So Hot For You (3 page)

Shaking, Krista rubbed her tender head, trying to think … to make Aspen think, rationally. “Why? Why do you have to kill me? Like you said, he chose you. He wished for you, not me. He obviously loves you.”

Aspen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But now, he’s saying it was a “mistake,” that he was feeling “vulnerable,” that he loves
you
.” Aspen’s eyes welled with tears. “Now that I’m here, he doesn’t want me around. Just because I killed that guy—and slashed your tires.” She narrowed her eyes, aiming her gun steadily at Krista. “Now all he cares about is
you
—protecting
you
. I hate you for that.”

“Wait! Don’t!” Krista shrieked.

Aspen didn’t even flinch. She held the gun pointed steadily at Krista and continued talking as though Krista hadn’t made a peep. “When you’re gone, he’ll forget about you. I’ll console him. I’ll win him back.”

“No!”

Krista’s heart pounded as Aspen’s finger pulled on the trigger, but before the ghost-girl could actually shoot … Aspen disappeared! Vanished!

Whoa!

One minute Aspen was there, ready to pull the trigger, the next she was gone. Right before Krista’s eyes—poof! No more Aspen.

Holy smokes!

Immediately, the phone rang. Krista jumped for it, her heart pounding—both out of pent up fear, but also out of excitement. She thought she knew who was calling. She hoped so, anyway.

“Hello? How’d you do that?”

“Do what? Krista? Are you alright?” It was Cooper. He sounded concerned.

“Yes! I’m okay!”
She laughed, totally giddy.
“Aspen was here. But now she’s gone. She disappeared. You fixed it, just like you said you would!”

Krista could hear the smile in Cooper’s voice. “It worked!”

“Yes! What did you do?”

Cooper explained that he couldn’t make another birthday wish as he had already made one for the year. But he figured this must be an important year somehow, an important day, since his wish actually came true. So, he found someone else whose birthday was today also and hadn’t made a birthday wish yet—Ben
Horawitz
—the boy whose Bar Mitzvah Aspen had sent Krista to last year.

“I had to pay him $500 bucks to wish Aspen gone!” Cooper said. “But man, it was worth it! You’re really alright?”

Krista nodded. “I’m good.”

Cooper was silent a moment. “Do you think I could come over—just for a minute? Just to make sure?”

Krista swallowed, feeling dizzy and lightheaded, but in a good way. Still, she hesitated, her head throbbing from Aspen’s sneak attack and her hair stringy and foul from the toilet. “I’m really tired,” she said at last. “But why don’t we get together tomorrow?”

“Like … a date?”

Krista laughed. “Not
like
a date, an actual date.” Then she reddened. “I mean, if you want.”

She could hear the smile in Cooper’s voice again. “I guess I was wrong about the birthday wishes,” he said. “I didn’t just get the one wish. Another wish just came true—a date with you.”

Krista smiled, adoring Cooper’s second wish.

They tell me I’ve been in a coma. It’s weird because I think of comas as things you don’t come out of. I guess that’s because in the fourth grade I had a friend that fell off a horse and went into one. She never came out of it. I wasn’t in mine that long, though.
Only a week.
Still, it was long enough to scare my mom.
My friends too.

And not just them.

Random people.

It was weird.

See, I’m not that popular at school, at least I
wasn’t
. But you would have never guessed it looking around my hospital room. When I woke, the place was packed with flowers and cards—a lot of them from people I hardly ever talked to. I guess the cool thing around school was to be friends with the girl in the
coma,
at least that’s what my friend Dakota tells me.

Speaking of Dakota, he comes around a lot lately, sticks to me like glue. I’m not complaining. I like Dakota. I always have, always. It’s just weird to suddenly be getting such devoted attention from him. Until I had my car accident and went into that coma he treated me like a bud—like I was worthy of his friendship, since I’m part of his band, but that was about it.

