[English] Prom Nights From Hell

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



I laughed.

"But you girls go on, knock yourselves out," he said. "I've actually got an errand to run."

"You're leaving?" Yun Sun said.

"What about the pizza?" I said.

He opened his wallet and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the coffee table. "It'll be here in thirty minutes. My treat."

Yun Sun shook her head. "And again I say: You're leaving?. You're not even staying to eat?"

"There's something I need to do," he said.

My heart constricted. I ached to keep him here, even if just for a little longer. I darted back to the kitchen and pulled Madame Z's corsage-no, my corsage-out of my bag.

"At least wait till I've made my wish," I said.

He looked amused. "Fine, wish away."

I hesitated. The den was warm and cozy, pizza was on the way, and I had the two greatest friends in the world. What else did I truly want?

Duh, the grasping part of my brain told me. Prom, of course. I wanted Will to ask me to prom. Maybe it was selfish to have so much and still want more, but I pushed that line of reasoning away.

Because look at him, I thought. Those kind brown eyes, that lopsided smile. Those ridiculously angelic curls. The entire sweetness and goodness that was Will.

He hummed the Jeopardy! theme song. I raised the corsage.

"I wish for the boy I love to ask me to prom," I said.

"And there you have it, folks!" Will cried. He was far too euphoric. "And what boy wouldn't want to take her to prom, our fabulous Frankie? Now we'll just have to wait and see, won't we, whether her wish will come-"

Yun Sun cut him off. "Frankie? Are you okay?"

"It moved," I said, cringing away from the corsage, which I'd flung to the floor. My skin was clammy. "I swear to God, it moved when I made the wish. And that smell! Do you smell it?"

"Noooo," she said. "What smell?"

"You smell it, Will. Don't you?"

He grinned, still on whatever high he'd been on since... well, since Madame Z warned him away from heights. A clap of thunder rumbled, and he shoved my shoulder.

"Next you're going to blame the storm on the evil wish fairies, aren't you?" he said. "Or, no! You're going to go to bed tonight, and tomorrow you'll tell us you found a hunched and skulking creature on your comforter, smiling a twisted smile!"

"Like rotting flowers," I said. "You honestly don't smell it? You're not playing with me?"

Will dug his keys out of his pocket. "See you on the flip side, homies. And, Frankie?"

"What?"

Another boom of thunder shook the house.

"Don't give up hope," he said. "Good things come to those who wait."

I watched through the window as he dashed to his truck. The rain was coming down in sheets. Then I turned to Yun Sun, a balloony feeling pushing everything else away.

"Did you hear what he said?" I grabbed her hands. "Oh my God, do you think it means what I think it means?"

"What else could it mean?" Yun Sun said. "He's going to ask you to prom! He's just... I don't know. Trying to make a big production out of it!"

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"No idea. Hire a skywriter? Send a singing telegram?"

I squealed. She squealed. We jumped about in a frenzy.

"Got to hand it to you, the wish thing was brilliant," she said. She flicked her finger to indicate giving Will the push he needed. "And the rotting flowers? Verrrry dramatic."

"I honestly did smell it, though," I said.

"Ha-ha."

"I did."

She looked at me and shook her head, amused. Then she looked at me again.

"Well, it must have been your imagination," she said.

"I guess," I said.

I picked the corsage up off the floor, holding it gingerly between my thumb and forefinger. I took it to the bookshelf and dropped it behind a row of books, glad to have it out of sight.

The next morning I trotted downstairs, hoping foolishly to find... I don't know. Hundreds of MMs spelling out my name? Pink hearts sketched in silly string on the windows?

Instead, I found a dead bird. Its tiny body lay on the welcome mat, as if it had flown into the door during the storm and bashed its brains in.

I scooped it up with a paper towel and tried not to feel its soft weight as I delivered it to the outside trash bin.

"I'm sorry, little bird, so pretty and sweet," I said. "Fly to heaven." I dropped in the corpse, and the lid slammed shut with a bang.

I returned inside to the sound of the ringing phone. Probably Yun Sun, wanting an update. She'd left with Jeremy at eleven last night, after making me swear to tell her the minute Will made his bold move.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, after glancing at the caller ID and seeing that, yep, I was right. "No news yet-sorry."

"Frankie..." Yun Sun said.

"I've been thinking about Madame Z, though. Her whole don't-mess-with-fate mumbo jumbo."

"Frankie-"

"Because how could Will asking me to prom lead to anything bad?" I walked to the freezer and grabbed a box of frozen waffles. "Spit's going to fly from his mouth and land on me? He'll bring me flowers, and a bee'll zip out and sting me?"

"Frankie, stop. Didn't you watch the morning news?"

"On a Saturday? I don't think so."

Yun Sun made a gulping sound.

"Yun Sun, are you crying?"

"Last night... Will climbed the watertower," she said.

"What?!" The watertower was easily three hundred feet tall, with a sign at the bottom prohibiting anyone from ascending. Will always talked about climbing to the top, but he was such a rule-follower that he never had.

"And the railing must have been wet... or maybe it was lightning, they don't yet know..."

"Yun Sun. What happened?"

"He was spray painting something on the tower, the stupid idiot, and-"

"Spray painting? Will?"

"Frankie, will you shut up? He fell! He fell off the watertower!"

I gripped the phone. "Jesus. Is he okay?"

Yun Sun was unable to talk for sobbing. Which I understood, sure. Will was her friend, too. But I needed her to pull it together.

"Is he in the hospital? Can I go visit him? Yun Sun!"

There was wailing, and then a shuffling sound. Mrs. Yomiko took over.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Five



"Will died, Frankie," she said. "The fall, the way he landed... he didn't make it."

"I'm sorry... what?"

"Chen is on his way to get you. You'll stay with us, yes? As long as you want."

"No," I said. "I mean... I don't..." The box of waffles fell from my hand. "Will didn't die. Will couldn't have died?"

"Frankie," she said, her voice infinitely sad.

"Please don't say that," I said. "Please don't sound so..." I didn't understand how to make my mind work.

"I know you loved him. We all did."

"Just wait" I said. "Spray painting? Will doesn't spray paint. That's something a pothead would do, not Will."

"Let's get you to the house. We'll talk about it then."

"But what was he spray painting? I don't understand!"

Mrs. Yomiko didn't answer.

"Let me speak to Yun Sun," I pleaded. "Please! Put on Yun Sun!"

There was a muffled exchange. Yun Sun came back on.

"I'll tell you," she said. "But you don't want to know."

A cold feeling spread over me, and suddenly, I didn't want to know.

"He was spray painting a message. That's what he was up there doing." She hesitated. "It said, 'Frankie, will you go to prom with me? "

I sank to the floor, next to a box of waffles. Why was there a box of waffles on the kitchen floor? "Frankie?" Yun Sun said. Tinny, faraway sound. "Frankie, are you there?"

I didn't like that tinny sound. I pressed the Off button to make it go away.

Will was buried in the Chapel Hill Cemetery. I sat, numb, through the funeral, which was closed-coffin because Will's body was too mangled to be viewed. I wanted to say good-bye, but how did you say good-bye to a box? At the grave site, I watched as Will's mother threw a handful of dirt into the hole where Will lay. It was horrible, but the horror felt distant and unreal. Yun Sun squeezed my hand. I didn't squeeze back.

It rained that evening, a gentle spring shower. I imagined the ground, damp and cool around Will's coffin. I thought of Fernando, whose skull Madame Zanzibar had liberated after his coffin shifted in the wet earth. I reminded myself that the east side of the cemetery, where Will was buried, was newer, with tidy landscaping. And of course there were modern ways of digging graves now, more efficient than men with shovels.

Will's coffin wouldn't come undug. It was impossible.

I stayed with Yun Sun for nearly two weeks. My parents were called, and they offered to return from Botswana. I told them no. What good would it do? Their presence wouldn't bring Will back.

At school, for the first few days, kids talked in hushed tones and stared at me as I passed. Some thought it was romantic, what Will did. Others thought it was stupid. "A tragedy" was the phrase most often used, spoken in mournful tones.

As for me, I haunted the halls like the living dead. I would have ***ched, but then I'd have been corralled by the counselor and forced to talk about my feelings. Which wasn't going to happen. My grief was my own, a skeleton that would rattle forever within me.

One week after Will's death, and exactly one week before prom, kids started talking less about Will and more about dresses and dinner reservations and limos. A sallow girl from Will's chemistry class got upset and said prom should be canceled, but others argued no, prom must go on. It's what Will would have wanted.

