[English] Prom Nights From Hell

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Six



"Put them up," Glasses Geek said. "I mean your arms. Miranda did what he said because his hands were shaking so much she was afraid he'd shoot her by accident.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded in a voice that shook almost as much as his hands.

"I just wanted to get a glimpse of Her," she said, hoping she made it sound right.

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know She was here?"

"The Gardener told me, but I didn't know where She was being kept so I climbed up that tree to look."

"Which affiliate are you with?"

I knew this would end in tears. What now, smarty pants?

Miranda raised an eyebrow and said, "Which affiliate are you with?" Adding for good measure, "I mean, I would remember a guy like you if I'd seen you before."

It worked! She saw him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. She would never doubt How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy again! He said, "I'd remember you, too."

She hit him with a dose of Winsome Smile and saw the Adam's apple do some more moving. She said, "If I give you my hand to shake, will you shoot me?"

He chortled and put down the gun. "No," still chortling. Holding out his hand now. "I'm Craig."

"Hi, Craig, I'm Miranda," she said, taking it. Then flipped him onto his back and knocked him out cold in a single silent move.

She looked at her hand for a second in shock. She'd definitely never done that before. That had been very cool.

If you're going to be an idiot and risk everything, you might as well do what you came for. You know, instead of just staring at the guy you knocked out?

She bent to whisper, "Sorry. Take three aspirin for your head when you wake up and you'll feel better," in his ear, and moved around the edge of the safe house.

There must have been an open window because she could hear voices here, the man who had been outside before now saying to someone, "Are you comfortable?"

And Sibby answering, "No. I don't like this couch. I can't believe this is the nicest room in the house. It looks like a place for a grandma."

Heh!

Miranda followed the sound of Sibby's voice and found herself standing in front of one of the street-facing plate-glass windows, looking through a gap in dark blue drapes into a living room. There was a spindly-looking couch, chair, and coffee table. Sibby was in the chair, her profile to Miranda, with a plate of Oreos in front of her. She looked fine.

The man was perched on the couch, smiling at Sibby, saying, "So, where are we supposed to drop you?"

Sibby took the top cookie off the Oreo and ate it. "I'll tell you later."

The man kept smiling. "I'd like to know so I can plan the route. We can't be too careful."

"Oh my gods, there's like hours before we go. I want to watch some TV."

Miranda heard the man's heart speed up and saw his hand flex but he kept his tone light when he said, "Of course." Then added, "As soon as you tell me where we're taking you."

Sibby frowned at him. "Are you deaf or something? I said I'd tell you later."

"It's in your best interest to talk to me. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to bring in someone else. Someone a bit more... forceful."

"Fine. But while I'm waiting, can I please watch TV? Tell me you get cable. Oh gods, if you don't have MTV, I'm going to be really pissed."

The man stood up with an expression on his face like he wanted to break something, then abruptly turned to face the door. Miranda heard footsteps coming toward the room from the hallway, and with them a familiar cha-cha heartbeat. Two seconds later Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds burst through the door.

See? Sibby's in no danger. The police are here. Scram.

Deputy Reynolds said to the man, "What's taking so long?"

"She won't talk."

"I'm sure she'll change her mind." His heartbeat picked up.

Sibby glanced at him. "Who are you?"

Caleb said, "I'm the Gardener."

This was extremely not good, Miranda decided.

"I wasn't very impressed with the front lawn," Sibby told him.

"I'm not that kind of Gardener. It's a nickname. They call me that because-"

"Actually, I'm not even vaguely interested. I don't know what you're planning, Plant Boy-"

"Gardener," he corrected, going a touch red.

" - but if you need to know where I'm supposed to be picked up by the Overseer, then you have to keep me alive, right? So you can't exactly threaten me with death."

"Not death, no. But pain." He addressed the man. "Go get me my tools, Byron."

As the man left the room, Sibby said, "I'm not going to tell you anything."

Deputy Reynolds circled around so he was leaning over her chair, his back to the window.

"Listen to me-" he said, his heartbeat slowing down suddenly.

Miranda did a round-off, smashing through the window feet first, then knocked him unconscious with a side kick to the neck before he could turn around. She bent to whisper, "Sorry," in his ear, decided as punishment not to tell him about the aspirins, grabbed Sibby, sprinted to the car, and stepped on the gas.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Seven



"He didn't even know you were there," Sibby said. "He never even knew who hit him."

