Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(3)

I switched on the electric razor and felt it vibrate in my hand.

When my family moved from Phoenix, I’d done some quick mental math and concluded that life in a small Texas town like Hollow Pines would be a whole lot easier as the girl with abs and miniskirts. But now, I wasn’t so sure. My calculations may have been off.

My heart pounded as I brought the razor closer to my scalp. I could go back to that girl. If that was what I wanted, all it would take was a few swipes of the razor and then Cassidy Hyde, Homecoming queen, would be gone. I licked my lips, my mind buzzing with concentration, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a gleam of silver in the open drawer.

I lowered the razor and took out a pair of scissors. These were better. Baby steps, I told myself. I pulled one of the front pieces of hair out in front of my nose, opened the blades, and held them at eye level.

My hands shook when suddenly the door burst open. Startled, I snapped the handles together and heard the short snip of the blades.

“Someone’s in here,” I yelled. A lock of my hair drifted down like a feather to lay lifeless on the countertop. My throat squeezed tight. I hadn’t meant to speak.

Anger roiled inside me as I whirled to see Liam Buckley pressing his back to the door.

His lips spread into a crooked grin. “Hey, Cass.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said. There was no holding back the words now that Liam and I were sharing a twenty-five square foot space. “You weren’t even next in line.”

He lifted his eyebrows. Liam dwarfed me at well over six feet tall. He had eyes as green as emeralds, tan skin, and brown hair streaked with natural shades of golden blond so beautiful you’d swear he paid for them at the salon. “Sorry, had to piss like a racehorse,” he said, pushing up the cuffs of his sleeves. His rumpled shirt was half untucked, giving him the casually privileged air of a prep school kid. “You mind?”

Before I could answer, he crossed the room, unfastening his belt as he did so.

My mouth fell open and my cheeks went blisteringly hot. Just before I heard the sound of his urine hitting the toilet bowl, I managed to spin back around and aim my eyes anywhere but the mirror.

“What is wrong with you?” I said.

His steady stream didn’t falter. “Bunch of freshmen and sophomores in the line so I jumped it.” Liam was a year older than me, a senior starter on the Hollow Pines basketball team. “Plus I needed someplace private.”

This entire scenario was officially mortifying. The only problem was that the person for whom it should be mortifying was him.

I listened to the zip of his fly and then the toilet flushed. I glanced up into the mirror. At least he’d remembered to put the seat down. Liam was grinning at me as he approached the sink. I instinctively scooted over to make room. Last year I would have died from joy to be stuck in a room with Liam Buckley.

He turned the faucet and stuck his hands underneath the running water. So, not a total barbarian.

“What are you doing in here anyway?” His gaze flitted to the scissors and the lock of hair. “Joining witness protection, Cass?”

I blinked. “What are you doing calling me ‘Cass’? You hardly even know me.” I recognized the voice of the girl with the gaping wound in her chest, the one that didn’t care to be sharing a room with Liam Buckley but instead would prefer to be left alone.

The left corner of his mouth curved up, puckering the skin below his eye to reveal a small scar that had been hidden there. “Easy,” he said, shutting off the faucet and shaking his hands dry. Drops of water speckled the mirror.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

He turned away from the sink and rested the back of his jeans against the countertop. So, what, he was just going to stay now? He shoved a hand into his pocket. I watched him, reluctantly curious, out of the corner of my eye. He fished out a small, ziplock bag with a dozen or so pale yellow pills inside.

“I don’t normally do this,” he said, popping open the top of the bag. “But you look like you could use it.” He turned his chin over his shoulder and nodded at the abandoned scissors and the lock of my hair. “Before you commit a crime against fashion or whatever.”

“I’m not—” I began to protest.

“Seriously.” His green eyes bore into me. “You need to stop. You have really nice hair.”

My mouth snapped shut. Part of me wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this all was.

“Hold out your hand,” he ordered and, for some reason, I obeyed. He placed a single pill in my palm.

“What is it?” I couldn’t even feel the weight of it in my hand.

He selected another one for himself and closed the ziplock bag. “This,” he said, pinching the round pill between thumb and forefinger, “is Sunshine. I don’t tell just everyone I have this stuff, you know.” His smile was easy, his shoulders relaxed, like he’s showing me a rare quarter from his collection.

“What’s it do?” The minuscule button of a pill looked too tiny to do much of anything.

“It makes you feel like … sunshine. Like it’s the middle of the summer and you’re having the best day ever. Like everything is golden.”

I’d been to my share of parties and I was no stranger to alcohol, but I’d never so much as smoked a joint. I turned the pill over and stared at the identical back. I felt drawn in by the cheery yellow color of it. I thought of myself and of the gaping hole in my chest and wondered what I could possibly have to lose.