Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(21)

“Maybe it’d help jog your memory if my clothes were off?” I said this as though it were an invitation, not a jab. As though it weren’t the figurative tip of a blade poised at his jugular.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward. He motioned for his two friends to leave. They pounded fists together like they were the ones in on the joke and I was the one left on the outside.

“Did you say ‘clothes off’?” he asked when they were gone. His eyes were bright and shiny. He was thick around the neck and stocky from there down. He didn’t have the wolflike grin of Circus Master, but that didn’t stop me from hating him.

Watching me and doing nothing. Recording me for entertainment value. Did he really think those were crimes I could allow to go unpunished? Think again, Short One.

“Not here,” I said. I had to brush my lips against his earlobe so that I didn’t have to scream. I imagined that he had a clear view down the front of my shirt. That was okay, I figured, when all he could do was take it to his grave.

“Where?” he asked. He snaked his fingers between mine. They were clammy. Up close, he smelled like a sour mix of cologne and alcohol.

I leaned in close again like I was going to tell him. Instead, I used my tongue to trace his ear and felt him shudder. Without another word, I pulled at his hand, leading him through the crowd. I was so close. When we reached the door, a thrill raced through me.

As we stepped into open air, I felt another rush; it was Christmas morning and any moment now, I was going to get to unwrap my present.

Short One blinked. Compared to the party, the world outside felt muted. He dumped the contents of his cup in a bush and tossed it on the lawn. “Back to your place?” he asked. He was so presumptuous. Good, let him be. I wondered if he’d placed my face yet or whether he was too drunk to decipher where he knew me from. Or even worse, whether I’d been too unmemorable for him to care.

“My car,” I said. “It’s not far.”

He stared up at the dark windows. “We can use one of the frat brother’s rooms, you know. We don’t have to leave.”

I wrinkled my nose and tried to sound nonchalant. Nonchalance was sexy. “This will be better,” I said. “Trust me.” I allowed myself an air of mystery. Trust me. As though I had some grand plan fully designed around his pleasure. He must think that was how the world worked. A whole universe orbiting around him and his friends for the taking. That was okay, though. I’d be a good teacher. I had a lesson planned just for him. I tugged at his belt loop and he didn’t argue any further. He was so simple.

*

“WHAT’S YOUR MAJOR?” he asked.

Trees lined the end of the boulevard, enveloping it in a leafy canopy and blocking out the stars. I leaned into him, wrapped my arm around his waist, and played the part of a girl who wanted nothing more than to take off her clothes for a boy. I relished the feeling of control, the way that I could touch his arm and his skin would erupt in goose pimples or how I could bump into his hip and he’d make a satisfied noise and pull me closer. It was like pulling the strings on a marionette. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot and the closer we marched to his demise.

“Undecided,” I said.

He hummed approvingly. “I don’t know, either. I might blow this whole place entirely. I’m going to be a comedian. Like Conan or Jon Stewart or something. People think I’m freaking hilarious.”

“Is that right?” I turned into an alleyway, pinched between two buildings. I’d read the signs when I found the place. One was a faculty-only library and one was a church fellowship house. Both were empty at this time of night. The walls blocked out the noise from the road.

“Hey, where did you park?” he asked, looking around at his new surroundings. I checked over my shoulder one last time to make sure that no one had followed.

“Just down there.” I pointed. It wasn’t a lie. My car waited at the end of the back street. “This is a shortcut. Why? Are you scared?”

He chuckled. “I think I’ll be all right.” Of course he thought he’d be all right. Guys weren’t taught not to walk alone at night. Guys weren’t taught not to leave their drinks unattended. Guys weren’t taught to carry Mace or whistles or to consider carefully whether or not to fight back. That was his mistake.

He started after me toward my car. Puddles gathered into the alley’s seam. A few stray trash bags lined the way, spilling their guts onto the blacktop.

“You’re kind of freaky, you know that?” Short One said.

I smiled back at him. “You have no idea.”

Noise roared in my ears. My pulse beat wildly. I could feel my heartbeat all the way up in my eye sockets. Chaos ruled every particle in my body. A few feet from my car, I stopped. I turned to stare up at him. “Here,” I said softly.

He moved closer. “Here?” The corners of his eyes crinkled in confusion. In another life maybe he would have grown up to be a comedian. I nodded. I ran my fingertips up the back of his arm. His eyebrows raised. “Oh…” His voice was a rasp. “Here.”

Short One bent down and kissed me. His tongue was rough and his lips were dry. I kissed back, hard, until our teeth knocked. His hands felt for the bottom edge of my shirt. I let his fingers play with the hem. Slowly, I bent my right knee. I let my hand slip into the top of my boot. I pressed the hilt into my palm and slid it across my jeans.