But now, sometimes, I catch him looking at me. I would get psyched about it, only I’m not sure
why
he’s looking at me. Is it love? Or is he just worried about me? Probably it’s just the worried thing.
Most likely.
After all, even
I’m
worried about me, a little bit. Okay, actually a lot. See, since I woke from my coma I’ve been having super spooky dreams, terrifying. But that isn’t even the worse part. Not even close. The worst part is, I’ve been getting text messages.
From a dead guy.

Seriously.

That’s why I came to school today.
Even though Mom told me not to.
She hasn’t let me come for the past two weeks, not since I woke from the coma. It’s because I’ve been really weak and frail and dizzy, all that
sicky
stuff. But see, Mom works and I couldn’t take another day of being home. Alone. It was too creepy.

But now that I’m here at school, I know I’m not up for it. Healthy people are loud. And the sun is really bright. I need to sit down before I collapse.

“Hey,
Lexi
—welcome back!” Lindsey Cole says.

“Thanks,” I murmur, but she’s gone, heading down the hall with a group of her friends.

Lindsey Cole. She never said a word to me before I went into that coma, but just now she acted as though we’re friends. See, it’s weird. But I can’t really get too into the weirdness. My head’s throbbing and I feel dizzy, like I might throw up. Ever since I woke from my coma I’ve felt like this, messed up. But whenever I see my doctor, I smile and tell him I’m fine, everything’s okay. I have to. Otherwise, he’ll make me go back to the hospital and I don’t want to go back there, ever.

Bzzz
.

My
iPhone
. I feel it buzzing in my pocket. Meaning I have another text. That used to be a good thing, but not anymore. Now just thinking about text messages sends a chill through my body, makes me sweaty and shivery and sick.
All of that, all at the same time.
No way do I check it. No way. You wouldn’t either, if you were getting messages from a dead guy. You would probably trash your phone. That’s what I’m tempted to do, chuck it. Only, I don’t because, you know, there’s Dakota. The text might be from him.

You never know.

Still, I don’t check it. I’m too chicken. Maybe I’ll check when Dakota’s nearby. Or when he asks, “Why didn’t you text me back?” Then I’ll know it’s safe. Then I’ll look.
But only then.

So, yeah, I ignore the text, but still, there’s no way I can go to class, listen to teachers … even pretend to listen. Just the thought makes me nauseous. I decide to sneak into the school nurse’s office instead.
 
The nurse is never in there. She hangs out in the front office, filling out paperwork and … well, I don’t know what she else she does but she’s never in the room with the cot.

Standing in the crowded hallway, I’m torn. Go straight to the office, or drop my books off at my locker?
 
Both are in different directions, both too far.

“I’ll take your books.”

Startled by the unexpected voice, I whirl around. Then my heart freaks, starts thumping crazy and painful against my chest. The guy—he’s a stranger … but not.

I gaze into his silver-blue eyes and they stop my heart, cold, dead. Not in a good way, not in an
I-love-you
way. But in a
Yikes
!-
Scary!-I need-to-get-away
way.

Trembling, I stumble back. The guy seems to notice. Notice my panic. He grins.

 
“Hi.” He smiles, acts all friendly, like he’s oblivious that I’m suddenly a shivering wreck. “You
Lexi
Woodland?”

“Yeah, I’m
Lexi
.” I squint up into his disturbingly familiar face. Where do I know
him from?
Someplace spooky, that’s all I know. “Who are you?”

Okay, something about the guy terrifies me. I’m not sure what it is though. He’s good-looking, big with jet-black hair. But something about his eyes, his grin, they make me sense I’ve seen him before. My head is reeling though. I can’t make myself focus on where or when. Still, I’m certain this isn’t our first encounter.

 
“I’m Jeremy Michaels,” he says, and even his name sounds familiar. “I’m your new locker partner.”

“Locker partner?”

