Virals(13)

Shelton smiled. "Come on, girl. Think! A metal rectangle with symbols punched in?" Smug. He knew what it was.

"A strike pad?" I hate guessing. It's so inexact. "Like for a stamp or something? Or a stapler?"

Shelton's grin widened. "Use your brain. Who prints things on small pieces of steel?"

Of course! And the hole. Duh.

I met his eye. My grin mirrored his.

"You got it!" Fist bump. He turned to the others. "Guess what we found, ya'll."

"It's a dog tag," I blurted, stealing his thunder. "A military ID."

Shelton nodded. "No doubt about it."

"What's it doing out here?" Ben asked. "More Civil War stuff?"

"Crazy talk," Shelton scoffed. "Metal dog tags first came out in World War I. Standard issue ones, anyway. It's at least from this century."

I handed Shelton the tag. His show now.

"If we knew what was printed on it, we could date it," he said. "The type of info that was stamped changed over time." Another thought. "The material used to make them changed too."

I frowned. "But Loggerhead was empty for decades before the university bought it. It's been vacant most of this century."

"Sure," Hi said. "Officially. You think people didn't cruise out here looking for some action?"

Good point.

"Waste of time," Ben said. "You'll never be able to read it. The lettering's too far gone." He checked his watch. "We should head out. I found the way back."

"We found it." Shelton shrugged and tossed the tag.

The boys moved off.

I stared at Y-7's prize resting in the leaves.

Why not try to clean it? It's not that different from a seashell.

The tag held someone's name. Not trying to decipher it? Crazy. I scooped it up and hurried after the others.

Man.

If I hadn't done that, everything would have been different. Everything.

That whim changed my life.

Opened the door for what came.

Paved my path to monsterhood.





CHAPTER 9


At home, disaster lurked.

Terror. Horror.





Her.

The conversation was always the same. Bombast. Then reproach. Followed by thoughtlessness. Always draped in tones as syrupy as molasses.

And she was off and running.

"Why, Tory, look at you! You're gettin' to be so lovely! Angel eyes!"

Oh God.

"But, dear thing, why not a sundress? Girl as pretty as you shouldn't slum around in T-shirts and shorts."

Stop.

"I cannot wait to take you for a proper haircut. My girl Da'Nae will know exactly what to do with that tangle."

Kill me. Kill me now.

Dinner plans had taken a dreadful turn. Kit's "lady friend" had been added to the guest list. I was not consulted, perhaps because my feelings on the issue of Whitney are clear.

I stared full bore at Kit. He kept his eyes on his plate.

Thanks for the heads-up, jerk.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Whitney Rose Dubois.

"Have you thought about what I said last time, sugar?" Whitney feigned nonchalance. Failed.

"Yes, Whitney, I did." I tried to be diplomatic. "I don't think it's me."

"Not you?" Mascara-laden lashes fluttered. Bleached hair swished. "Not you!" A manicured hand fluttered to rest on jacked-up boobs. "But of course it's you!" Saucer eyes conveyed total lack of understanding.

Swing and a miss. How to put this delicately?

"The whole idea is ridiculous. Stupid."

There. Oprah would be proud.

"Tory!" Kit said. "That's enough."

I resisted an impulse to sigh theatrically. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm just not into the whole 'deb' thing."

For a month, Whitney had worked to convince me to make my debut as a lady. I had zero interest. White dresses. Satin gloves. Being displayed like cattle. No thanks. I'm just not that into you.

My mind raced to find a new topic. Blanked.

"But sweet pea, you'll soon turn sixteen. You simply must be introduced to society." Whitney trained her baby blues on Kit. This was clearly the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'll meet society later."

"Nonsense! And Tory, darlin', I'm your lucky day!" Looking pleased with herself, Whitney placed her hand on Kit's. Gross. "Now, we only have six months left in this season, but I happen to have considerable influence on the committee. You're a shoo-in to be selected." The woman positively beamed.

"Tory, Whitney's offering you a special opportunity." Kit, trying to smooth the waters. "You could use a little branching out. These are the nicest families in Charleston."

I felt a twinge of sympathy for the old man. This wasn't his idea, and he worried about my level of "girl time."

Nevertheless, I crushed the feeling like a bug. Eating with Whitney only reminded me that Mom was gone forever. She had no right to play at being my mother. Out of bounds.

"I go to school with those girls, Kit. They aren't that nice."

"But I can help with that!" Whitney looked so eager it was painful. "I know all the etiquette. I can teach you the dances. I'll find lovely dresses for you to wear." She leaned close. "I'll coach you the whole way."