Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Maybe you do. Tristan stared through him, icily. You think I’m just playing, having fun, talking about these allergies of mine, blood and a discomfort of sunlight. Working for Death, my cute little metaphor. This isn’t a job I can just quit, do you understand? I am employed for life. And here you are, asking me for this like it’s a club you can hop into, like creative writing or fucking mathletes.
“Why are you getting mad at me?”
You do not want this. And even if you were foolish enough to want it, I wouldn’t let you have it. This is not a gift, it should not be given. Tristan threw his gaze away. Even now, you’re making me doubt myself … that look in your eyes. Can you do me a favor and stop looking at me? Your eyes are too pretty.
“Tristan, they’re going to come after you.”
I can fend for myself. Five football players. Ten of them. Twenty. A hundred. They’re no match for me. But you? His eyes dragged down Kyle’s chest, anguish in them. He shook his head. Just one of you, and I’m questioning every principle I have held so dearly. I’m coming undone, thinking the unthinkable … I wish I never licked you in that graveyard. Tristan closed his eyes. I’m not sure I’ll ever be in a situation to say that particular sentence again. If I didn’t feel so terrible right now, I might have enjoyed saying it more.
“Look, just come to my house after school, alright? Just stay with me. It’s that easy. We can look out for each other.”
No matter what happens, I will protect you, now and always. It is I who protects you, not the other way around. Never forget that.
“Don’t go.”
Tristan left the table without another word. Kyle watched him disappear through the doors of the cafeteria, then gone.
The afternoon was a minefield of tension. No one on the team looked at Kyle. No one talked to him nor threw the ball his way. Even the coach seemed to avoid eye contact.
Every cell in his body told him something was wrong.
“I want to come,” said Kyle to one of his teammates.
The teammate shrugged. “To what?”
“The thing tonight, the plan,” said Kyle. “I want in. I want to help.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
Everyone played dumb. Pretended to know nothing.
That, too, was part of the plan. Kyle couldn’t even pretend to tag along and sabotage their efforts. Brock thought ahead for once. Even their plan had walls built around it and a moat with little monsters swimming around, monsters that knew to keep Kyle well away.
Kyle couldn’t eat a bite of dinner. He couldn’t do anything. He sat in his room and picked at a cuticle until it bled. He went from one side of the house to the other, pacing, driving himself insane. What were they doing to Tristan? What did they plan?
Why did the stakes seem as high as life and death?
There was a knock on Kyle’s door. When he spun around, his mother stood there, an impatient look on her face. “Have you heard from Brock?”
Just a mention of his name turned Kyle’s blood cold.
He stared back at her, numb. “B-Brock?”
“Mrs. Hastings just called the house,” she said, giving the phone a wiggle before pressing it to her chest. “Did you not hear the ringing? Must’ve rang a dozen times.”
Kyle could barely manage a breath. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but Brock isn’t home, was supposed to be home two hours ago for dinner. Do you know where he is? One of those places you guys hang out? Did he say anything to you at school? She’s still on the line, waiting.”
Kyle was at a loss of what to say. A thousand horror stories flooded his brain at once. “I … I-I don’t know.”
His mother sighed impatiently. “Really? Think. Anything.”
“I really don’t know.”
She rolled her eyes and left the room. “I’m sorry, Shelly, I don’t know, my son doesn’t know anything, apparently, he’s no help. Have you tried Ms. Carmichael or Mrs. Martinez? They might know if …”
As his mother’s voice faded down the hall, Kyle turned to the window, alarmed. It could mean anything. A dozen things.
But not one of those things seemed good.
It was a whole hour later when Kyle swiped his letterman jacket off the back of his door and slipped out of the house. On foot, everything was going to take a minimum of a half hour to get to. He was once Brock’s best friend. He decided he would play detective and list at least three or four places Brock could have lured Tristan to conduct his plan. Kyle played a fast game of eeny-meeny-miny-moe and changed course appropriately.
He ended up at the school.
To his dismay, he found the back door to the gymnasium cracked open. There was only one reason for that.