Drop Dead Gorgeous Read online

  I finished wiping down the grill hood and took a step back to make sure I hadn’t missed a grease spot anywhere. That’s when I heard footsteps. Someone entering the kitchen.

  I jumped, startled, because I thought I was alone. It was nearly five o’clock and I knew the school should be empty by now.

  I turned and saw that girl with the red hair and the pretty face. No, beautiful. She had a beautiful face, partly because of those amazing green eyes.

  I instantly remembered the screaming fight we’d had at the food counter. Her immediate anger as she lashed out at me, screaming so loud all conversation in the huge room stopped, and everyone turned to stare at us.

  Watching her walk past the metal freezers, the refrigerator, the preparation tables, my first thought was that she had come to apologize. I put a smile on my face and turned to greet her. I wished I knew her name. I think she was a new student. I know I’d remember that face of hers.

  “You’re in school very late,” I said.

  She stopped a few feet from me. “Too late for you,” she said.

  I didn’t understand what she said. She had her hands down stiffly at her sides and stood very erect, as if she was tense.

  “Sorry about our disagreement at lunch the other day,” I said. I thought I’d make the first attempt to apologize, perhaps I had gone too far by telling her what she should and shouldn’t eat.

  Her enormous green eyes gazed at me like headlights. I had this strange feeling of being captured in them.

  I waited for her to apologize as I had. But she didn’t say a word, just stood there stiffly, giving me the evil eye.

  “You really shouldn’t be here this late,” I said finally, keeping my voice low and calm. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes. You’ll help me a lot,” she said.

  I didn’t understand that, either. It was like she was talking riddles.

  “I’m very hungry,” she said.

  I blinked. “Well, you’ll have to go to a store or a restaurant or something. There’s nothing here. We don’t prepare food till morning.”

  She took a step toward me. I felt a chill of fear at the back of my neck. Did she come here to fight?

  “You have a lot of food,” she said.

  “Now, wait—” I cried, suddenly angry. “You can’t come in here this late and ask for food. That’s crazy. I’m ready to go home.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You shouldn’t have yelled at me,” she said coldly, no emotion at all. “You shouldn’t have made a fool of me in front of all the others.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said, backing away from her, from those cold, angry eyes. “I’m sorry. I already said I’m sorry. But—”

  “Now I need to feed,” she said.

  She leaped forward. She was on me before I could take another step back.

  “Hey—let go! Get off!” I screamed. My cry rang off the walls of the empty room. I knew no one was around to hear me.

  And then I screamed in pain as I felt a sharp stab at my throat. An animal howl escaped my mouth. I knew at once that she had bitten into my neck.

  I went down on the floor. She pushed me onto my back. And now her teeth were tearing at my throat, slashing my skin. I felt the warm blood flowing down my neck.

  I squirmed and twisted, struggling to get out from under her. But she was so strong . . . so inhumanly strong.

  She made gurgling noises as she hungrily dug her teeth deeper and drank, drank my flowing blood. She pressed me to the floor and slurped and drank until she was choking on blood. And then . . .

  Then . . .

  I don’t know what happened then.

  I saw the bright ceiling lights high above me. Then they seemed to go out. And the blackness covered me. And I was gone.

  39

  Narrated by Liam

  I brought Zane home with me, planning to work on the drone in my garage. I thought maybe if I kept busy, you know, worked with my hands, did something physical, it would help me stop thinking about Winks for a little while.

  But Zane is so hopeless when it comes to building anything mechanical, and the truth was, I really couldn’t work up the energy to do anything on the drone. Ever since Winks was killed, I’ve felt as if I have a heavy weight pushing me down, holding me down, keeping me from moving. From thinking or wanting to do anything at all.

  I know I have to snap out of it and try to get back to normal. Mainly because I have no choice—I have to keep living. There’s nowhere to hide.

  Pretty deep for me, huh?

  Well, I’ve been thinking a lot. Mainly late at night when I can’t get to sleep, and I keep thinking about Winks and how he died, how someone or something punctured his neck and drank his blood.