"That was the idea." They were parked next to an abandoned Amtrak maintenance building on an old part of the train tracks that was completely hidden from the street. It was the place Miranda had started coming seven months earlier to work out all her new crazy energy and try things she couldn't practice anywhere else-Roller Derby was great for speed, balance, gymnastics, and shoving moves, but you weren't supposed to use advanced judo. Or weapons.

She could make out marks from her last crossbow exercise on the side of the building, and the piece of railroad track she'd tied in a knot the day after Will rejected her was still lying on the ground. She'd never seen anyone else here, and she was sure she and Sibby would be pretty much invisible as long as they stayed parked.

"Where did you learn to knock people out like that?" Sibby asked, sprawled out over the backseat. "Can you teach me?"

"No."

"Why not? Just one move?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why did you say you were sorry after you hit him?"

Miranda swiveled to face her. "It's my turn to ask questions. Who wants to kill you and why?"

"Gods, I don't know. It could be a ton of people. It's not like that, how you think it is."

"What's it like then?"

"It's complicated. But if we can just hang out until four in the morning, there's a place I can go."

"That's six hours from now."

"That'll give me time for at least ten more kisses."

"Well, of course. What else would you do while someone is trying to kill you besides go out and tongue tango with as many strangers as possible?"

"They weren't trying to kill me, they were trying to abduct me. It's totally different. Come on, I want to do something fun. Something with boys."

"Or we could not do that."

"Look, just because you are a founding member of Down with Fun Inc. doesn't mean that the rest of us want to sign up."

"I am not a founding member of Down with Fun Inc. I like fun. But-"

"Funkiller."

" - somehow the idea of wandering around while 'a ton of people' are trying to kidnap you, doesn't sound fun to me. It sounds like a good way to get into the Guinness Book of World Records under 'Plan, comma, World's Most Stupid. Plus innocent bystanders could get caught in the middle when the ton of people find you."

"'If, not 'when. And they don't care about anyone but me."

Miranda rolled her eyes and turned back around. "That's why they're called innocent bystanders. Because they were standing by you and accidentally got hurt."

"Then you should definitely get away from me. Seriously, although there's nothing I'd rather do than sit parked in a homeless person's bathroom for six hours with only you for company, I think it would be safer for both of us if I take my chances elsewhere. Like at that ice cream place we passed on the way here. Did you see the lips on the guy behind the counter? They were mythic. Drop me there and I'll be all set."

"You're so not going anywhere."

"Really? Because that sound you hear? Is me reaching for the door handle."

"Really? Because that sound you hear? Is me engaging the child lock."

In the rearview mirror, Miranda saw Sibby's eyes blaze.

"You're really mean," Sibby said. "Something horrible must have happened to you to make you so mean."

"I'm not mean. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"Are you sure it's me you're thinking about? Not some skeleton in your closet? Like the time you-"

Miranda turned up the radio.

"Turn that down! I was talking and I'm the customer."

"Not anymore."

Sibby yelled really loud, "What happened to your sister?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Miranda yelled back.

"That's a lie."

Miranda didn't say anything.

"I asked you before if you had a sister and you got all teary," Sibby shouted in her ear. "Why won't you tell me?"

Miranda turned down the radio. "Can you give me three good reasons why I should?"

"It might make you feel better. It would give us something to talk about while we sit here. And if you don't tell me, I'm going to start guessing."

Miranda leaned her head back, checked her watch, and turned to stare out the window. "Be my guest."

"You bugged her so much she left? You bored her so much she left? Or did you drive her away with the huge stick you keep up your butt?"

"Stop being tender with my feelings. Go on, tell me what you really think."

From the backseat Sibby said, "That might have been too mean. Sorry."

Miranda didn't say anything.

"You don't really have a stick in your butt. You couldn't drive then, right? Ha-ha?"

Silence.

"But I mean, you started it. With the child-lock thing. I'm not a child. I'm fourteen."

More silence.

"I said I was sorry." In the backseat Sibby slumped, sighed. "Fine. Be that way."

Silence. Until, for no reason she could explain, Miranda said, "They died."

Sibby sat up quick now, leaning toward the front seat. "Who? Your sisters?"

"Everyone. My whole family."

"Was it because of something you did?"

"Yes. And because of something I didn't do. I think."

"Um, Grandma Grim, that doesn't make any sense. How can not doing something-wait, you think?. Don't you know what happened?"

"I can't really remember anything from that part of my life."

"You mean from that day?"

"No. From that year. And the year after. Anything pretty much from when I was ten until when I turned twelve. And there are a few other holes, too."

"You mean that stuff is just too painful to remember?"