Yun Sun and I were consulted, since we were his best friends. (And since I, though they didn't say it, was the girl he died for.) Yun Sun's eyes welled with tears, but after a shaky moment, she said it would be wrong to ruin everyone's plans, that sitting home and mourning wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Life goes on," she said. Her boyfriend, Jeremy, nodded. He put his arm around her and drew her close.

Lucy, president of the prom committee, placed her hand over her heart.

"So true," she said. She turned to me with an overly solicitous expression. "What about you, Frankie? Do you think you could get behind it?"

I shrugged. "Whatever."

She embraced me, and I staggered.

"Okay, guys, we're on!" she called, bounding across the commons. "Trixie, back to work on the cherry blossoms. Jocelyn, tell the Paper Affair lady we need a hundred blue streamers and don't take no for an answer!"

On the afternoon of the dance, two hours before Jeremy was due to pick up Yun Sun, I crammed my stuff in my duffel bag and told her I was going home.

"What?" she said. "No!" She put down a hot roller. Her makeup lay in front of her on her vanity, her Babycakes body glitter and Dewberry lip gloss, and her dress hung over the hook of her open bathroom door. It was lilac, with a sweetheart neckline. It was gorgeous.

"It's time," I said. "Thank you for letting me stay so long... but it's time."

Her mouth turned down. She wanted to argue, but she knew it was true. I wasn't happy here. That in itself wasn't the issue-I wasn't going to be happy anywhere-but moping around the Komikos' house was making me feel trapped and making Yun Sun feel helpless and guilty.

"But it's prom," Yun Sun said. "Won't that be weird, being alone in your house on the night of prom?" She came over to me. "Stay till tomorrow. I'll be quiet when I come in, I swear. And I promise not to go on and on about... you know. The after-parties and who hooked up and who passed out in the girls' bathroom."

"You should get to go on about that stuff, though," I said. "You should stay out as late as you want and come in as loudly as you want and be giddy and spazzy and all that." Unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. "You should, Yun Sun."

She touched my arm. I pulled away, but in what I hoped was an unobvious manner.

"So should you, Frankie," she said.

"Yeah... well." I heaved my bag over my shoulder.

"Call me any time," she said. "I'll keep my cell on, even at the dance."

"Okay."

"And if you change your mind, if you decide you want to stay-"

"Thanks."

"Or even if you decide to come to prom! We all want you there-you know that, right? It doesn't matter that you don't have a date."

I winced. She didn't mean it the way it sounded, but it most certainly did matter that I didn't have a date, because that date would have been Will. And I didn't have him not because he liked another girl or was suffering from a terrible case of the flu, but because he was dead. Because of me.

"Oh God," Yun Sun said. "Frankie..."

I waved her off. I didn't want any more touching. "It's all right."

We stood in a bubble of awkwardness.

"I miss him, too, you know," she said. I nodded. Then I left.

I returned to my empty house to find that the electricity was out. Perfect. This happened more often than it should have: Afternoon thunderstorms threw tree branches into the transformers, and entire neighborhoods lost power for several hours. Or the power would go out for no reason. Maybe too many people had their air con***ioners on and the circuits overloaded, that was my theory. Will's theory was ghosts, ha ha ha. "They've come to spoil your milk," he'd say in a spooky voice.

Will.

My throat tightened.

I tried not to think about him, but it was impossible, so I let him exist there with me in my mind. I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich, which I didn't eat. I went upstairs and lay on my bed without turning down the covers. Shadows deepened. An owl hooted. I stared at my ceiling until I could no longer make out the spider-web cracks.

In the dark, my thoughts went places they shouldn't. Fernando. Madame Zanzibar. You're just like all the rest, aren't you? Desperate for a heart-stopping romance?

It was that very desperation that gave birth to my stupid Madame Zanzibar plan and even stupider wish. That's what prodded Will into action. If only I'd never taken the damn corsage!

I bolted upright. Oh my God-the damn corsage!

I grabbed my cell and held down the "three," Yun Sun's speed dial. ?One? was for Mom and Dad; ?two? was for Will. I still hadn't deleted his name, and now I wouldn't have to.

"Yun Sun!" I cried when she answered.

"Frankie?" she said. "S.O.S." by Rihanna blared in the background. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Better than fine! I mean, the power's out, it's pitch-black, and I'm all alone, but whatever. I won't be for long." I giggled and fumbled my way into the hall.

"Huh?" Yun Sun said. More noise. People laughing. "Frankie, I can hardly hear you."

"The corsage. I've got two wishes left!" I jogged downstairs, zinging with glee.

"Frankie, what are you-"

"I can bring him back, don't you get it? Everything will be good again. We can even go to prom!"

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



Madison Avery and the Dim Reaper

Kim Harrison

Chapter One

If British general, a damsel in a dress, and a pirate walk into a gym, I thought as I gazed over the bodies moving in a mind-numbing chaos of pent-up, inexperienced, teenage lust. Leave it to Covington High to turn prom into a joke. Not to mention my seventeenth birthday. What was I doing here?

Prom was supposed to be real dresses with a live band, not rented costumes with canned music and streamers. And my birthday was supposed to be... anything but this.

"You sure you don't want to dance?" Josh yelled in my ear, sending his sugary breath over me. I tried not to grimace, keeping my gaze fixed on the clock beside the gym's Scoreboard and wondering if an hour was long enough to stay and not get the third degree from my dad. The music was dull-the same rhythmic thump over, and over, and over. Nothing new in the last forty minutes. And the bass was way too loud.

"Yep," I said, edging away in time with the music when his hand tried to creep to my waist. "Still don't want to dance."

"Something to drink?" he tried again, and I ****ed my hip, crossing my arms to hide my cleavage. I was still waiting for the boob fairy to show up, but the dress's corset shoved everything up and together to make it look like I had more than I did, making me self-conscious.

"No, thanks," I said with a sigh. He probably didn't hear me, but he got the gist, seeing as he looked away, watching everyone move. Long ballroom gowns and skimpy barmaid costumes mixed with swashbuckling pirates and sailors. That was the theme of the prom. Pirates. God! I had worked for two months on the prom committee at my old school. It was going to have been freaking fantastic, with a moonlit barge and a real band, but no-o-o-o. Mom had said Dad needed to spend time with me. That he was going through a midlife crisis and had to reconnect with something from his past that didn't involve arguing. I think she just got scared when she caught me sneaking out for a late cappuccino and shipped me back to Dad and Dullsville USA knowing I listened to him more than her. Okay, so it had been after midnight. And I might have been after more than caffeine. And yeah, I'd already been grounded from staying out too late the previous weekend, but that's why I had to sneak out.

Running the stiff lace of my colonial dress between my fingers, I wondered if any of these people had a clue what a real party looked like. Maybe they didn't care.

Josh was standing a little in front of me, bobbing his head in time with the music and clearly wanting to dance. Nearby at the food table was the guy who had skulked in after us. He was looking my way, and I gave him a stare, wondering if he was after me or Josh. Seeing my attention on him, the guy turned away.

My gaze fell back on Josh, who had begun to almost dance halfway between me and the moving people. Actually, I mused as he shifted and bobbed his head to the music, his costume made his thin, awkward height work for him-a tra***ional British general's red and white, complete with fake sword and epaulets. His father's idea, probably, since he was the VIP of VIPs at the research facility that had kept everyone employed when the military base moved to Arizona, but it did go with the overdone lace-and-corset thing I had on.

"Come on. Everyone else is dancing," he coaxed when he saw me look at him, and I shook my head, almost feeling sorry for him. He reminded me of the guys in the photography club pretending the darkroom door had locked to try to get a little action. It just wasn't fair. I had spent three years learning how to fit in with the cool chicks, and now I was right back with the nice but unpopular guys, mowing down cupcakes in the gym. And on my birthday, too.

"No," I said flatly. Translation: Sorry, I'm not interested. You may as well give up.

Even thick-headed, awkward, broken-glasses Josh got that one, and he stopped his almost-dancing to fix his blue eyes on me. "Jesus, you're a bitch, you know that? I only asked you out because my dad made me. If you want to dance, I'll be over there."

My breath caught, and I gaped at him as if he had punched me in the gut. He ****ily raised his eyebrows and walked away with his hands in his pockets and his chin raised. Two girls parted so he could walk between them, and they hunched into each other in his wake, gossiping as they glanced at me.

Oh my God. I'm a pity date. Blinking fast, I held my breath as I fought to keep the room from going blurry. Crap, not only was I the new girl, but I was a freaking pity date! My dad had made nice to his boss, and he made his son ask me out.

