Suddenly the door slams shut, and Chad and Jason and Brian shriek and leap back. One of them trips on something and falls onto his butt, his hands scrabbling in the dirt, and still I’m unable to move. I’m stuck in place as if roots have grown out of my feet and dug into the ground.
“Move, move, move!” Brian shouts as they race toward the stairs.
Their feet pound up the steps, and I’m alone in the dark with this thing.
The breath on my ear is like a kiss: cold lips against my warm skin. I know I should be scared. I should be pissing my pants with terror. But the feeling that sweeps through me isn’t fear; it’s awe. There’s something real down here in the cellar. Something that upends everything I’ve ever believed about life and what comes after.
As if this entity, whatever or whoever it is, can sense my wonder, the fingertips slide over the small of my back in a cool caress. It’s almost inviting. And for some reason I remember that day in the library with McKenzie and our physics homework. It was just the two of us, with nobody there to see the way she looked at me. Her flirty grin, her body angled toward me, leaning into the possibility.
I don’t want to leave.
Something on the other side of the door in the wall thumps, like someone’s knocking. Get. Out.
Cold ripples across my skin as I realize there isn’t only one entity in this cellar. There are two. And one of them does not want me here.
The hand on my back shoves me toward the stairs, unsticking me from the ground.
I run.
Rachel Hawkins
Eyes in the Dark
As soon as I see the truck parked behind the Smart-N-Sav, I know I’m in trouble.
Lindsey knows it, too.
“Nooooo!” she groans as I freeze in the doorway. My heart races and I have enough self-respect to remind myself that it’s kind of pathetic to get all flustered just from seeing some guy’s car.
But he’s parked right under one of the few streetlights that hasn’t blown out, and now I can see him, sitting in the front seat of the truck, his long fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.
And just like that, I go from flustered to straight up twitterpated.
“He’s waiting for me, right?” I ask Linds. “I mean, he knows I work here—why else would he be waiting in the Smart-N-Sav parking lot at night?”
“We are having a sale on sliced ham tomorrow,” Lindsey says, squinting out into the darkness. “Maybe he’s trying to get a jump on that.”
Scowling, I start tugging on the strings of my apron. “Linds, there is a chance Kelley Hamilton has come to get me from work for the express purpose of making out with me. I’m gonna need you to get real serious real fast.”
Linds gives the huffy sigh that always accompanies an eye roll, but I’m still watching Kelley. So far, he hasn’t noticed me and Linds in the doorway, which I am very grateful for. No girl looks her best in a bright red apron with SAV SMART! ASK ME ABOUT OUR FRESH MEAT! scrawled across the front.
“Sam, we have been over this,” Linds says as I stuff the apron in my purse. “That way?” She nods to the truck. “Lies madness. Sexy, sexy madness with really nice hair, but madness nonetheless.”
She is right. There are three major reasons—all with their own subset of accompanying reasons—I should not walk out to that truck. I know this because last week during Government and Economics, I made a list. I used highlighters and different colored pens and everything.
But then Kelley sees us. The corner of his mouth lifts, and even though it’s not a full-blown smile, it does all those clichéd things. It turns my knees to jelly. It gives me a sudden case of stomach butterflies. It makes my blood feel hotter and thicker.
It also blows my organized, reasonable, extremely colorful list to pieces.
“Okay,” I say, turning to Linds. “So I’m supposed to be sleeping over at your place tonight, anyway.”
“And you are.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m serious, Sam—you are not spending the entire night with that guy.”
“Duh,” I tell her, fishing my phone out of my pocket. “I’m not that kind of girl. I promise, I’ll be at your place by”—I check the time—“midnight. Maybe half past. How much trouble can I get into in two hours?”
Linds glances toward Kelley. “With him? Probably too much.”
“Eleven thirty, then,” I tell her, and when she keeps frowning, I tug on her sleeve and widen my eyes. “Pleeeeease?”
Finally, she laughs. “Oh, God, not the anime eyes. Fine. Eleven thirty. But after that, I’m calling a SWAT team. Or worse—your parents.”
There’s someone else she could’ve mentioned calling. That she didn’t is yet another reason Linds is my best friend. “Thank you,” I tell her, giving her a quick hug.
“You’re welcome. And understand that I expect payment in the form of a thoroughly detailed account of what making out with Kelley Hamilton is like.”
“Done.”
I turn and start walking to the truck, wishing I’d thought to put on some lip gloss while I was arguing with Linds.
As I approach, Kelley gets out, coming around to lean against the passenger door. He stands there, legs crossed at the ankle, and grins at me. “Samantha Porter. Fancy meeting you here.”
My brain races for some witty retort, but he’s smiling and leaning and his dark hair is falling in his face, and it’s a wonder I can think to breathe, much less banter. Still, I manage a weak “Are you stalking me?”
His grin deepens. “No, I’m stalking the Smart-N-Sav. Last week, she sold me canned peaches for fifty cents, so I’m pretty sure she likes me.”
“Hate to tell you, but she actually sold everyone her peaches for fifty cents.” By now, I’m standing right in front of him, close enough to breathe in the clean, soapy smell of his skin. I lean closer, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And today? They went down to just a quarter.”
“That skank,” he says, and I laugh.
In a series of easy, graceful moves, Kelley reaches behind him, opens the passenger door, and bows. “Since Lady Smart-N-Sav has broken my heart, may I at least escort her handmaiden home?”
“You may,” I tell him as he helps me up into the truck. Inside, it’s shockingly clean and smells like Kelley. The leather seat is cold through my jeans, and I wonder how long he’s been waiting for me.
Kelley cranks the engine, and stale warm air rushes out of the vents. The radio blares to life, some pounding rock song, and Kelley and I both jump, laughing nervously when he turns the music off.
“I have to say,” I tell him, “you don’t seem like a Truck Dude.”
He shrugs, looking over his shoulder as he backs up. “My dad got it for me. Figured since I was moving back to Alabama, I ought to try and fit in with the locals.”
“Are you glad? To be back in Hellburg?”
Kelley snorts at the nickname. We live in Haleburg, but in a deep Southern accent, it sounds like Hellburg. And, to be honest, that name feels more fitting sometimes.