  Where can you hide when you’re living in a horror movie?

  Anyway, we didn’t work on the drone. Zane and I ended up tossing a Frisbee back and forth in my backyard and tried to talk about everything else, everything but Winks.

  “My dad has a job interview today,” I said. My throw went wide, and Zane had to chase it to the back fence.

  “Where?” he called. He heaved a line drive at my chest, which I caught easily.

  “The travel agency on Lafayette,” I said.

  “But isn’t your dad some kind of engineer? Didn’t he work at the Ford plant?”

  “The Ford plant moved to Mexico, remember? I think my dad just wants a job. You know. Anything that he can do.”

  “I guess you won’t be having any more Ultimate Frisbee games,” Zane said, his voice suddenly so low I could barely hear him.

  “You mean without Winks?”

  No matter what we talked about, it always came back to Winks.

  Zane jumped to catch a throw above his head. “Yeah.”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I was thinking about trying out for the baseball team.”

  Zane squinted at me. “Do we have a baseball team?”

  I laughed. “It’s a well-kept secret. But yes, we have a baseball team. They aren’t any good, but at least no one ever goes to their games. So the embarrassment potential is very low.”

  Zane laughed. The Frisbee toss was loosening us up. He’s not any kind of jock. In fact, he hates playing sports because he sucks at all sports. But he was enjoying the exercise, I think. Working off some tensions.

  Then Delia showed up.

  She wore a white V-neck tee over white tennis shorts. Her face was nearly as pale as her clothes. She walked across my backyard with her shoulders stooped. Her expression was sad, and her cheeks were red, as if she’d been crying.

  Poor Delia. I realized that Winks wasn’t just a crush. She really was in love with him. And now he was gone, and she was walking slowly toward us like an old lady, her ringlets bobbing lifelessly at the sides of her head.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I called.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m bored or going crazy. Or maybe somewhere in between.”

  Zane came running over, the Frisbee in his hand. “We all feel totally weird,” he said.

  “I keep hearing noises,” Delia said. “I turn around thinking it will be Winks.” She sighed. “How crazy is that?”

  “Crazy,” I said. “I guess . . . I guess it will take time for all of us.” I didn’t know what to say.

  Delia took the Frisbee from Zane and turned it in her hand. “Did anyone hear anything from the police? Did you see any news?”

  Zane and I shook our heads. “I haven’t seen anything.” I glanced at my phone. It was nearly five thirty. Mom’s car wasn’t in the drive. She was usually home before me.

  “Delia, maybe you should come to my stand-up comedy thing next Friday,” Zane said.

  Delia blinked in surprise. “You’re going ahead with it?”

  Zane nodded. “Yeah. I changed my mind. I decided I can’t just sit around being depressed.” He lowered his gaze to the lawn. “Winks loved to laugh. I’m going to dedicate my act to him next
Friday night.” He raised his eyes to her. “Want to come?”

  Delia twisted her face up, thinking hard. “Maybe.”

  I knew that meant no. She wasn’t ready to laugh at anything. And Zane’s act is so bad, it makes you want to cry! (Kidding.)

  I glanced at my phone. Nearly a quarter to six. Where was Mom? She always came straight home after the kitchen at school was cleaned up.

  I texted her. Waited for a reply. Nothing.

  “Julie and Amber have been really terrific,” Delia said, spinning the Frisbee slowly in her hand. “So understanding.”

  “That’s great,” I murmured, eyes on my phone.

  “Even Morgan invited me over,” she said. “She said I could call her anytime I wanted to talk.”

  I exchanged a glance with Zane. Why doesn’t Morgan invite ME over?

  My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. Mom? No. A guy who sometimes played on our Ultimate Frisbee team. I didn’t take the call.

  “Listen, guys,” I said, pocketing the phone. “I’m a little worried about my mom. She should be home by now.”

  “Maybe she took your dad to his job interview,” Zane said.