"Son of a dead puppy," I whispered, wondering if everyone was looking at me or if it was just my imagination. I tucked my short blond hair behind my ear and backed to the wall. Leaning against it with my arms crossed, I tried to pretend Josh had gone to get some pop. Inside, I was dying. I had been dumped. No, I had been dumped by a geek.

"Way to go, Madison," I said sourly, just imagining the gossip on Monday. I spotted Josh at the food table, pretending to ignore me without being obvious about it. The guy in the sailor outfit who had followed us in was talking to him. I still didn't think he was one of Josh's friends, even though he was jostling his elbow and pointing at the girls dancing in dresses cut too low for the gyrating they were doing. That I didn't recognize him wasn't surprising since I'd been avoiding everyone for the simple reason I wasn't happy being here and I didn't mind anyone knowing it.

I wasn't a jock or a nerd-though I had belonged to the photography club back home. Despite my efforts, I apparently didn't fit with the Barbie dolls. And I wasn't a goth, brain, druggie, or one of the kids who wanted to play scientist like their mommies or daddies at the research facility. I didn't fit anywhere.

Correction, I thought as Josh and the sailor laughed. I fit with the bitches.

The guy followed Josh's attention to another group of girls, who were now giggling at something Josh had said. His brown hair was frizzed out under his sailor's cap, and his crisp white outfit made him look like all the other guys who'd chosen sailor over pirate. He was tall, and there was a smooth grace to his movements that said he'd quit growing. He looked older than me, but he couldn't be too much older. It was the prom.

And I don't have to be here, I thought suddenly, shoving myself away from the wall with my elbows. Josh was my ride home, but my dad would pick me up if I called.

My motion to weave through the crowd to the double doors slowed in worry. He'd ask why Josh wasn't bringing me home. It would all come out. The lecture to be nice and fit in I could deal with, but the embarrassment...

Josh was watching me when I glanced up. The guy with him was trying to get his attention, but Josh's eyes were on mine. Mocking me.

That did it. No way was I going to call my dad. And I wasn't getting into a car with Josh, either. I'd walk it. All five miles. In heels. And a long cotton dress. On a damp April night. With my boobs scrunched together. What was the worst that could happen? A runaway cow incident? Crap, I really missed my car.

"Way to go, girl," I muttered, gathering my resolution along with my dress, head down as my shoulders bumped into dancers on my way to the door. I was so out of here. People were talking, but I didn't care. I didn't need friends. Friends were overrated.

The music melted into something fast, and I brought my attention up when the crowd seemed to shift, awkwardly changing rhythm. I jerked to a stop when I realized I was a step away from running into someone. "Sorry!" I shouted over the music, then froze, staring. Holy crap, Mr. ***y Pirate Captain. Where had he been the last three weeks, and were there more where he came from?

I'd never seen him before. Not in the entire time I'd been stuck in this town. I would have remembered. Maybe exerted myself a little more. Flushing, I dropped my skirt to move my hand to cover my cleavage. God, I felt like a British tart with everything shoved up like that. The guy was dressed in a clingy black pirate costume, a pendant of gray stone lying on his chest. I could see it where the collar parted. A Zorro-style mask hid his upper face. The wide silk tails of it trailed down his back to mix with his luscious wavy black hair. He stood taller than me by about five inches, and as I ran my gaze over his tight figure, I wondered where he'd been keeping himself.

Certainly not the band room or Mrs. Fairel's U.S. Government class, I thought as the spinning lights played over him.

"My apologies," he said, taking my hand, and my breath caught, not because he was touching me, but because his accent wasn't Midwestern. Sort of a slow, soft exhalation laced with a crisp preciseness that told of taste and sophistication. I could almost hear the clink of crystal and soft laughter in it, the comforting sounds that more often than not had lulled me to sleep as the waves pushed on the beach.

"You aren't from around here," I blurted as I leaned to hear him better.

A smile grew, his dusky skin and dark hair almost a balm, so familiar amid the pale faces and light hair of the Midwestern prison I was in. "I'm here temporarily," he said. "An exchange student, in a manner of speaking. Same as you." He glanced disdainfully at the people moving around us with little...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



The mist of nothing slipped slowly from me in a painful series of prickles and the sound of two people arguing. I felt sick, not from my entire back tingling so painfully I could hardly stand to breathe, but from the feeling of helpless fear that the hushed, back-and-forth voices pulled from my past. I could almost smell the moldy fluff of my stuffed rabbit as I had curled into a ball and listened to the two people who were my entire world frighten me beyond belief. That they had both told me it hadn't been my fault hadn't lessened my grief at all. Grief I had to hold inside until it became a part of me. Pain that adhered to my bones. To cry in my mother's arms would say I loved her more. To cry into my dad's shoulder would say I loved him best. It was a crappy way to grow up.

But this... this wasn't my parents arguing. It sounded like two kids.

I took a breath to find it came easier. The last of the haze started to fade with the tingles, and my lungs moved, aching as if someone were sitting on them. Realizing my eyes were shut, I opened them to find a blurry black just before my nose. There was a heavy, plasticky smell.

"She was sixteen when she got in that car. It's your fault," a young but masculine voice said hotly, oddly muffled. I was getting the distinct impression that the argument had been going on for some time, but I only remembered snatches of it amid uneasy thoughts of nothing.

"You are not going to put this on me," a girl said, her voice just as hushed and determined. "She was seventeen when he flipped her coin. This is your screwup, not mine. God save you, she was right in front of you! How could you miss it?"

"I missed it because she wasn't seventeen!" he shot back. "She was sixteen when he picked her up. How was I supposed to know he was after her? How come you weren't there? You slipped up big time."

The girl gasped in affront. I was cold. Taking a deeper breath, I felt a surge of strength. Fewer tingles, more aches. It was stuffy, my breath coming back warm to me. It wasn't dark; I was in something.

"You little piss-ant!" the girl snapped. "Don't tell me I slipped up. She died at seventeen. That's why I wasn't there. I was never notified."

"But I don't do sixteen," he said, his voice going nasty. "I thought he was flipping the boy."

I suddenly realized the black blur throwing back my breath was a sheet of plastic. My hands came up, and my nails pushed through it in a stab of fear. Almost panicking, I sat up.

I'm on a table? It sure felt hard enough for one. I shoved the plastic off me. Two kids were standing by a set of dirty white swinging doors, and they spun in surprise. The girl's pale face went red, and the guy backed up as if embarrassed to have been caught arguing with her.

"Oh!" the girl said, tossing her long dark braid behind her. "You're up. Uh, hi. I'm Lucy, and this is Barnabas."

The guy dropped his eyes and waved sheepishly. "Hey," he said. "How you doing?"

"You were with Josh," I said, my finger shaking as I pointed, and he nodded, still not looking at me. His costume looked odd next to her shorts and tank top. Both of them wore a black stone pendant around their necks. They were dull and insignificant, but my eye went to them because they were the only thing the two shared. Other than their anger at each other and their surprise at me.

"Where am I?" I said, and Barnabas winced, a tall form scuffing his feet against the tile. "Where's Josh?" I hesitated, realizing I was in a hospital, but... Wait a minute. I was in a freaking body bag? "I'm in the morgue?" I blurted. "What am I doing in the morgue?"

Moving wildly, I got my legs out of the plastic bag and slid to the floor, heels clicking in some weird counterpoint as I caught my balance. There was a tag on a rubber band around my wrist, and I yanked it off, taking some hair along with it. I had a long rip in my skirt, and heavy grease marked it. Dirt and grass were plastered to me, and I stank of field and antiseptic. So much for getting my deposit back.

"Someone made a mistake," I said as I shoved the tag in a pocket, and Lucy snorted.

"Barnabas," she said, and he stiffened.

"This is not my fault!" he exclaimed, rounding on her. "She was sixteen when she got in that car. I don't do sixteen! How was I supposed to know it was her birthday?"

"Yeah? Well, she was seventeen when she died, so it is your problem!"

Dead? Were they blind? "You know what?" I said, feeling more steady the longer I stood here. "You two can argue till the sun goes nova, but I have to find someone and tell them I'm okay." Heels clicking, I headed for the dirty white twin doors.

"Madison, wait," the guy said. "You can't."

"Watch me," I said. "My dad is going to be so-o-o-o ticked."

I strode past them, getting twenty feet before a feeling of disconnection hit me. Dizzy, I put a hand to an empty table as the odd sensation roared from nowhere. My hand cramped where it rested, and I pulled it away as if burned when it seemed the coldness of metal had touched my bone. I felt... spongy. Thin. The soft hum of the ventilation grew muffled. Even the pounding of my heart became distant. I turned, hand to my chest to try and make it feel normal again. "What..."

