then flip through it until I find an empty page. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Pacific Rim.”

“So you’re into science fiction?”

“You could say that.” He wears a wicked smile. “What about you?”

My legs actually shake. Damn, that sexy grin of his. “Anything with zombies.”

He suddenly clasps my hand with his warm fingers and helps me over some debris. Such the gentlemen. At his touch, a current runs through me, and my heartbeat increases. He leads me around a crumbling headstone before letting go. Now my hand feels cold and empty. I like this side of Hayden much more than the aloof guy who keeps blowing me off.

“What’s the hardest thing you’ve gone through?” I ask.

He pauses near a tombstone with an angel statue and leans against it. “Having to move around so much. It sucks.”

Maybe he really is in the Witness Protection Program.

I lower my pen. “Why do you have to keep moving?”

His cell phone chimes and he reads the screen. Shoulders slumped, he practically whispers, “It’s complicated.”

My hand drifts up of its own volition to rest on his elbow. “Uncomplicate it for me, then.”

He puts his cell back into his pocket. “Why are you in the cemetery?”

Hayden’s back to his MO: Evade. Evade. Evade.

When he turns to face me that strange
pull
that’s growing between us resurfaces and threatens to break through. It thrums in the air around us like an invisible current. I do my best to ignore the fiery intensity that’s building stronger and somehow invisibly connecting us. That single lingering look feels like we’ve known each other much longer than a few days. As if we’d never once been strangers. Hayden must feel it too because he shakes his head, his expression somber.

“It’s peaceful here. Quiet.” My voice sounds soft, hoarse. As if I can’t believe that I’m hanging with Hayden Lancaster in a graveyard. Alone. “My grandparents are buried here, too. Sometimes I like to visit and catch Grandma up on the family news. Put fresh flowers on their graves, that sort of thing.” I swallow and look down at my hands. At the blue nail polish, flaking onto my black shirt. “Were you and your grandfather close? Even though you didn’t see him much?”

“Yeah. Gramps was a techie genius, taught me everything I know about computers. He used to take my brother and me fishing at Lake Chabot in Castro Valley during the summer. And he made the best homemade chili. My grandfather was just an all-around cool guy. I miss him every day.”

I smile, his wistful tone pulling at my heartstrings, but I play it cool. “Oh, so you
can
speak in complete sentences. Good to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “What about you?”

“Actually, my grandparents were awesome. Especially my grandma. She was always baking cookies and playing silly games with us. And she had this great sense of humor. Her laugh was totally infectious.”

Wait...are we having a real conversation?

We start walking again and pass an ivy-covered mausoleum. Two squirrels playfully chase each other up and down a tree. The three mourners have departed.

“Next question. Are you a dog person or a cat person?” I ask.

“Hmm, I like all animals, but I guess I like cats best.”

“Good answer.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Now onto the tough questions.”

His hand casually brushes down my arm, and those glittery butterflies go wild again. “Shoot.”

“How did you take the test so quickly today?”

“I studied. How else?”

“Yeah, but, there were, like, over a hundred equations. No one could’ve finished it that freaking fast. So come on. Spill.”

Hayden kicks some dead leaves out of our path and seats himself on a tombstone. “I have an excellent memory.”

I lean on a tall slab with a cross. “You mean photographic?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Something like that.”

Must be why he never takes notes in class or carries any books home.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re getting at with these odd questions, Sloane.” He tilts his head pensively. “But I do know an awful lot about you, Miss Lois Lane.”

I grin at the Superman reference. “Really? Prove it.”

“Well...you wear a lot of black clothes, but like the color purple. You get good grades and have a close circle of friends that you mostly hang with, and you do this cute thing where you chew on your hair whenever you get nervous. And you’ve got the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.” He watches me closely, his stare intense and steady.

Holy zombie guts. Hayden Lancaster just gave
me
a compliment. My heartbeat speeds up to full-throttle.

No drooling allowed. And I need to stop all these hormonal rushes around him. Just breathe. Think. Talk.

My cheeks warm and I force myself not to gnaw on my hair. “That’s so sweet.”

“It’s getting late.” Hayden glances at the sun beginning to lower beneath the treeline. “You staying?”

Brushing me off again. Sigh.

“A little while longer.”

“Don’t you have to be home for dinner?” he asks.

“Nope. My mom’s too busy with her art to be bothered with making meals and my dad travels a lot. So I’ll just get a Happy Meal on the way home.”

“My mother insists on everyone having dinner together every night. It’s what she calls
family time,
but it’s a pain.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” I say, a touch of envy coloring my tone. “Since you have to run off
again
, why don’t we meet up after school one day next week to continue the interview?”

He gazes at me, his eyes burning with some heated emotion. I’m paralyzed like a newly turned zombie, blood pumping hot and fast, unable to move a muscle.