"No, it's just... gone. All I have are impressions." And the dreams. Really really bad dreams.

"Like what?"

"Like that I wasn't where I should have been and something happened and I let everyone down..." She stopped, waved a hand in the air.

"Wait, you actually think you could have stopped whatever happened to them? By yourself? When you were four years younger than me?"

Miranda's throat felt like it was closing up. She'd never told anyone even that much of her real history before, never talked about it, not even with Kenzi. Ever. She swallowed hard. "I could have tried. I could have been there and tried."

"Oh my gods, now this is some kind of pity party. Yawn. Wake me when you're done."

Miranda gaped at her in the mirror. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it but you kept bugging me and now you turn into the mayor of TellItLikeItIsVille?" Swallowing again. "You little-"

"You don't even know what happened! How can you feel so bad about it? Plus, I don't see how that can be your fault. You weren't even there and you were only ten. I think you should stop obsessing about some mystery thing that is ancient history and live in the mo."

"I'm sorry, did you just tell me to 'live in the mo'?"

"Yes. You know, ***ch the past and try focusing on what's going on in the present. Like that the song on the radio right now? Sucks. And that there is a whole city of cute boys out there I am not kissing." Miranda took a deep breath, but before she could say anything, Sibby went on. "I know, I know you say you're sorry to the people you knock out because you never got to say sorry to your family, and you have to keep me safe because you couldn't keep them safe. I get it now."

"That is not what's going on. I-"

"Blah blah blah, insert denials here. Anyway, why does 'safe' have to mean sitting in this car with you all night? Isn't there somewhere we could blend in? Instead of hiding? I'm good at blending. I'm like butter."

"Oh yeah, you're totally like butter. In fact, in your Madonna-called-and-she-wants-her-costume-from-the-'Borderline'-video-back outfit, you're practically invisible."

"Good one, Funkiller. Come on, let's go somewhere."

Miranda turned all the way around in her seat and said, "Let me sound it out for you. Someone. Is. Trying. To. Kill. You."

"No. They. Are. Not. You keep saying that, but I've told you. They can't kill me. You should really work on this obsession you have with people getting killed. And I have to be honest with you, I'm getting bored. What do you have the radio set to, K-CRAP? There is no way we are staying in this car for six hours."

Miranda had to agree with her. Because if they did, it was now clear she'd kill Sibby herself.

That's when she thought of the perfect place for them to go.

"You want to blend in?" she asked.

"Yes. With boys."

"Guys," Miranda said.

"What?"

...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Eight



"You're crazy," Sibby said as they walked in. Her eyes were pancake-size. "You said this would suck. This doesn't suck. This is fantastic."

Miranda shuddered. They'd snuck into the Grand Hall of the Santa Barbara Historical Society by an emergency exit that had been propped open so prom attendees could slip out to get stoned, and glancing around, Miranda could see how getting stoned would be super-appealing. The walls of the room had been covered in blue satin with white stars embroidered on it, the four big columns in the middle were draped in red and white ribbons, the tables off to the side were covered in American flag-print cloths with fishbowl centerpieces in which the fish had been somehow dyed red and blue, and around the edges major American landmarks such as Mount Rushmore, the White House, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and the Old Faithful geyser had been reconstructed-out of sugar cubes. Courtesy of Ariel West's father. Ariel had announced the previous day at assembly that after the prom all the decorations would be donated to "the poor hungry people of Santa Barbara who need sugar."

Miranda didn't know if it was that, the balloons on rubber cords hanging from the ceiling that bounced lazily up and down as people passed under them, or foreboding, but she had a distinct queasy feeling.

Sibby was in heaven.

"Remember-most of the guys here came with dates, so try to be subtle with the Kissing Ban*** stuff," Miranda said.

"Yeah, fine."

"And if you hear me call to you, you come."

"Do I look like a dog to you?" Miranda gave her a sharp glance. Sibby said, "Fine, okay, Funkiller."

"And if you feel like anything weird is going on at all, you-"

" - let you know. I've got it. Now you go and have some fun yourself. Oh, right, you probably don't know how. Well, when in doubt, ask yourself, 'What Would Sibby Do? "

"Can I unsubscribe from that list, please?"

Sibby was too busy scanning the room to respond.

"Whoa, who's that hot dinner in the corner over there?" she asked. "The guy in the glasses?"

Miranda looked around for a hot dinner but all she saw was Phil Emory. "His name is Phillip."

"Helllllo, Phillip," Sibby said, plotting a direct course for him.