From across the room, Barnabas shrugged his thin shoulders. "You're dead, Madison. Sorry. You get too far from our amulets, and you start to lose substance."

He gestured to the gurney, and I looked.

My breath slammed out of me. Knees buckling, I half fell against the empty table. I was still there. I mean, I was still on the gurney. I was lying on the cart in a torn body bag, looking far too small and pale, my elaborate dress bunched up around me in an elegant display of forgotten grace out of time.

I was dead? But I could feel my heart beat.

Limbs going weak, I started to crumple.

"Swell. She's a fainter," the girl said dryly.

Barnabas lurched forward to catch me. His arms slid around me and my head lolled. At his touch, everything rushed back: sounds, smells, and even my pulse. My lids fluttered. Inches from me, Barnabas's lips pressed tight. He was so close, and I thought I could smell sunflowers.

"Why don't you shut up?" he said to Lucy as he eased me to the floor. "Show a little compassion? That's your job, you know."

The cold from the tile soaked into me, seeming to clear the gray about my sight. How could I be dead? Did the dead pass out? "I'm not dead," I said unsteadily, and Barnabas helped me sit up and put my back to a table leg.

"Yes, you are." He crouched beside me, his brown eyes wide and concerned. Sincere. "I'm really sorry. I thought he was going to flip Josh. They usually don't leave evidence like a car behind like that. You must really be a broken feather in their wing."

My thoughts flashed to the crash, and I put a hand to my stomach. Josh had been there. I remember that. "He thinks I'm dead. Josh, I mean."

From across the room came Lucy's caustic "You are dead."

I sent my gaze to the gurney, and Barnabas shifted to block my view. "Who are you?" I asked as the dizziness slipped away.

Barnabas stood. "We, ah, are Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions Personnel. Evaluation and Recovery."

I thought about that. Reconnaissance Error Acquisitions... R.E.A.P.E.R.?

Holy crap! A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled up, eyes fixed on me on the gurney. I was here. I was alive! That might be me, but I was standing here, too. "You're grim reapers!" I exclaimed, feeling my way around the table and putting it between us. My toes started to go numb, and I stopped, my gaze darting to the amulet around Barnabas's neck. "Oh my God, I'm dead," I whispered. "I can't be dead. I'm not ready to be dead. I'm not done yet! I'm only seventeen!"

"We're not grim reapers." Lucy had her arms crossed defensively as if it were a sore spot. "We're white reapers. Black reapers kill people before their coin should be flipped, white reapers try to save them, and grim reapers are treacherous betrayers who brag too much and won't survive to see the sun turn back to dust."

Barnabas looked embarrassed as he shuffled his feet. "Grim reapers are white reapers who were tricked into working for... the other side. They don't do much culling since black reapers don't let them, but if there is a sudden, massive death toll, you know they'll show to pull a few souls early, in as dramatic a way as possible. They're hacks. No class at all."

This last was said with a bitter voice, and I wondered at the rivalry, backing up until I started going spongy again. Eyeing their amulets, I edged forward until the feeling went away. "You kill people. That's what Seth said. He said something about culling my soul! You do kill people!"

Barnabas ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Ah, we don't. Most of the time." He glanced at Lucy. "Seth is a black reaper, a dark reaper. We only show up when they target someone out of time, or there's been a mistake."

"Mistake?" My head swung up in hope. Did that mean they could put me back?

Lucy...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



"Dad!" I stood in the open front door, heart pounding as I listened to the silence seep up from the tidy, well-ordered state my dad kept the house in. Behind me, a lawn mower droned in the early sun. The gold haze spilled in to glint on the hardwood floors and the banister leading upstairs. I had run the entire way in my heels and that obnoxious dress. People had stared, and that I wasn't a bit tired kind of freaked me out. My pulse was fast from fear, not exertion.

"Dad?"

I stepped in, my eyes pricking with emotion when from upstairs came my dad's incredulous, shaky voice calling, "Madison?"

I took the stairs two at a time, tripping on my skirt and clawing my way up the last step. Throat tight, I rustled to a stop in the doorway to my room. My dad was sitting on the floor amid my boxes, opened but never unpacked. He looked old, his thin face gaunt with heartache, and I couldn't move. I didn't know what to do.

Eyes wide, he stared as if I weren't there. "You never unpacked," he whispered.

A hot tear ran down to my chin, coming from nowhere. Seeing him like this, I realized he did need me to remind him of the good stuff. No one had ever needed me before. "I... I'm sorry, Dad..." I managed as I stood there, helpless.

He took a breath and snapped out of it. Emotion lit his face. In a surge of motion, he stood. "You're alive?" he breathed, and I gasped when he took the three steps between us and brought me to him in a crushing hold. "They said you were dead. You're alive?"

"I'm okay," I sobbed into his chest, the release washing through me so hard it was painful. He smelled like the lab he worked in, of oil and ink, and nothing ever smelled so good. I couldn't stop my tears. I was dead-I think. I had an amulet, but I didn't know if I was going to be able to stay, and the fear of that fed my helplessness. "I'm okay," I said around a hiccupping sob. "But there was a mistake."

Half laughing, he pushed me back enough to see my face. Tears brightened his eyes, and he smiled as if he'd never stop. "I was at the hospital," he said. "I saw you."

The memory of that pain crossed behind his eyes, and he touched my hair with a shaking hand as if to reassure himself I was real. "But you're okay. I tried to call your mother. She's going to think I'm crazy. More crazy than usual. I couldn't leave a message telling her you were in an accident. So I hung up. But you're really okay?"

My throat was tight, and I sniffed loudly. I was not going to give up my amulet. Never. "I'm sorry, Dad," I said, still crying. "I shouldn't have gone with that guy. I never should have. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"Shhhh." He pulled me back into a hug, rocking me, but I only cried harder. "It's okay. You're all right," he soothed, his hand brushing my hair. But he didn't know I really was dead.

His breath catching, my dad halted in a sudden thought. He put me at arm's length, and the cold that spilled into me when he looked me over ended my tears in a soft sniffle. "You're really fine," he said in wonder. "Not a scratch on you."

I smiled nervously, and one of his arms slipped from me. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you. I-"

There was a soft scuff at the door. My dad's eyes shot over my shoulder, and I turned to find Barnabas standing awkwardly next to a short man in a loose, martial arts kind of an outfit. It was billowy. Not functional at all. He was upright and thin, with sharp features and very dark skin. His eyes were a deep brown, heavily lined at the corners. His hair, too, said he was old, the tight curls graying at the temples.

"I'm sorry," my dad said, pulling me to stand beside him. "Did you bring my daughter home? Thank you."

I didn't like Barnabas's grimace, and I had to work to not hide behind my dad. His arm was still around me, and I didn't want to move. Crap. I think Barnabas had brought his boss. I wanted to stay. Damn it, I don't want to be dead. This isn't fair!

The dark man made a rueful face. "No," he said, the word having a pleasant crispness. "She managed that all by herself. God knows how."

I wiped my eyes, frightened. "They didn't bring me home," I said, shifting nervously. "I don't know them. I've seen the guy," I added, "but not the old man."

Still, my dad smiled neutrally, trying to piece it together. "Are you from the hospital?" he asked, and then his face hardened. "Who's responsible for telling me my daughter was dead? Someone's head is going to roll over this."

Barnabas cringed, and his boss sniffed his agreement. "Truer words have not been said, sir." His eyes traveled over my room, taking in the pink walls, white furniture, and opened boxes never fully unpacked. They landed on me last, and I wondered what conclusions he'd made. With my life ending so abruptly, I was sort of like my room-everything was here, but nothing out of the boxes. And now everything would get taped back shut and shoved into a closet, all the good stuff never seen or realized. I'm not done yet.

I stiffened when the man took a step into my room, a thin hand raised placatingly. "We need to talk, child," he said, striking me cold.

Oh God. He wanted me to go with him.

I clutched the amulet to me, and my dad's grip on me tightened. He saw my frightened eyes and finally understood something was wrong. Shifting, he put himself between me and the two people in the doorway. "Madison, call the police," he said, and I reached for the phone on the bedside table. That I had unpacked.

"Ah, we need a moment," the old man said.

I pulled my attention up as he waved his hand like a bad actor in a science fiction movie. The hum of the open line cut off, and from outside, the mower quit. Shocked, I stared at the phone, then my dad standing between me and the two men. He wasn't moving.