  “No. She wouldn’t do that. Or else, she’d leave me a note or something.” I started to the house to get the car keys. “I’m going to drive over to school and see if she’s still there. You guys want to come?”

  Delia handed me the Frisbee. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to get home. I’m way behind . . . with everything. Catch you later.” She gave us a little wave, turned, and started down the driveway.

  “I’ll go with you, Liam,” Zane said, following me to the house. “I’m not in a big hurry to get home. My mom is serving some kind of fish for dinner, and I hate fish.”

  “Why would anyone eat fish?” I said.

  So we drove to the high school. We have a hip-hop Pandora station in the car, and I cranked it up high, partly so we wouldn’t have to talk about Delia and Winks. And partly because I didn’t want Zane to see how tense I was about Mom not showing up or answering my texts.

  I knew I was being crazy. She had every right to go shopping or visit someone or stay late at the school. I guess I was super tense because of what happened to Winks, and I couldn’t stop thinking that the killer was still out there. Who wouldn’t freak out after such a horrifying thing?

  I parked in the student parking lot. No other cars in sight. Zane and I climbed out, and I jogged to the teachers’ lot on the other side of a tall chain-link fence.

  “Isn’t that your mom’s car?” Zane asked, pointing.

  The dark blue Jetta was parked against the fence. “Yeah. She’s still here,” I said. “Weird.”

  Seeing the car should have calmed me down a bit, but it didn’t.

  Zane and I went in the side door, followed the dimly lit hall, our shoes ringing loudly in the emptiness. Down the stairs to the lunchroom.

  “No one here. Not even the janitors,” Zane murmured.

  We were outside the double doors to the lunchroom. I pushed a door open and shouted. “Hey, Mom! Mom? It’s me!”

  My voice echoed in the huge room. The chairs were all upside down on the tables. The janitors must have washed the floor.

  “Hey, Mom—?”

  Behind the long line of empty food tables, the light was on in the kitchen.

  Zane followed me as I edged behind the food tables and stepped up to the open kitchen doors. “Hey, Mom—are you here?”

  I stepped into the kitchen and nearly tripped over the body on the floor.

  “No. Oh no,” I moaned. “Nooooooooooo.”

  40

  Liam Continues

  I staggered back. I started to choke. Couldn’t breathe.

  Mom was lying on her back, arms at her sides, legs outstretched. Her hair had fallen over her face, covered it like a blanket.

  But all I could stare at was the gaping red hole in her neck. The skin had been torn open. Blue veins hung out from the deep hole in her throat.

  But there was no blood. I saw a tiny brown puddle of dried blood under her head. But her throat . . . her ripped-open throat . . . the gaping pink wound . . . It had no blood.

  I heard a sound behind me. Swung around and saw Zane on his knees, vomiting on the floor. Loud eruptions of his horror, his head bobbing up and down.

  I had an urge to drop beside my mother, to hug her, to hold her. But that vanished quickly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her torn skin, her open throat. It all glowed so brightly under the kitchen lights, as if it wasn’t real.

  “Mom . . .” I struggled to breathe. My chest felt as if a tight net had closed around it. A wave of dizziness made me grab the wall. “Mom . . .”

  And then I glimpsed something move beyond the twin stoves at the far end of the kitchen. A man!

  “Hey—” I choked out. I stumbled around my mom and took a step toward him.

  He was weird-looking. He had spiky white-blond hair. His face had no color at all. He wore a black shirt and black pants, which made him look even paler.

  “Hey—stop!” I uttered.

  He raised a hand, as if to wave me away. He narrowed almost-colorless eyes at me.

  My chest began to heave. I could feel the anger burning through me. I clenched my fists and moved toward him.

  “Stay back, kid.” His voice was deep and raspy. “Stay back. I’m warning you.” He tensed his body, preparing for a fight.

  He killed my mother. Now he’s warning me?

  The rage burst up from deep inside me, a feeling I’d never had before. I opened my mouth in an animal roar.