Miranda stashed her skate bag underneath a table and stayed close to the wall, between the White House and Old Faithful, partially to keep Sibby in view and partially to avoid being noticed by any faculty members. She'd changed in the employee bathroom from her work suit into the only other thing she had with her, but although it was red, white, and blue, she didn't think that her Roller Derby uniform was really appropriate prom attire. There were two uniforms in her skate bag, a home uniform-white satin halter top and bottom with blue cape and red, white, and blue stripes on the skirt (if you could call something that was five inches long and required attached panties to be worn under it a skirt)-and an away uniform: the same thing, only in blue. She'd decided white was more formal, but she was pretty sure that wearing it with her black work flats was not helping the look.

She'd been standing there for a while, wondering how everyone but her was completely capable of being on a dance floor without debilitating anyone, when she heard a pair of heartbeats she recognized and saw Kenzi and Beth sliding through the crowd toward her.

"You came!" Kenzi said, giving her a big hug. One of the things Miranda loved about Kenzi was that she acted like she was on Ecstasy even when she wasn't, telling people that she loved them, hugging them, never embarrassed about it. "I'm so glad you're here. It didn't feel right without you. So, are you ready to unshackle yourself from the insecurities of your youth? Ready to own your future?"

Kenzi and Beth were dressed to own anything, Miranda thought. Kenzi was wearing a skin-tight blue backless dress and had gotten a black panther with a blue sapphire eye painted on her back. Beth was in a red satin minidress and had a gold snake bracelet with two ruby eyes wrapped around her upper arm (or at least Miranda assumed they were rubies since Beth's parents were two of the biggest movie stars in Bollywood). On them, adulthood looked like a totally cool and exciting party with an excellent DJ that you could only get into if you were on the VIP list.

Miranda glanced at her skating uniform. "I guess I should have known that when the time came to own my future I'd be dressed like a member of the Ice Capades B-squad."

"No way, you look fantastic," Beth said, and Miranda would have assumed she was being sarcastic except that Beth was one of those people who was born without sarcasm.

"Truly," Kenzi confirmed. "You're deep in H2T territory." H2T stood for Hot to Trot. "I see great things for your adulthood."

"And I see a visit to the eye doctor for you," Miranda prophesied. In the distance Miranda saw Sibby pull Phillip Emory onto the dance floor.

Miranda turned back to Kenzi. "Do you think I'm a fun person? Am I a Grandma Grim? A funkiller?"

"Grandma Grim? Funkiller?" Kenzi repeated. "What are you talking about? Did you hit your head at derby practice again?"

"No, I'm serious. Am I fun?"

"Yes," Kenzi said solemnly.

"Yes," Beth agreed.

"Except when you get all MLAS," Kenzi modified. "And when you have your period. And around your birthday. Oh, there was that one time-"

"Forget it." Miranda's eyes drifted to Sibby, who now appeared to be leading a conga line.

"I'm kidding," Kenzi said, turning Miranda's face from the dance floor to hers. "Yes, I think you are really fun. I mean, who else would dress up as Magnum P.I. for Halloween?"

"Or think of entertaining the kids on the cancer ward by reenacting Dawson's Creek with Precious Moments figurines?" Beth added.

Kenzi nodded. "That's right. Even children battling cancer think you're fun. And they're not the only ones."

Something about Kenzi's tone when she said the last part made Miranda worried. "What did you do?"

"She was brilliant," Beth said.

Now Miranda was even more scared. "Tell me."

"It was nothing, just some research," Kenzi said.

"What kind of research?" For the first time Miranda noticed that there was writing up the length of Kenzi's arm.

Kenzi said, "About Will and Ariel. They're totally not going out."

"You asked him?"

"It's called an interview," Kenzi said.

"No. Oh no. Tell me you're kidding." Sometimes having a roommate who wanted to be a journalist was dangerous.

"Relax, he didn't suspect a thing. I made it seem like I was making small talk," Kenzi said.

"She was great," Beth confirmed.

Miranda started wishing for trapdoors again.

"Anyway, I asked him why he thought Ariel asked him to the prom and he said"-here Kenzi consulted her arm-"'To make someone else jealous. So of course I asked who and he went, 'Anyone. That's what Ariel thrives on, other people's jealousy. Isn't that perceptive? Especially for a guy?"

"He's smart," Beth put in. "And nice."

Miranda nodded absently, looking for Sibby on the dance floor. At first she didn't see her but then she spotted her in a dark corner with Phillip. Talking, not kissing. For some reason that made her smile.

"Look, we made her happy!" Kenzi said, and she sounded so genuinely pleased that Miranda didn't want to tell her the truth.