My knees felt watery. Setting the phone back in the cradle, I stared at my dad. He seemed all right. Apart from the not-moving thing.

The old man sighed, and my attention jerked to him. Son of a dead puppy, I thought, cold and scared. I wasn't leaving without a fight.

"Let him go," I said, my voice trembling. "Or I'll... I'll..."

Barnabas's lips quirked, and the man arched his eyebrows. His eyes were a grayish blue. I could have sworn they had been brown. "You'll what?" he said, taking a firmer stance on the carpet with his arms over his chest.

I glanced at my dad, frozen. "I'll scream, or something," I threatened.

"Go ahead. No one will hear you. It will be a pop of nothing, too fast to be heard."

I took a breath to chance it, and he shook his head. My breath exploded out of me and I backpedaled when he lurched into the room. But he wasn't coming for me. Yanking my white chair from the vanity, he sat with his small body at an angle. He dropped an elbow onto the top and then cradled his forehead in his hand as if weary. He made an odd picture against the music box and girl stuff.

"Why can't anything be easy?" he muttered, fingering my ceramic zebras. "Is this a joke?" he said louder at the ceiling. "Are you laughing? Getting a good laugh out of this, are you?"

I looked at the door, and Barnabas shook his head in warning. Fine. There was still the window-though with this dress, I might kill myself if I fell. Oh, wait. I was dead already. "Is my dad okay?" I asked, daring to touch his elbow.

Barnabas nodded, and the old man brought his gaze back to me. Grimacing as if making a decision, he extended his hand. I stared at it, not reaching for it. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said firmly. "Madison, was it? Everyone calls me Ron."

I stared at him, and he slowly put his arm down. His eyes were brown again. "Barnabas told me what you did," he said. "Can I see it?"

Surprised, I fidgeted, my fingers sliding off my dad's arm. Man... this was creepy. It was like the entire world had stopped, but I was a walking dead, so I guess my dad being frozen was a small thing. "See what?"

"The stone," Ron said, and the hint of anxiety in his voice struck me like fire.

He wanted it. He wanted it, and it was the only thing keeping me alive. Or not quite dead. "I don't think so," I said, sure of its value when Ron's expression became alarmed as my hand crept up to feel the stone's cool surface.

"Madison," he soothed, standing. "I simply want to look at it."

"You want it!" I exclaimed, heart pounding. "It's the only thing keeping me solid. I don't want to die. You guys messed up. I'm not supposed to be dead! It's your fault!"

"Yes, but you are dead," Ron said, and my breath hissed in when he extended his hand. "Just let me look at it."

"I'm not giving it up!" I shouted, and Ron's eyes lit in fear.

"Madison, no! Don't say it!" he shouted, reaching.

I stumbled back out of my dad's questionable protection, clutching it. "It's mine!" I shrieked, my back hitting the wall.

Ron lurched to a halt, dismay clear on his old features as his arm dropped. The...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



Restless, I sat on the roof in the dark, flicking stones into the night as I tried to realign my thinking. I wasn't alive, but I wasn't altogether dead, either. As I'd suspected, a careful questioning of my dad spanning the entire day confirmed that not only did he not have a clue I had been dead at the hospital, but he didn't even remember the accident. He thought I'd ***ched Josh when I found out I was a pity date, got a ride home with Seth and Barnabas, and watched TV all night, pouting in my costume.

He wasn't pleased I had ruined the rental, either. I didn't appreciate him taking the cost of it out of my allowance, but I wasn't going to complain. I was here, sort of alive, and that was all that mattered. My dad seemed surprised at my meek acceptance of my punishment, telling me I was growing up. Oh, if he only knew.

I watched my dad closely all day as I unpacked and put my stuff in drawers and on shelves. It was clear he knew something wasn't right, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He hardly let me out of his sight, coming upstairs to bring me snacks and pop until I could have screamed. More than once I caught him watching me with a frightened expression, hiding it when he saw me return his gaze. Dinner was a forced conversation over pork chops, and after picking at my food for a good twenty minutes, I excused myself, claiming I was tired after last night's prom.

Yeah. I ought to be tired, but I wasn't. No, it was two in the morning, and here I was out on the roof, pitching stones, pretending to be asleep as the world turned in a chilly darkness. Maybe I didn't need to sleep anymore.

Shoulders slumping, I picked another bit of tar off the shingles and flicked it at the chimney. It hit the metallic cap with a ting, ricocheting into the black. I scooted up the shallow pitch of the roof, then tugged my jeans back up where they ought to be.

A faint feeling of unease crept through me, starting from the tops of my hands in a soft prickling, slipping inward with an increasingly jagged spike. The sensation of being watched exploded into existence, and I spun, gasping, when Barnabas fell out of the tree arching overhead.

"Hey!" I shouted, heart thumping while he landed in a crouch like a cat. "How about some warning?"

He rose to stand in the moonlit darkness with his hands on his hips. There was a faint shimmer on him visible right along with his disgust. "If I had been a black reaper, you'd be dead."

"Yeah, well, I'm already dead, aren't I?" I said, flicking a stone at him. He didn't move as it arched over his shoulder. "What do you want?" I asked sullenly.

Instead of answering, he shrugged his narrow shoulders and looked east. "I want to know what you didn't tell Ron."

"Excuse me?"

He stood still as a rock, arms crossed over his chest and staring. "Seth said something to you in that car. It was the only time you were out of my sight. I want to know what it was. It might be the difference between you getting to play out this lie of being alive, or you getting carted off to a black court." Now he moved, his motion rough and angry. "I'm not going to fail again, and not because of you. You were important to Seth before you stole that stone. That's why he came to get you at the morgue. I want to know why."

I looked down at the stone, glittering in the moonlight, then shifted my gaze to my feet. The awkward angle of the roof made my ankles hurt. "He said my name had come up too many times in the affairs of men, and he was going to cull my soul."

Barnabas moved, coming to sit beside me with a lot of space between us. "He's done that. You're not a threat now that you're dead. Why did he come back for you?"

Reassured by his more relaxed posture, I looked at him, thinking his eyes seemed silver in the moonlight. "You won't tell?" I asked, wanting to trust him. I needed to talk to someone, and it wasn't like I could call up my old friends and vent about being dead-as entertaining as that might be.

Barnabas hesitated. "No, but I might try to persuade you to tell him yourself."

That I could deal with, and I took a slow breath. "He said that his ending my pathetic life was his ticket into a higher court. He came back to prove he had... culled me."

I waited for a reaction, but there was none. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I lifted my head to meet his eyes. Barnabas was looking at me as if trying to figure out what it meant. Clearly not having an answer, he slowly said, "I think you should keep this to yourself for a while. He probably didn't mean anything by it. Forget it. Spend your time learning how to fit in."

"Yeah," I said with a sarcastic bark of laughter. "A new school is tons of fun."

"I meant fit in with the living."

"Oh." Okay. I was going to have to learn how to fit in, not at a new school, but with the living. Swell. Remembering the disastrous dinner with my dad, I bit my lip. "Uh, Barnabas, am I supposed to eat?"

"Sure. If you want to. I don't. Not much, anyway," he said, sounding almost wistful. "But if you're like me, you'll never be hungry."

I tucked my short hair behind my ear. "How about sleep?"

At that, he smiled. "You can try. I can't manage it unless I am bored out of my mind."

I picked a bit of tar off the shingles and flicked it at the chimney again. "How come I don't have to eat?" I asked.

Barnabas turned to face me. "That stone of yours is giving off energy, and you're taking it in. Basking in it. Watch out for psychics. They'll think you're possessed."

"Mmmm," I murmured, wondering if I could get any useful information about what was really going on from a church, but they were wrong about grim reapers, so maybe they didn't know as much as they thought.

I sighed, sitting in the dark on my roof with a white reaper-my guardian angel. Nice going, Madison, I thought, wondering if my life-or death, rather-could get any more screwed up. I slowly fingered the stone that kept me somewhat alive, wondering what I was supposed to do now. Go to school. Do my homework. Be with my dad. Try to make sense of who I was and what I was supposed to do. Nothing much had changed, really, apart from the no-eating-no-sleeping thing. So I had something worse than a black reaper gunning for me. I also had a guardian angel. And life, apparently, goes on, even if you aren't a participating part of it anymore.

Barnabas surprised me when he suddenly stood, and I leaned to look up at his height measured against the stars. "Let's go," he said, extending his hand. "I don't have anything to do tonight, and I'm bored. You're not a screamer, are you?"

