Death and the Girl Next Door

Her enthusiasm wilted. “Me neither. But we have to do something. I mean, what if this whole stalking gig evolves into kidnapping? Or worse? Do you even watch the news?”

“I know.” I turned back to Cameron, the little stalker that could. “I suppose I’ll just have to talk to him.”

“Well, you can’t do it now. The tardy bell’s gonna ring any second,” she reminded me. “We’d better get to class.”

Class was the furthest thing from my mind. I probably should’ve been grateful that, for the first time in three days, stalker boy was glaring at something other than me, but his glaring had me curious. He looked totally pissed. Okay, he always looked totally pissed, but it was the way he was staring, like a raging fury lay just behind those icy blues. Even at his most intimidating, he’d never stared at me that way, thank the heavens. So what had him so riled?

I craned my neck and peered across the hall. Most of the kids were already in class.

“You go on ahead,” I said. “I’ll be there in a jiff.”

“You’re gonna be late.”

“I’ll be right there,” I promised, looking back at her. But her mouth slid into a doubtful smirk. I raised my hands in surrender. “Two minutes, tops. I swear.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She gave a sassy toss of her hair as she headed to class. “And don’t even think I’m going to cover for you.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I turned back to figure out what Cameron was spending so much energy frowning at.

Then I saw him, a boy, leaning against the wall opposite Cameron. The two were staring each other down, gazes locked like predatory wolves on the verge of battle. The boy was tall—as tall as Cameron—strong and solid and … breathtaking.

Suddenly the boy’s piercing glare darted toward me. I was still hiding behind the lockers, but in that instant before I could duck back, his angry eyes fixed on mine.

I had never seen eyes so dark, nor a face so perfect. As I pressed my back into the red metal lockers, I slammed my lids shut. A mental image of his flawless face materialized in my mind.

Was he angry with me? Had I done something to offend him? Or was he just annoyed with stalker boy? Something we had in common. Of course, I had been staring. Maybe he didn’t like being stared at.

“The bell rang, people.” Principal Davis stepped out of the front office in his usual brown suit and browner tie that matched his brown hair and browner mustache to a tee. He was tall and broad and built more like a professional football player than like a high school principal. But I could see where the bulk would come in handy. Several of our students were built like professional football players as well. I risked another peek as he spurred students to class with a practiced snarl. “Let’s get to class. Move it.”

Then he turned to assess the stare-down taking place in his well-disciplined halls. He studied tall, dark, and beautiful for a moment, then let his gaze slide to Cameron.

“Lusk,” he said with more force, “get to class. Now.”

Cameron hesitated, blinked, then tore his attention away from the boy to acknowledge Mr. Davis. He lowered his blond head, forcing a smile of mock submission before leaving. Cameron was an odd addition to our little community. He was our resident loner by all rights and counts, but he never lacked for female attention. If anything, he got too much, and it seemed to annoy him most of the time. I watched him leave, wondering if he would actually go back to class.

“Where did you get that?”

The boy turned to the principal. “Sir?”

“Your tattoo. Where did you get it?”

“Tattoo? I don’t have one.” He brought his arm around as Mr. Davis stepped closer.

What some kids could do with a white T-shirt and blue jeans bordered on sinful. He’d rolled up the sleeves, just enough to show off the fluid curves of his biceps. They flexed slightly as he held out his arm. The principal’s brows slid together, his expression baffled.

He glanced back up. “I could have sworn—”

“I want one,” the boy said with a shrug, “but my mom says I have to wait.” His voice was deep and smooth. It slid over me like warm water and caused a sharp tug in my belly.

“You’re new,” the principal said after sizing him up for a long moment.

“Yes, sir.”

“And your name is?”

The boy paused, hesitated. His dark gaze slipped back to me. I didn’t jump back this time, because it quickly glided past me to land on something farther away.

“Jared,” he said, returning his attention to the principal.

Jared. I liked it. Though Supernova would’ve been more to the point.

“Jared?” the principal asked, pressing for a last name.

With an almost imperceptible sweep of his lashes, Jared scanned past me again. “Kovach, sir. Jared Kovach.”

The principal wavered. He glanced in my direction but seemed unconcerned with the fact that I still hadn’t gone to class. Odd. Mr. Davis lived for herding stragglers to their respective cells.

“Well, Mr. Kovach, I’m Principal Davis.” He offered his hand. Jared hesitated, then took it in a firm grip. Even though Mr. Davis was tall, Jared seemed to tower over him. The principal had to tilt his head back to look at him. “Have you filled out a registration packet?”

“Yes, sir. Would you like it now?”

“Please.”

A backpack slid off Jared’s right shoulder. I couldn’t remember seeing a backpack before that moment. Apparently I’d been blinded by muscles and exquisitely fitted jeans. After Jared produced the packet, Mr. Davis took out a few pages and thumbed through them.

“My parents couldn’t be here today. I hope that’s okay.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Los Angeles, huh?”

Los Angeles. Cool.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I hope small-town life won’t disappoint you.”

“I like small towns.”

There is a God.

“Good,” the principal said. “Let’s just hope small towns like you.”

Jared wrinkled his forehead, his head tilting slightly. “Let’s hope,” he agreed.

“See that door over there?” Mr. Davis pointed past me to the counselor’s door across the hall.

Jared nodded.

“Why don’t you take these papers to Mrs. Geary. She’ll help you with your class schedule while we get your information entered into the system.”

“Thank you,” Jared said, accepting the packet of papers then slinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

When he started toward Mrs. Geary’s office, I thought my knees would give beneath me. Every move he made was powerful, full of strength and dangerous grace.

Mr. Davis called to him. “You wouldn’t have any relatives around these parts, would you?”

He stopped and turned back. “No, sir.”

With an unconvinced nod, Mr. Davis dismissed him again.

And Jared started toward the counselor’s office again. Toward me again.

In an act of desperation, I jumped back and tried my darnedest to become a corner. But as he walked past, he slowed his stride and sent a whisper of a glance over his shoulder. Then he smiled. The slimmest smile lifted the corners of his full mouth. Did he see me? I was certain the corner thing would work beautifully.

Without hesitation he stepped inside the counselor’s office and I eased out of my disguise. That’s when I noticed the poster beside Mrs. Geary’s door.

A photograph of Jaredan Scott, a Riley High football player, hovered underneath a snarling wolverine. His name stood out in red and black 3-D font as most valuable player. The parts I found most interesting were the