Lost in Starlight (Starlight Saga) (9 page)

Welcome, Snarklings!

Today’s editorial is about characters in horror cinema that act like idiots and make me go all crazy. As a rule, people who act stupid get iced.

Okay, so killer/zombie/paranormal is chasing after the characters and one of the girls stops and releases a blood-curdling scream at the top of her lungs. Then as the villain gets closer, she starts running while screaming.

I’m sorry, but if some evil baddie is chasing me, I’m not going to be screaming. I want to stay quiet and not give away my location. I’m going to be looking for a place to hide or trying to get help.

Besides, have you ever tried screaming and running at the same time? Yeah, not easy.

Peace, love, and horror flicks,

Zombie Queen aka Sloane

When I get home from the shopping excursion with Viola and Tanisha, the house seems unusually quiet. No Mozart blasting from my mom’s studio or video game shootouts blaring from my brother’s bedroom. A note left on the fridge says that my mom is at the gallery and Jonah’s at a friend’s house. And my dad—back from Boston—must be at his San Francisco office, so I’m grateful for the private time.

“Ahhh!” I almost trip over a black ball of fur at the top of the stairs. “Sorry, Jinx.”

The cat glares up at me with yellow eyes and definitely looks disgruntled. I sit on the top step to pet Jinx, while trying to calm the churning doubts in my mind. But there are just too many unanswered questions swirling around the Lancaster family. I scratch behind the cat’s ears and sigh.

“The Lancasters keep getting more mysterious,” I say to Jinx.

He meows as if to say, ‘So what? Keep scratching.’

I rub under his soft chin, thinking about what Brendan said about Hayden’s grandpa, but I’m not sure what bothers me more. The odd references to the First World War, or the DNR. He had to be joking around. Maybe Hayden’s grandpa was a historian or something. This sucks. Now I’m even more confused about Hayden’s strange family. But it’s the birth certificate that excites me the most—it’s concrete, unexplainable. A true fact in my report.

I leave Jinx behind and ascend the narrow staircase to my room at the end of the hall. I ease myself down onto the desk chair and power on my laptop. More research is definitely needed. For two hours, I search the Net for humans with longevity and come across lots of stuff on supercentenarians—a person who lives to be at least a hundred years old. Nothing useful for my article. I do learn that the oldest person in the world was a hundred and fifteen-year-old Japanese woman. Hayden’s grandpa definitely has her beat, making him older than dirt.

My phone chimes. I get up to open my purse and retrieve it. The screen reveals:
Unidentified Caller.
Clicking on the text message, my mouth drops open. No. Way.

It’s Hayden. U home?

A couple of questions instantly pop into my head. Like how did he get my number? And what does he want?

Only one way to find out.

Me: Yeah. Why?

Hayden: We need 2 talk. What’s your address?

Talk? About what? Curiosity kicks in big time. I text him my home address with shaky fingers.

Me: Ok. When?

Hayden: I’ll be at your house in 15 minutes.

I sit down heavily on the bed. He probably wants to convince me that he doesn’t have strange powers or he’s a normal eighteen-year-old guy. Or that
I’m
crazy. A red-hot sensation sparks inside me. Screw that.

Rubbing my temples, I have to admit that Hayden’s becoming extremely addictive. Like chocolate. Or cupcakes with white frosting. Yum.

I glance at the alarm clock and the digital eyes flash: seven-thirty.

Sweet zombie babies! I don’t have much time left.

I rush to my closet and rummage through my clothes, tossing various garments on the bed. Tugging off my dirty mall clothes, I hurry to the dresser, spritz some perfume, and rub deodorant on my armpits. Much better.

Going back to the bed, I flop down on the mattress to tug on a pair of skinny jeans, grunting and groaning as I zip them up. Then I pull on my favorite
Misfits Iron Fist
sleeveless jersey over a black tank. I drag a brush through my tangles, and I’m good to go.

A car honks outside and I start for the door, and then stop.

Shoes would be helpful, Sloane.

Going back to the closet, I slip on my black and white polka-dot mondo creepers. Now I’m ready.

I dash downstairs, grab my keys dangling from a hook in the foyer, and fling open the door. The warm evening air greets me, the moon shining in a dark blue sky through the treetops.

Hayden’s leaning against his SUV parked across the street and pushes off the Range Rover when he spots me. Peeking beneath his leather coat is a charcoal V-neck shirt and a pair of black jeans. His heterochromatic eyes seem to glow in the twilight.