My first thought was screamer? And then, go where? But what came out of my mouth was a lame, "I can't. I've been grounded. I can't set a foot outside the house apart from school until I pay for that costume." But I smiled, taking his hand and letting him help me rise. If Ron could make my dad forget I had died, I'd be willing to bet Barnabas could cover for me sneaking out a couple of hours.

"Yeah, well, I can't do anything about you being grounded," he said, "but where we're going, you won't be setting a foot anywhere."

"Huh?" I stammered, then stiffened when he moved behind me, taller because of the roof's pitch. "Hey!" I yelped when his arm went around me. But my protest vanished in shock at the gray shadow suddenly curving around us. It was real, smelling like my mom's feather pillow, and I gasped when his grip tightened and my feet left the roof in a downward drop of gravity.

"Holy crap!" I exclaimed as the world spread out beneath us, silver and black in the moonlight. "You have wings?"

Barnabas laughed, and with my stomach dropping in a tingling surge, we went higher.

Maybe... maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



EIGHT HOURS EARLIER...

"Foxy girls know that silence may be golden-but only for four seconds. Anything longer and you re heading for Awkward Avenue," Miranda read, then frowned at the book. "If you feel the countdown creeping, make him an offer! A simple 'Would you like some nuts? said with a smile can break the silence stagnation in a snap. Remember, foxy is as foxy does."

Miranda was starting to deeply distrust How to Get-And Kiss! - Your Guy.

Leaning against the side of the black Town Car parked in the loading zone at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport that June evening, she thought of how totally thrilled she'd been when she'd found it at the bookstore. It looked like an and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after dream come true in book form-who wouldn't want to learn "The Five Facial Expressions That Will Change Your Life" or "The Secrets of the Tongue Tantra Only Da Pros Know"? - but having done all the exercises, she wasn't convinced of the transformative powers of the Winsome Smile or spending half an hour a day sucking on a grape. It wasn't the first time a self-help book had let her down-Procrastinate No More and Make Friends with YOU had both been total disasters-but it was depressing because she'd had such high hopes this time. And because, as her best friend, Kenzi, recently pointed out, any senior in high school who acted like Miranda did around her crush really, really needed help.

She tried another passage. "Rephrase one of his questions back to him, adding that hint of suggestion with a raised eyebrow. Or pick up the conversation with a pickup line! You: Are we in the china section? Him: No, why? You: Because you are fine. If china isn't your thing, this one never fails to launch-You: Are you wearing space pants? Him: No, why? You: Because your butt is-"

"Hello, Miss Kiss."

Miranda looked up and found herself staring up at the cleft chin and tanned face of Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds.

She must have been really distracted to not even have heard his heartbeat when he approached. It was distinctive, with a little echo at the end, kind of like a one-two-three cha-cha beat (she'd learned about the cha-cha beat from You Can Dance! another massively unfortunate self-help experience). He'd probably have trouble with that when he got old, but at twenty-two it didn't seem to be stopping him from going to the gym, at least from the looks of his pecs, biceps, shoulders, forearms, wrists-

Stop staring.

Since she had an attack of Crazy Mouth whenever she tried to talk to a cute guy-let alone Santa Barbara's youngest sheriff's deputy, who was only four years older than she and who surfed every morning before work and who was cool enough to get away with wearing sunglasses even though it was almost 8:00 p.m.-she said, "Hi, deputy. Come here often?"

Causing him to frown. "No."

"No, you wouldn't, why would you? Me either. Well, not that often. Maybe once a week. Not often enough to know where the bathrooms are. Ha-ha!" Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you'd utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.

"Good book?" he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, "A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad" out loud.

But life did not come with a trapdoor.

"It's for a school project. Homework. On, um, mating rituals."

"Thought crime was more your thing." He hit her with one of his half smiles, too cool to pull out a big grin. "You planning on foiling any more convenience store heists any time soon?"

That had been a mistake. Not stopping the guys who'd held up Ron's 24-Hour Open Market #3, but sticking around long enough to let the police see her. For some reason they'd found it hard to believe that she'd just been leaning against the lamppost when it fell across the front of the robbers' car as it sped through the intersection. It was sad how suspicious people were, especially people in law enforcement. And school administration. But she'd learned a lot since then.

"I'm trying to keep it to one heist a month," she said, hoping for a light, ha-ha-I'm-just-kidding-foxy-is-as-foxy-does tone. "Today it's just my regular job, VIP airport pickup." Miranda heard his cha-cha heartbeat speed up slightly. Maybe he thought VIPs were cool.

"That boarding school you go to, Chatsworth Academy? They let you off campus any time you want or only certain days?"

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, if you're a senior. We don't have classes then," she said and heard his heartbeat pick up more.

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons free. What do you do for fun?"

Was he asking her out? No. Way. NOWAYNOWAYNOWAY! Flirt! she ordered herself. Winsome Smile! Say something! Anything! Be foxy! Now!

"What do you do for fun?" she repeated his question back to him, raising one eyebrow for that hint of suggestion.

He seemed taken aback for a second, then said very formally, "I work, Miss Kiss."

Please give a warm welcome to Miranda Kiss, our new Miss Idiot Girl of the year, she thought. Said: "Of course. Me too. I mean, I'm either driving clients or at team practice. I'm one of Tony Bosun's Bee Girls? The Roller Derby team? That's why I do this," meaning to point to the Town Car but bashing it with her hand instead. "You have to be a driver for Tony's company, 5Bs Luxury Transport, to be on the team. We usually only have games on the weekends, but we practice on Wednesdays, sometimes on other days..." Crazy Mouth trailed off.

"I've seen the Bees play. That's a professional team, isn't it? They let a high school student play?"

Miranda swallowed. "Oh, sure. Of course."

He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

"Okay, I had to lie to get on the team. Tony thinks I'm twenty. You won't tell him, will you?"

"He believed you were twenty?"

"He needed a new jammer."

Deputy Reynolds chuckled. "So you're the jammer? You're good. I can see why he might have made an exception." Eyeing her some more. "I never would have recognized you."

"Well, you know, we wear those wigs and the gold masks over our eyes so we all look the same." It was one of the things she liked about Roller Derby, the anonymity, the fact that no one knew who you were, what your skills were. It made her feel invulnerable, safe. No one could single you out for... anything.

Deputy Reynolds took his sunglasses all the way off now to look at her. "So you put on one of those red, white, and blue satin outfits? The ones with the short skirts and that cute cape? I'd like to see that sometime."

He smiled at her, right into her eyes, and her knees went weak and her mind started playing out a scenario involving him without his shirt but with a pitcher of maple syrup and a big-

"Well, there's my lady," he said. "Catch you." And then walked away.

- stack of pancakes. Miranda watched him go up to a woman in her early twenties-thick blond hair, thin but muscular-put his arm around her, and kiss her neck. The kind of woman whose bras had tags that said, SIZE 36c, not MADE BY SANRIO in them. Heard him saying excitedly, "Wait until we get to the house. I've got some amazing new toys, something special just for you," his voice husky, heart racing.

As he passed Miranda, he lifted his chin in her direction and said, "You stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, you too," Crazy Mouth told him. Miranda wanted to bang her head against the top of the car at how idiotic she was. She tried to give a Lite Laff (expression number four from the book) but ended up making herself choke instead.

When they were across the parking lot, she heard the woman asking who she was and heard Deputy Reynolds say, "The local Town Car driver."

"She's the driver?" the woman said. "Looks like one of those girls from Hawaiian Airlines you used to date, but younger. And cuter. You know how your judgment gets around cute young girls. You're sure I don't need to be concerned?"

Miranda heard him laugh, the genuine amusement in his voice as he said, "Her? Baby, she's just a high school student who has a crush on me. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."

And thought: Trap. Door. Now. Please.

Sometimes having superhearing supersucked.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Three



Miranda loved the Santa Barbara airport, the way it looked more like an Acapulco Joe's Cantina than an official building with its adobe-style walls, cool terra-cotta floor, loopy blue and gold tile, and bougainvillaea careening down the walls. It was small, so planes just parked where they landed and had staircases wheeled out to them, with only a chain-link fence separating people waiting for someone from the people coming off the plane.

Pulling the welcome sign out of the Town Car, she checked the name on it-CUMEAN-and held it up in the direction of the disembarking passengers. As she waited, she listened to a woman in the gold Lexus SUV four cars behind her talking on her phone, saying, "If she gets off the plane, I'll know. He'd better have his checkbook ready," then tilted her head to focus on the low srloop srloop srloop sound of a snail slithering across the still-warm pavement toward a bunch of ivy.