I repeat the phrase as though it’s foreign to me, but it’s not. I’d been assigned to share lockers with a girl back in the eighth grade. But I’m a junior now. Juniors don’t have to share lockers. Still, that’s not what has me so on edge. It’s the guy. There’s something about him. Something I should know, but can’t make myself remember.

Jeremy brushes the bangs out of his eyes, watching me, in part like I’m a fascinating science project, like I belong in a test tube. But that’s not the only way. He keeps eyeing me up and down, flicking quick looks to parts of my body, then back up to my eyes, like I’m a piece of candy and he’s really, really hungry. Like it’s taking great effort for him not to pounce.

But he goes on talking as though he’s an ordinary guy and we’re having an ordinary conversation. “Yeah, sorry.” He brushes at his bangs again. “The lady at the office, she said there’s not enough lockers—a shortage or something. She said to share with you.”

“Me? Why me?”

Jeremy shrugs. He’s obviously trying to appear casual, but his eyes are still on me, looking ravenous. He moves in close. “You’re just lucky, I guess.”

My stomach flutters. Flutters!
Um, whoa. What the …?

Hello, I’m confused. Very, very confused. I mean, I’m still terrified, totally, but I’m also kind of (gasp!) attracted to him. A little bit. It’s just, he’s so close, and talking so seductive and intense and looking into my eyes as he’s murmuring in my ear. Plus, for some reason, I’m suddenly totally, totally aware he’s super hot. I mean, I noticed before, kind of, but I was
more keen
to being terrified of him; his hotness didn’t really register.
Until now.
But now, it’s registering, big time.

I gulp, trying to get my hormones in check. I mean,
Wake
up! The guy is scary.
He is. I know he is. Only, why? How?

Where do I know
him from?

Where do I know
him from?

WHERE do I know
him from?

The question keeps rolling around in my head, but it’s no use. I can’t think. My brain is like oatmeal, all mushy and thick and useless.

Shaking, I take a step away from him.

Jeremy simply gazes, drinking in my every move.

Where do I know
him from?
Where? Where? WHERE?

He wets his lips, eyeing the space between us, then flicks his gaze back up to me, staring into my eyes as though he’s trying to tell me something, but whatever it is, I’m not getting it, unless it’s: “I want to freak you out, big time.”

Finally, his gaze relents a little. “The lady at the office, she said you were in a coma. Feeling better?”

Feeling better? I feel chilled. I feel as if a person were to touch me I’d crumble into a thousand pieces. But gazing at him, I get the feeling he already knows. He’s messing with me.

Jeremy wets his lips again. “You
look
better.”

My heart stops. “What?”

His transparent eyes stare into mine. “I like the sun in your hair. It shines.”

He reaches towards my hair, like he’s going to touch it, gentle, like a caress.
Ack
! I jump away from him as though his hands are on fire. “Who
are
you?”

The bell rings and he gives me a sad smile. The way he does it, so full of longing, hurls me into an attack of violent shivers. Suddenly I know where I’ve seen him before.

He’s the guy from my nightmares—the guy that died. Ever since I woke from my coma I dream of him, get texts from him. Jeremy Michaels, the boy whose car crashed into mine.

***

I stand staring at him, unable to believe my eyes, unable to breathe. Jeremy Michaels. He’s been haunting me with his text messages from the grave, haunting my dreams. But I’m not dreaming now. It’s the middle of the day and I’m awake…. Aren’t I awake?

Jeremy’s smile broadens, looks hopeful.

“See
ya
,” he says, and then he’s gone, vanishing into the crowd, and I’m left shivering and sick, watching him go.

For a moment I simply stand where I’m at, frozen, unable to bring myself to move. Was it really
him
? Come from my nightmares? No. It couldn’t have been. It’s not possible. It’s just not. Okay, I’ve been really, really sick, so maybe I have a fever. I’ve heard fevers can do crazy things to people’s minds, fry their brains. Maybe I had a delusional episode.