I stare. Okay, I drool. Those firm lips. That buffed bod. The confident swagger. It’s hard to put a finger on what exactly makes Hayden so damn intriguing. Could it be his quick wit or darker tendencies? Or is my attraction only fueled because I want the chance to unravel all of his secrets? Whatever it is—it feels like I’ve been hit over the head with magical dust by the lust fairy.

He crosses the road, and we meet on the damp lawn near my driveway.

I clear my throat. “How did you get my cell number?”

He lazily smiles. “From your phone.”

Duh.

I place both hands on my hips. “When you stole it to delete the dog-rescuing footage?”

He is quiet, and looks like he usually does, insanely hot and overly serious, a peculiar combination, which has fascinated me since he first time I saw him at school. But there’s a tense pull to his lips. Other than that, he remains tongue-tied. The silence stretches into awkward minutes.

I tap my foot.
Hel-lo
.
I’m talking here. Are you mute?

Huffing, I change the subject. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until Monday?”

“I wanted to...”

My mom’s Toyota Prius rounds the corner with my little brother sitting in the front seat. I inwardly groan and clutch Hayden’s hand, jerking him around the side of the house. He looks at me curiously with a trace of a smile on his beautiful lips. The Prius parks and they scrabble out, followed by the slam of two car doors.

“Mom, you don’t understand. I
need
that new PlayStation game! I’m the only kid at school who doesn’t have it,” Jonah whines.

“Honey, you don’t even play half the games you got for your birthday.”

The front door opens and closes on their voices.

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Not ready for me to meet the fam?”

“Come on.” I ignore his snark. “Let’s walk to Scott’s Good Eats and get some food.”

“I’ve never been.”

My eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right? They only serve the best jumbo cheeseburgers and garlic fries on the island!”

Hayden throws up his hands. “Sold.” He looks at the ground, then back at me. “You look great, by the way. Like your shoes.”

“Thanks.” I can’t stop the goofy smile that spreads across my face.

We walk along tree-lined streets past beautiful Victorians. The evening sky is clear enough that the stars tremble against the darkness like distant fireflies. The weather is mild and a salty ocean breeze tickles our skin.

I glance at his profile. “So, whaddya want to see me about?”

Hayden’s remarkable gaze meets mine, whisking the breath from my lungs.

“Is there any way I can get you to bury that story on me?” he asks. “How about I pay for your dinner?”

But I don’t want to forget the article. I
need
answers. It’s not like I’m just that “Girl Reporter” who has to land the big story, but more like my curiosity is maxed out. And the way he keeps trying to talk me out of writing it—makes the whole thing all the more intriguing.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, echoing back his words to me from a few days ago. “
But
in the meantime, you can still buy me a burger.”

We cross the street and stroll toward the downtown area near the South Shore Plaza. An uneasy niggling works its way up my spine, like spiders crawling on my back. I jerk around to look behind us, but the street is empty. No one following us.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say, tugging at my collar.

Just stay calm and stop being so dang paranoid. But my mind is a jumble of questions and thoughts. And I need to proceed cautiously.

“Hayden?”

“Hmmm.”

“While I was shopping earlier, my friends and I ran into this boy named Brendan. He mentioned that he used to be in a band with you and Zach.”

“Yeah, I remember him. Haven’t talked to that guy in ages.”

“Um, this is going to sound kind of weird, but he said your grandfather used to talk about the war a lot—World War One.”

He stops walking and his hands squeeze up into tight fists. “Sloane, you need to stop investigating my family. Please.”

If he thinks I’ll quit working on my article, then he’s dumber than a box of rocks.

“Not gonna happen, Lancaster.”

“Sloane, come on. What’s the headline going to read, ‘Old guy talks about ancient history’?” He waves his hands in the air. “Go alert the media.”

“Not funny. So tell me the truth then.”

He sighs heavily and keeps walking, but doesn’t respond. It’s no secret we both have an agenda. Mine: to get him to spill his secrets. Him: to keep them concealed. I wonder who’ll win this round tonight.

Hayden and I stroll past the Unlucky 13 bar until we get to Scott’s Good Eats, a restaurant no bigger than a two-car garage. Hayden opens the door for me and I walk past him inside. The aroma of spices and fried food make my mouth hyper-salivate. It’s not very crowded tonight and we take seats near the front window. The décor is basic with round tables covered by checkerboard tablecloths and wooden chairs. A plump waitress hands us two menus.