She still remembered the exact moment she realized that not everyone heard the things she heard, that she wasn't normal. She'd already spent the first half of her seventh-grade year at Saint Bartolomeo School-the part after the screening of the Your Body Is Changing: Womanhood video-puzzled by all the changes they didn't list, like uncontrolled bursts of speed and randomly crushing objects you were just trying to pick up and hitting your head on the ceiling of the gym when you were doing jumping jacks and suddenly being able to see dust particles on people's clothes. But since Sister Anna answered all her questions with "Stop joking, child," Miranda thought they must just be so obvious the movie didn't need to mention them. It was only when she'd tried to earn Johnnie Voight's undying affection by warning him not to cheat off of Cynthia Riley again because, based on the sound of her pencil five seats away, she always got the wrong answers, that Miranda learned just how "differently abled" she was. Instead of falling on his knees and declaring that she was his goddess in a training bra and plaid skirt, Johnnie had called her a freak, then a nosy bitch, and tried to beat her up.

That was how she'd first learned how dangerous powers were, the way they could make you an outcast.

And also that she was stronger than boys her age, and that they didn't think that was cool or even good. And neither did school administrators.

Since then she'd become expert at acting normal, being careful. Had mastered her powers. Or she'd thought she had, until seven months earlier when-

Miranda pushed the memory aside and turned her attention back to the people at the airport. To her job. She watched a little girl with blond ringlets sitting on her dad's shoulders standing next to the path and waving as a woman walked from the plane toward them, now shouting, "Mommy, Mommy, I missed you!"

She watched the happy family hug and felt like someone had socked her in the stomach. One of the advantages of going to boarding school, Miranda thought, was that you didn't get invited over to people's houses, never had to see them acting like normal families, having breakfast together. For some reason, whenever she imagined truly happy families, they were always eating breakfast.

Plus people who had normal families didn't go to Chatsworth Academy, "The Premier Boarding Experience in Southern California." Or, as Miranda liked to think of it, Child Warehouse, the place where parents (or in her case, guardians) stored their children until they needed them for something.

With the possible exception of her roommate, Kenzi.

She and Kenzi Chin had lived together for four years, since their freshman year, longer than Miranda had lived with almost anyone. Kenzi came from a perfect-eat-breakfast-together family, had perfect skin, perfect grades, perfect everything, and Miranda would have been forced to hate her if Kenzi wasn't also so completely loyal and kind. And a tinsy bit insane.

Like earlier that afternoon when Miranda walked into their room and found her standing on her head, wearing only underpants, with her entire body slathered in drying mint-colored mud.

"I am so going to be in therapy for the rest of my life to get this image out of my mind," Miranda told her.

"You're going to need to be in therapy that long anyway to deal with your messed-up family. I'm just giving you some TTD material to talk about." Kenzi knew more about Miranda's family history than anyone else at Chatsworth, almost all of it fabricated. The part about it being messed up, though, was true.

Kenzi also really liked acronyms and invented new ones all the time. As she dropped her bag and collapsed on her bed, Miranda asked, "TTD?"

"Totally Top Drawer." Then Kenzi said, "I can't believe you're not coming to prom. I always pictured us going together."

"I don't think Beth would like that too much. You know, being the third wheel."

Beth was Kenzi's girlfriend. "Don't even talk to me about that creature," she said now, giving a fake shudder. "The Beth and Kenzi Show is officially canceled."

"As of when?"

"What time is it?"

"Three thirty-five."

"Two hours and six minutes ago."

"Oh, so it'll be back on by prom."

"Of course."

Kenzi's ?cancellations? happened about once a week and never lasted more than four hours. She thought the drama of breakups and the thrill of reconciliation kept a relationship fresh. And in some weird way it seemed to work, because she and Beth were the happiest couple Miranda knew. More perfection.

"Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. I think you're making a grave mistake by missing prom."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll never forgive myself."

"I'm serious."

"Why? What's the big deal? It's a big dance with a dorky theme. You know I'm dancelexic and should not be allowed out on a dance floor near other people."

"A Sweet Salute to the Red, White, and Blue isn't dorky, it's patriotic. And you do okay with the Hustle."

"I think Libby Geer would disagree with you. If her mouth weren't still wired shut."

"Whatever, prom isn't just a big dance. It's a rite of passage, a moment when we move from who we were into the vastness of the adults we're going to become, throwing off the weight of our youthful insecurities to-"

" - get drunk and maybe lucky. Depending on your definition of luck."

"You'll be sorry if you don't come. Do you really want to grow up miserable and filled with regret?"

"Yes, please! Besides, I have to work."

"TGI as If. You're hiding behind your job again. You could so get one Saturday off. At least be honest about why you're not going."

Miranda gave Kenzi Innocent Eyes, expression number two from the kissing book. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't look at me like you're My Little Pony. I have four letters for you: W-I�CL-L."

"And I have four letters for you: N-O-P-E. Oh and four more: M-Y-O-"

But Kenzi just went on, ignoring her, something she did professionally. "It's true that Will might need to be vaccinated or screened for diseases after going with Ariel, but I can't believe you're giving up that easily."

Will Javelin filled up about 98 percent of Miranda's dreams. She'd been trying to cut it out since she learned he was going to the prom with Ariel-"I named my new breasts after my family's country houses, does your family have any country houses, Miranda? Oh right, I forgot, you're a foster child"-West, of the West-Sugar-Is-Best! fortune, but it was a challenge. To avoid bad karma Miranda said, "There's nothing wrong with Ariel."

"Yeah, nothing that couldn't be cured with an exorcism." Kenzi came out of her headstand, planting her feet on the floor. She reached for her towel. "At least promise you'll come to the after-party. At Sean's parents' place on the beach? You will, right? We're all going to hang around and watch the sun rise. It will give you a chance to talk to Will outside of school. And when are you going to tell me what happened between you two that other night, anyway? Why are you being so MLAS about it?"

Miranda knew that one. "I'm not being My Lips Are Sealed," she said, picking up a pile of papers on the bookshelf between her and Kenzi's beds and straightening them.

"You're doing that thing again. The thing where you pretend to be Holly Homemaker to avoid having a discussion."

"Maybe." Miranda was looking at the papers now, photocopies of newspaper articles from the past half year. "Purse snatcher caught by mysterious Good Samaritan, found bound to fence with yo-yo," the first and most recent said. Then, from a few months before, "Get a grip: Stickup foiled when robber loses control of gun. Witness says Pez dispenser 'came out of nowhere' to knock weapon from assailant's hand." Finally, from seven months earlier, "Convenience store heist getaway halted by falling lightpost; two arrested." She started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach.

At least it was only three out of, what, a dozen different incidents she told herself. But that didn't really make her feel better. No one was supposed to link...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four



Sibby Cumean started talking as soon as they got out of the airport.

"How long have you been driving people around?" she asked Miranda.

A year.

"Did you grow up here?"

"No."

"Do you have any brothers?"

"No."

"Any sisters?"

"N-no."

"Do you like driving?"

"Yes."

"Do you have to wear that boring black suit?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Um, not."

"Fine. Eighteen."

"Have you ever had ***?"

Miranda cleared her throat. "I don't think that question is appropriate." She heard herself sound like Dr. Trope, the assistant head of school, with the voice he used to tell her he wasn't listening to another excuse about why she was late getting back to campus, rules were made for a reason and that reason wasn't so she could flout them for her amusement; and speaking of late, did she plan at some point to decide what she was going to do next year or just irresponsibly forfeit her place at the several top-tier colleges she'd been accepted to, making the school look bad and herself look worse; and really he didn't know what had gotten into her recently, where was the Miranda Kiss who was going to be a doctor and save the world, who was a cre*** to the school and herself, rather than the one who was on her way to being expelled-is that what you really want, young lady? A voice she knew well since she seemed to have been hearing it at least once a week since early November.

"You're a virgin," Sibby announced, like she was confirming a sad fact she'd long suspected.

"That's not-"

"Do you at least have a boyfriend?"

"Not at this-"

"A girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have any friends? You're not really very good at conversation."

Miranda was beginning to understand why the girl's relatives hadn't come to the airport for her.

"I have lots of friends."

"Sure. I believe you. What do you do for fun?"

"Answer questions."

"Please never try to be funny again." Sibby leaned forward. "Have you ever thought of wearing some black eyeliner? It would be an improvement."

B polite! "Thanks."

"Can you pull up?"

"Um, we're at a stoplight."

"Just go forward a tiny-perfect."

Looking in the side mirror, Miranda saw that Sibby had rolled down her window and was leaning out, saying now to the guys in the jeep next to them, "Where are you boys going?"