"Thanks for finding all that out," Miranda said. "It's-"

"You haven't even heard the best part," Kenzi said. "I asked why he agreed to go to prom with Ariel if they're not a couple and he said"-glancing at her arm-"'Because no one made me a better offer. "

Beth reminded her, "With that cute smile."

"Right, with cute smile. And he looked directly at me when he said it and he was so clearly talking about you!"

"Clearly." Miranda loved her friends even if they were delusional.

"Stop gazing at me like I've been one-stop shopping at the Lobotomy Store, Miranda," Kenzi said. "I'm completely right. He likes you and he's not taken. Stop thinking and grab him. Go live ITM."

"ITM?"

"In the Mo," Beth elaborated.

Miranda gaped. "No. Way."

"What?" Kenzi asked.

"Nothing." Miranda shook her head. "Even if he's single, what makes you think Will wants to go out with me?"

Kenzi squinted at her. "Um, breezing past all the sappy stuff about how you're nice and smart I have to say because I'm your best friend, have you looked in the mirror recently?"

"Ha-ha. Trust me-"

"Bye!" Beth said, interrupting her and dragging Kenzi away. "See you later!"

"Don't forget! ITM!" Kenzi added over her shoulder. "Drink a can of man!"

"Where are you-" Miranda started to say, then heard a heartbeat close behind her and swung around.

...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Nine



He said, "Hi."

And she said, "Ho." God. GOD. Could she just say one normal thing? Thanks Crazy Mouth.

He ****ed an eyebrow at her. "I didn't know you were coming to prom."

"I-changed my mind at the last minute."

"You look nice."

"You too." Which was an understatement. He looked like a double stack of cinnamon apple pancakes with a side order of bacon and hash browns (extra crispy). Like the best thing Miranda had ever laid eyes on.

She felt herself staring at him, then looked away, blushing. There was a moment of silence. Another one. Don't let it go beyond four seconds, she reminded herself. It had to have been one second already; that left three, now two, say something! Say-

"Are you wearing space pants?" Miranda asked him.

"What?"

How did it end? Oh, right. She said, "Because your butt is fine."

He gazed at her in that way he had like he was measuring her for a straitjacket. "I think-" he started, then stopped and seemed to be having trouble talking. Cleared his throat three times before finally saying, "I think the line is 'because your butt is out of this world. "

"Oh. That makes a lot more sense. I can see that. See, I read it in this book about how to get guys to like you and they said it was a line that never failed but I got interrupted in the middle and the line before it was about china-not the country, the kind you eat off of-and that is where the fine part was but I must have gotten them confused." He just kept staring at her. She remembered the other advice from the book, "when in doubt, make an offer," reached out, grabbed the first thing she could put her hand on, held it up to his chin, and said, "Nuts?"

He looked like he was about to choke. He cleared his throat a few times, took the nuts from her, put the bowl back on the table, stepped toward her so that their noses were almost touching, and said, "You read a book about this?"

Miranda couldn't even hear his heartbeat over the sound of her own. "Yes, I did. Because clearly I wasn't doing it right. I mean, if you kiss a guy and he pulls away from you and looks at you like your skin just turned to purple slime, clearly you need to spend some time at the self-help section of-"

"You talk more when you're nervous," he said, still standing close to her.

"No I don't. That's absurd. I'm just trying to explain to you-"

"Do I make you nervous?"

"No. I'm not nervous."

"You're trembling."

"I'm cold. I'm wearing practically zero clothes."

His glance went to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I noticed."

Miranda gulped. "Look, I should-"

He caught her wrist before she could take off. "That kiss you gave me was the hottest kiss I've ever had. I pulled away because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself from ripping off your clothes. And that didn't seem like the right way to end a first date. I didn't want you to think that was all I was interested in."

She stared at him. There was silence again, but this time she didn't worry about how long it went on.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said finally.

"I tried to, but every time I saw you afterward you disappeared. I got the feeling you were avoiding me."

"I didn't want things to be awkward."

"Yeah, there was nothing awkward about you hiding behind a plant when I came into the dining hall at lunch on Wednesday."

"I wasn't hiding. I was, um, breathing. You know, oxygen. From the plant. Very oxygenated, that air is."

Insert head in oven now.

"Of course. I should have thought of that."

"It's a health thing. Not many people know about it."

Leave until no longer HALF BAKED.

"No, I'm sure they-"

Miranda blurted. "Did you really mean that? About liking it when I kissed you?"

"I really did. A lot."