  I lowered my shoulder like a football running back and charged across the kitchen. A large metal skillet rested on a wooden table. I swiped it up and raised it as I ran.

  The man’s weird gray eyes opened wide in surprise as I dove at him. He was pinned against the wall.

  “Stay back!” This time his scream sounded desperate.

  With another angry animal cry, I raised the skillet high. “You killed my mother!” My voice came out in a shrill screech.

  I swung it at his head. Connected. It made a loud thud as it smashed into his face. The man’s eyes rolled up and he let out a low grunt.

  I swung the skillet again and caught the back of his head as he went down. He crumpled in a heap, legs crossed beneath him, then toppled onto his stomach, arms splayed, eyes shut. He didn’t move.

  My chest felt about to burst. I tried to take a deep breath, but everything felt closed up. I made horrible wheezing sounds, struggling to catch my breath.

  The pan fell from my hand and clattered loudly to the floor. The man didn’t move. I could see him breathing. But he was out cold.

  Was that really me? Did I really do this?

  Crazy thoughts.

  I spun around. Zane was still on his knees, wiping off his face with the front of his T-shirt.

  “I got him!” I cried. “I got the killer.”

  Zane raised his phone. “Already dialed 911,” he said. “They’re sending the cops. They’re on their way.”

  My legs felt weak. I grabbed the wooden tabletop to hold myself up.

  “Why?” I cried to Zane. “Why? Why did he kill my mom?”

  41

  Liam Continues

  Time passed in a haze. Zane and I sat at a table in the lunchroom and watched the cops hurry into the kitchen. Then a bunch of medics arrived in their green lab coats, carrying oxygen equipment, I think.

  Too late for that. Mom doesn’t need oxygen.

  It was all a blur to me. A blur of deep sadness and horror, and I was trapped inside it. I didn’t see when she came in, but I realized Mrs. Hart, Julie’s mom, the principal, had a hand on my shoulder. She was speaking softly, her face close to my ear, so close I could smell her lemony perfume, but I couldn’t make out many of her words.

  “Your dad is on his way,” she said. “Of all things, he had a flat tire.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to say to her. I couldn’t focus my eyes or my b
rain.

  Zane sat across from me, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He was nodding his head to some kind of rhythm in his brain. A blue-uniformed janitor had been summoned to clean up Zane’s vomit on the floor.

  I could hear voices in the kitchen. People all seemed to be talking at once.

  “Maybe you want to go to another room to wait for your dad?” Mrs. Hart said softly.

  I shook my head. “No. This is okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay.

  And when the medics came carrying a large dark gray body bag from the kitchen—my mother—a loud sob burst from my throat and shook my whole body.

  No tears. No tears yet. Just that racking sob, followed by a chill down my back. And I wished my dad would arrive.

  Zane continued bobbing his head and tapping the tabletop, off in his own world. His eyes were shut tight. I don’t know what he was seeing.

  I wanted to tell him he could go home. He didn’t have to wait.

  I didn’t know what there was to wait for.

  And then, some cops appeared from the kitchen with the blond-haired killer between them. He was awake. But not walking well and blinking his eyes as if trying to clear them.

  They lowered him to a chair at the table beside mine. Mrs. Hart still had a hand on my shoulder, and I felt it tighten when the cops sat the killer down.

  The guy shook his head. He was obviously groggy. And in pain. A large purple bump had swelled on his forehead. And the medics had put some kind of pack under his nose to stop it from bleeding.

  I recognized Detective Batiste as he stepped out of the kitchen, shaking his head. He glanced around the room, then stepped up to the killer and peered down at him. “Can you talk?” he asked.

  The killer nodded. “I can talk.” He rubbed the bump on his forehead, groaned, and pulled his hand away.

  “Can you tell us your name?” Batiste demanded, leaning over him. “What were you doing here?”

  “My ID,” the man said in a whisper. “In my back pocket. I’ll show it to you.” He reached a hand back to the pocket and cried out. “The pain. My head. It’s about to explode. Can I have something for the pain?”