The guys answered, "A little moonlight surfing. Want to come, goddess?"

"I'm not a goddess. Do you think I look like one?"

"I can't tell. Maybe if you take off your shirt."

"Maybe if you give me a kiss."

Miranda hit the button to roll up the window.

"What are you doing?" Sibby demanded. "You could have broken my hand."

"Put your seat belt on, please."

"Put your seat belt on, please," Sibby mimicked, slumping back into the seat. "Oh my gods, I was just trying to be sociable."

"Until we get to your destination, no more socializing."

"Have you listened to yourself recently? You sound like you're eighty, not eighteen." She scowled at Miranda in the mirror. "I thought you were a driver, not a jailer."

"It's my job to make sure you get where you're going in a safe and timely manner. That's printed on the card you'll find in your seat pocket, by the way."

"How is kissing some boys going to make me unsafe?"

"A million different ways. What if they have an invisible mouth fungus? Or DeathLip."

"There's no such thing as DeathLip."

"Are you sure?"

"You're just jealous because I know how to have fun and you don't. Virgin."

Miranda rolled her eyes but kept quiet, listening to cell phone conversations from the cars behind them, a woman telling someone that the gardener was on his way, a guy saying in a mystical voice, "I see a mysterious stranger coming for you, I can't quite tell if it's a man or a woman." Another man talking to someone about how he wanted to take that bitch out of the will and it didn't matter if she was his mother's favorite dog-

She was interrupted suddenly by Sibby shouting, "Inn-Out Burger! We have to stop."

B accommodating!

Miranda agreed to let Sibby order her own at the drive-through, then regretted it when she heard the girl saying to the guy taking the order, "Do I get a discount if I let you kiss me?"

"Okay, seriously, were you raised on Crazycake? Why do you want to kiss all these guys you don't even know?" Miranda asked.

"There aren't that many boys where I come from. And what does knowing them have to do with it? Kissing is great. I kissed four boys on the airplane. I'm hoping to make it twenty-five before the end of the day."

She added the two working the drive-through lane when she got her burger.

"Are all hamburgers that delicious?" she asked when they were on the road again.

Miranda glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "You've never had a burger before? Where do you live?"

"The mountains," Sibby answered quickly, and Miranda picked up a slight rise in her heart rate, suggesting that she was lying and not used to it. Which seemed hugely unlikely-the not-used-to-it part-for someone who had a case of acute Boy Crazy like this girl. Her parents couldn't possibly let her run around-

Oh So Very Much Not Your Problem, Miranda reminded herself. B discreet.

Sibby tried to solicit kisses from four other guys as they drove. They were a mile from the drop-off point and Miranda was thinking that the ride could not be over soon enough when Sibby shrieked, "Oh my gods, a doughnut store! I've always wanted to try doughnuts, too. Can we stop? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?"

They were already almost an hour late but Miranda couldn't deny anyone a doughnut. Even someone who said, "Oh my gods." But pulling in, she saw a group of guys sitting at a table inside and decided that it would be dangerous to let Sibby near them if she wanted to get out of there in under forty minutes. "I'll go in and get them, you stay here."

Sibby had seen the guys, too. "No way, I'm coming in."

"Either your butt stays in the car, Kissing Ban***, or the doughnuts stay in the store."

"I don't think that's a nice way to talk to customers."

"Feel free to use my phone to file a complaint while I'm inside. Do we have a deal?"

"Fine. But will you at least roll down the window?" Miranda hesitated. Sibby said, "Look, Grandma, I promise I'll keep my butt in the car, I just don't want *****ffocate. Gods."

When Miranda came out, Sibby had wedged herself in the window with her body and legs outside the car and her rear hanging back into it, and was deeply involved in kissing a blond guy.

"Excuse me," Miranda said, tapping the guy on the shoulder.

He turned around kind of hazy, looked her up and down. "Hello, dream girl. You want a kiss, too? I could do something really special with lips like yours. You wouldn't even have to pay me a dollar."

"Thanks, but no." Looking at Sibby now. "I thought we'd agreed that-"

" - my butt would stay in the car. Where, if you bothered to look, you would see it is."

Miranda turned away so Sibby wouldn't see her crack up.

She handed Sibby the doughnuts and slid into the driver's seat. Once Sibby had wiggled back through the window, Miranda caught her eye in the rearview. "You were paying guys to kiss you?"

"So what?" Sibby glared. "Not all of us can get kissed for free." More glaring, then, "You barely have boobs. My boobs are bigger than yours. It makes no sense."

Sibby got quiet, not even eating her doughnut. From time to time she'd sigh dramatically.

Miranda started feeling a little sorry. Maybe she had been acting like a grandma. She looked at How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy on the seat next to her. Maybe you're jealous she's four years younger than you but has already kissed more guys in one day than you'll probably date in your whole life even if you get a boob job and live to be two trillion.

Shut up, U-Suck channel.

She should be nice, make conversation. "How many kisses is it total now?"

Sibby kept her eyes on her lap. "Ten." Looking up to add, "But I only paid six of them. And one of them I only gave a quarter."

"Nice work."

Miranda saw Sibby look up suspiciously, like she thought she was being made fun of, decide she wasn't, and start picking at her doughnut. After a while she said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"You're asking permission now?"

"For real, just please stop trying to be funny. It's painful."

"Thanks for the hot tip. Did you have a question or-"

"Why didn't you want to kiss that boy back there? The one who wanted...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Five



What do you think you're doing? she asked herself. Rhetorically, since she was already up the Snow-White-and-the-Seven-Dwarves-Do-Baby-Jesus neighbor's tree and staring into the yard of the house where she'd left Sibby.

I can't wait to hear you say to the cops, "Yes, officer, I know I was trespassing but that woman was very suspicious because she was wearing false eyelashes."

With a full Creepy Cult costume. They just didn't go. Plus she had a hole for a nose piercing. And a French manicure.

Maybe she just has really big pores! And a love of dated manicures!

She wasn't what she was posing as.

Is this about helping someone or having an excuse not to show up at prom and see Will with his face nuzzled in Ariel's huge, soft-

Shut up, U-Suck.

I was going to say hair.

You are so not funny.

You are so not brave.

There were two guys sitting in the backyard, leaning across a picnic table toward each other with a book between them, both in T-shirts and khakis and Teva sandals, one of them wearing thick black-framed glasses, the other one with a scraggly beard. They looked like two geeky college guys playing Dungeons and Dragons and sounded like it too when the one wearing glasses said, "That's not how it works. It says in the Book of Rules she can't see for herself, only for other people. You know, like genies with wishes, how they can't grant their own." Except they each had a large automatic rifle lying on the table next to them and Miranda could see shooting targets set up on the fence.

So what? There are armed geeks. Maybe they're Sibby's protection. Go home. Sibby doesn't need you. She's fine.

If she's fine, why isn't she out there trying to kiss the two boys?

Miranda strained to hear something from inside the house but it was definitely soundproofed. A couple came out of sliding doors onto the patio away from the Geek Guys, a woman smoking a cigarette in short, tense puffs and a man. Miranda almost fell out of the tree when she recognized the woman as the cult lady, only now without the glasses, skirt, or sweater and with her hair down.

Which doesn't mean anything.

The woman whispered, "We still need the girl to tell us the location, Byron."

"She will."

"She hasn't yet."

"I told you, even if I can't get her to talk, the Gardener can. He's good at that."

The woman again: "I don't like that he brought a partner. That wasn't part of the plan. Does she get a cut-"

The man called Byron cut her off. "Put that out and be quiet, we have company." He pointed to the Geek Guys scrambling over to join them.

The woman crushed her cigarette out under her foot and kicked it away.

"Is She all right?" Bearded Geek asked breathlessly, pronouncing She like it should be capitalized.

"Yes," the man assured him. "She's resting after her ordeal."

Oh, they could not be talking about Sibby. Ordeal? No way.

"Has She said anything?" Glasses Geek asked.

The man said, "Just expressed how very grateful She is to be here."

Miranda almost snorted.

Bearded Geek said, "Will we be able to see Her?"

"When the Transition happens."

The geeks wandered off in a blissful daze and Miranda decided this was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen.

But it proved that Sibby was in no danger. These people clearly worshipped Her. Which meant it was time-

"Why is he called the Gardener, anyway?" Fake Eyelash woman asked the man.

"I believe because he's good at pulling things out."

"Things?"

"Teeth, nails. Joints. That's how he gets people to talk."

- time to find Sibby.

Miranda dropped out of the tree into the neighbor's yard and found herself looking down the barrel of an automatic rifle.