Her hands were shaking. She reached up and pulled him toward her.

Just as the music went off, the emergency-exit lighting went on and a tinny voice announced over a loudspeaker, "Please make your way to the nearest exit and leave the building immediately."

She and Will were pushed in different directions by the crowd surging to the door, being guided by four men in full body armor. The message kept repeating, but Miranda wasn't hearing it or Ariel West screaming that someone was going to PAY for RUINING her NIGHT or the person saying that dude, this was the sweetest way to end a prom ever, man, he was so high. She was hearing again the one-two-three cha-cha heartbeat of Deputy Reynolds, slightly muffled by body armor. This was no drill.

"It's us, isn't it?" Sibby said, rushing over to stand next to Miranda. "That's why those storm-trooper guys are here. For us."

"Yeah."

"You were right. I should have stayed hidden. This is my fault. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I'll just turn myself over to these people, and they'll have to let-"

Miranda interrupted her. "After all that? With only three hours left to go? And you, blend-it-like-butter girl? No way. It's not over. We can totally get out of this."

She tried to sound confident, but she was terrified. Just what do you think you're doing? U-Suck channel demanded.

I have no idea.

Sibby looked at her, eyes blazing with hope. "Do you mean it? You have a way out?"

Miranda swallowed, took a deep breath, and said to Sibby, "Follow me." To herself: Please don't fail.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Ten



It worked perfectly.

Almost. There were six guards blocking the exits and another four at the door, checking everyone as they left. Ten total. All in body armor and masks, explaining patiently that there had been a bomb threat and it was important to evacuate as quickly as possible. No one questioned why they were armed with the automatic weapons they kept using to push the crowd along.

No one except Dr. Trope, who went up to one of them and said, "Young man, I ask you to keep your weapons away from my students," distracting him just long enough for Miranda and Sibby to get swallowed into the middle of the crowd.

They'd navigated by the first two storm troopers, with only two left when Ariel yelled, "Dr. Trope? Dr. Trope? Look, there she is, Miranda Kiss. I told you she crashed the prom. She's right there in the middle. You have to-"

Four men with automatic weapons suddenly swiveled and waded into the mass of students. Miranda whispered, "Duck," to Sibby and the two of them bobbed beneath the surface of the crowd, crawling back into the Great Hall.

Behind her she heard Dr. Trope saying, "Where is she? Where did she go? I'm not leaving one of my pupils in there." And the storm trooper saying, "Please, sir, you need to evacuate. We'll find her. Rest assured."

Miranda decided that if she got out of this alive, she'd be a lot nicer to Dr. Trope. If.

She dragged Sibby over to Old Faithful and said, "In there. Now."

"Why can't I hide in the White House? Why does it have to be in the volcano?"

"I might need part of the White House. Please, just do it. They won't be able to make you out if they have night goggles."

"What about you? You're wearing white."

"I match the decorations."

"Wow, you're really good at this. This planning stuff. How'd you learn how to-"

Miranda was wondering the same thing. Wondering why as soon as she'd heard the announcement some part of her brain had started measuring her distance to the exits, looking around for weapons, watching the door. Her senses going into overdrive was a relief; it meant some of her powers were cooperating. But did she have the strength to take on ten armed men? The most she'd ever taken on at one time before was three, and they hadn't been toting machine guns. She'd have to be crafty rather than direct. She said to Sibby, "Give me your boots."

"For what?"

"To get rid of some of our competition so we can get out of here."

"But I really like these-"

"Give them to me. And also a rubber bracelet."

Miranda set her trap, then held her breath as a guard approached. She heard him say into the walkie-talkie, "Southwest pillar. I've got one," and saw the ribbons stir as he used the butt of his gun to push them aside.

Heard him say, "What the-"

And fired George Washington's sugar nose at him with the slingshot she'd made out of Sibby's rubber bracelet and a fork. All her target work paid off because it hit him at exactly the right point to send him plunging forward. He went down headfirst just hard enough to be disoriented and docile while she tied his hands and feet with the ribbons from the pillar. "I'm really sorry," she said, flipping him over to gag him with a piece of dinner roll, then smiled. "Oh, hi, Craig. Not your day, is it? I hope your head's feeling better. What? It's not? It will. Try rubbing some insta-hot on your wrists and ankles when they untie you. Bye."

She'd just grabbed the boots she'd used at the base of the column as a decoy when she heard another guard coming fast from her left. She threw a boot at him Frisbee style and heard a satisfying swack as he fell down, too.

Two down, eight to go.