Hayden grips the menu and scans the contents. He glances over the rim at me. “Two sodas okay with you?”

I nod. “Yup. But make mine diet.”

“You heard the lady,” he says to the waitress. “One Diet Pepsi and one regular, please.” Once she’s gone, he turns those amazing eyes on me. “Are you dieting?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.

“Nothing. You ordered a diet soda, so I wondered why.”

“Well, for your information, I’m
not
. I just like the taste.”

“Good because you don’t need to. I can’t stand girls with the body of a twelve-year-old boy. I like me some curves.” He winks at me, then changes the subject. “Why didn’t you want me to meet your family?”

I peer at him over the top of my plastic menu. “Too many questions. And I don’t usually bring strange boys home to meet them. Emphasis on
strange
.”

His gaze burns into mine, smoldering and intense. He clears his throat. “I’ve never introduced my parents to a girl I liked, either.”

Hold the mayo. My stomach does a pole vault. What the heck does that remark mean?

The waitress arrives with our sodas, and I immediately take a sip from the straw.

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks.

Hayden looks over at me. “Sloane? Do you know what you want?”

“A cheeseburger with everything on it,” I say. “Extra mustard, please.”

Hayden glances at the waitress. “Make that two, and we’d like to split some garlic fries.”

The waitress nods and flounces back to the kitchen area. For a few minutes, we gaze out the window at the people walking by and the passing cars.

“How long have you been into horror stuff?” he asks finally, leaning back.

I twirl my straw and use it to stir the ice in my glass, so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “I guess my love for the genre started at the age of nine, back in the days when my family went on our regular Friday night rent-a-movie store runs.” I smile at the memory. “One particular evening, I remember venturing into the scary movie section and I think my face must’ve lit up. Blood and gore and scares galore!” I laugh. “Those movies just sounded like a whole lot of twisted fun. I paced the row of stocked shelves checking out the freaky DVD covers until my mom dragged me—kicking and screaming—back to the family aisle. And I’ve been hooked ever since.”

His expression warms. “You’re a fascinating girl.”

I flash him a smile. “You have no idea.”

He reaches out and his large hand holds my smaller one for a brief instant. My heart starts bouncing around my ribcage like a ping-pong ball. I lean back. Safety in distance.

“Besides a love of scary movies, hanging in graveyards, and eating cheeseburgers, what do you like to do?” he asks.

“I don’t know…stuff like reading graphic novels or shopping with my friends. And sometimes I like to stay up late and watch zombie flicks while munching on popcorn. The usual.”

“A lot of people are into vampires right now. So why are zombies your favorite?”

Ah, a topic I love chatting about!

“They just are. I mean, sure, vampires are way cooler, but zombies are
so
much creepier. Bloodsuckers have nothing on flesh eaters when it comes to giving me a good scare. I think it’s because vamps are mythical creatures, and in an apocalyptic scenario, zombies actually seem more realistic and even scientifically possible.”

“You have an apocalypse emergency plan ready?”

“Oh, yeah. Learned all I need to know by watching
The Walking Dead
.” I smirk. “I always kind of figured if there was an actual virus outbreak it would be like a form of rabies. Makes more sense, you know? I have a pack full of stuff in our garage, several bottles of water, some non-perishable food, first aid supplies, duct tape, Army knife, and a blanket. Even mapped out an evacuation route from my house to the woods.”

He shifts and turns toward me. “I’m impressed. You can definitely join my survival team.”

“Ha! You can join
mine.
The control-freak in me has to be the leader. If you’re cool with that, then we can join forces.”

His lips twitch into a slight smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, which
Walking Dead
character would you be?”

“Michonne—
duh
! That chick is just all kinds of badass samurai.”

He shakes his head, that small smile still gracing his lips. “Do you even know anything about handling swords?”

“Nope. But I’m a quick study.” I twirl my straw. “What about you?”

“Ah, Carl is freakin’ hardcore. But I guess, Daryl, because he’s more of a rebel and survivalist. And that crossbow? Awesome.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we can strike some type of deal.”

A deal? Is he starting to open up to me? Or being manipulative to get me to kill the story?

“Like what?” I ask cautiously.

The waitress returns with our food before he responds.

Hayden takes a tentative bite, and then grins around a mouthful of burger. “It
is
freakin’ good.”