She was apologizing to the one she'd hit with the shoe, who was out cold-it was nice to know ankle boots were good for something-when the walkie-talkie on his belt came to life. "Leon, this is the Gardener. Where are you? State your position. Copy?"

Miranda picked up the unconscious guard's walkie-talkie and said into it, "I thought your name was Caleb Reynolds, Deputy. Why the Gardener stuff? Or, as my friend likes to call you, Plant Boy."

A crackle. Then Deputy Reynolds's voice through the walkie-talkie. "Miranda? Is that you? Where are you? Miranda?"

"Right here," she whispered in his ear. She'd snuck up behind him, and now as he turned, her arm came around his neck with the heel of the boot pointed at his throat.

"What are you stabbing me with?" he asked.

"All you need to know is that it's going to cause you a lot of pain and probably a bad infection if you don't start telling me how many people there are here and what their plan is."

"There are ten in here, five more watching the exits outside. But I'm on your side."

"Really, Gardener? That's not how it looked at the house."

"You didn't give me a chance to talk to the girl."

"You're going to have to do better than that. I'm not a mix tape, you can't play me."

"Do you have any idea what she is?"

" What she is? Not really."

His heart rate sped up now. "She's a real-life flesh-and-blood prophet. The Cumean Sibyl. She's one of ten people who between them supposedly know and can control the whole future of the world."

"Wow. I thought she was just an annoying fourteen-year-old with wild hormones."

"The Sibyl operates through different bodies. Or that's what they think. These people I'm working with. Wack jobs. They pretend they want to protect her, keep her prophecies from being exploited by the unscrupulous, but I think they're actually into extortion. I heard one of them say they could ransom the girl for eight figures." His heart rate slowed as he talked. "My job was to find out where she was supposed to be picked up, so they could send someone there with some trinket of hers to show we had her, and get the Overseer to pay up."

Miranda didn't like the sound of the word trinket at all. "But you weren't going to?"

"They're just using this religion stuff as a cover for their greed. It's disgusting. I'm all set to stop them, and then you"-getting agitated, his heartbeat spiking-"you come along in the middle and mess it up."

Miranda knew he was genuinely angry. "Stop them how?"

"I was supposed to be getting the location of her pickup place from her, right? When you crashed in, I was going to tell her what to say, a place I'd picked out with the task force, then when the wackos went there, they'd be picked up by the police. Meanwhile I'd get the Sibyl safely to the real rendezvous. But you come in and blow it. Months of police work down the tubes." His heartbeat was slow and even again.

Miranda let him go. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He turned to scowl at her, changing it to a half smile when he saw what she was wearing. "Nice look on you." He paused for a second, then said, "You know, there's a way we could still make this work. Do you have another outfit like that?"

"My skating uniform? Yeah. But it's not the same color. It's more blue."

"That doesn't matter as long as it's close. With you two dressed as twins we'll be able to fool them into thinking that you're the Sibyl, use you as a decoy while we sneak her out to safety."

Talking quickly, he outlined the rest of his plan. Miranda said, "It would be better if we wore the wigs and masks, too. To complete the disguise."

"That's right. Perfect. Go toward the employee entrance, the one you used to sneak in. There's someone guarding the outer door but there's a door on the left that is clear. It goes to an office. I'll deal with these guys and then come-"

He stopped talking, lifted his gun, and fired behind her. Turning, Miranda saw he'd shot one of the guards.

"He saw us together," he told her. "I couldn't let one of those bastards get you or tell the others. I'll distract them, keep them over here. You get the Sibyl, change, and wait for me in the office."

She was already moving away when she paused and said, "How did you find us?"

His heartbeat slowed. "Put out a bulletin on your car."

"I should have thought of that," Miranda said, then took off as he radioed, "Man down-man down."

Sibby was frantic when Miranda got back to her. "What happened? Did you get shot?"

"No. I got us a ride out of here."

"How?"

Miranda explained as they changed, then skirted the edges of the Great Hall toward the director's office. As they moved, she heard Deputy Reynolds barking orders to the guards, keeping them busy in other parts of the room, saying at one point, "No, don't turn on the lights-that will give them an advantage!" At another, heard a grunt of pain that sounded like someone being knocked out. She was impressed.

They reached the director's office without running into anyone. Sibby sat in the desk chair. Miranda was pacing, walking back and forth to the ticktock of the big clock on the director's mantelpiece, picking up and putting down objects, a crystal...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Eleven



Eighteen minutes later, deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds stood outside the door of the director's office, watching them through a crack. It had taken him slightly longer than expected to get everything in place, but he felt good, confident, about how it was all going to play out. Especially now seeing the two girls in the Bee's Roller Derby outfits, tight little skirts and tops, even had the wigs and masks on. They were identical except one of them was in blue, the other in white. Like little dolls, yeah, he liked to think of them that way. His little dolls.

Expensive dolls.

The blue doll saying, "Are you sure the fact that you want to kiss him isn't getting in the way of your judgment, Miranda?"

And the white doll saying, "Who says I want to kiss him? You're the Kissing Ban***."

"Who says I want to kiss him?" the blue doll mimicked. "Please. You should really learn to have some fun. Live in the mo."

"Maybe I will as soon as I get rid of you, Sibby."

The blue doll stuck out her tongue, almost making him laugh. They were cute together, these two. Blue doll said, "I'm serious. How do you know we can trust him?"

"He has his own agenda," the white doll explained, "and it works with ours."

Then he really did have to stifle a laugh. She had no idea how correct she was. About that first part.

And how wrong about the second.

He pushed the door open and saw them both turn to him with you-are-my-hero expressions in their eyes.

"Are you ready, Miss Cumean?"

Blue doll nodded.

His little white doll saying now, "Take good care of her. You know how important she is."

"I will. I'll get her settled and come back for the second part of the operation. Don't open the door for anyone but me."

"Right."

He was back less than a minute later.

"Was everything okay? Is Sibby safe?"

"It went perfectly. My men were exactly in position. It could not have gone smoother."

"Okay, so how long do we wait before I run out?"

He walked toward her, backing her against the wall. He said, "There's been a change of plans."

"What, you've added a part where you kiss me? Before the part where I pretend to be Sibby and lead the guards into the SWAT-team trap?"

He liked the way she smiled when she said it. He reached up to caress her cheek and said, "Not exactly, Miranda." His hands slid from her face to her neck.

"What are you tal-"

Before she could finish, she was pressed against the wall, hanging a foot above the ground, his hands around her throat. He tightened them slightly as he said, "It's just you and me now. I know all about you. Who you are. What you can do."

"Really?" she choked out.

"Yes, really. Princess!" He saw her eyes get wide and felt her swallow hard. "I knew that would get your attention."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know about the bounty on your head. Miranda Kiss wanted, alive or dead. My original plan had been to leave you alive for a while, bring you in after a few weeks, but unfortunately you just had to interfere. Should have minded your own business instead of mine, Princess. Now I can't run the risk of your getting in the way."

"You mean in the way of what you're doing with Sibby? So you were the one who wanted the money. You betrayed those others and made them think you were part of their cause, just like you betrayed us."

"Such a smart girl."

"You kill me, kidnap her, and collect money? Is that it?"

"Yep. Just like Monopoly, Princess. Pass go, collect two hundred dollars. Only in this case it's more like fifty million. For the girl."

"Wow." She looked genuinely impressed. "And how much do you get for me?"

"Dead? Five million. You're worth more alive; apparently some people think you're some teen Wonder Woman, have superpowers. But I can't take the chance."

"You already said that," she rasped.

"What, are you bored, Miranda?" He tightened his grip a little. "Sorry this wasn't more of a storybook ending," he said, smiling at her, holding her eyes with his own as he choked her.

He could tell she was struggling to breathe now. "If you're going to kill me, can't you just get on with it? This is kind of uncomfortable."

"What, my hands? Or the feeling that you're a failure-"

"I'm not a failure."

" - again."

She spit in his face.

"Still got some fire. I really admire that about you. I think you and I could have gotten along nicely. Unfortunately, there just isn't time."

She gave one last fight, clawing at him with all her remaining strength. It was inspiring how hard she worked. Finally her little fists fell hopelessly to her sides.

He leaned in close to her face. "Any last words?"

"Three: Listerine breath strips. You really need them."

He laughed, then tightened the hands around her neck until they overlapped. "Good-bye."

For a second, his eyes burned into hers. Then there was a sharp crack and something heavy came down on his head from behind. He staggered forward, his hands letting go of the girl as he fell to the ground unconscious.

He never knew what hit him, the blue doll thought, still gripping the clock she'd used to knock him out. Or who.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Twelve



Miranda, dressed in the blue uniform, pushed aside the man she'd just hit over the head with the clock to reach Sibby. She still had handcuff bracelets around her wrists, each dangling a piece of chain. Her wrists, her hands, were shaking.

She lifted the unconscious girl gently. "Sibby, come on, open your eyes."

It wasn't supposed to have taken so long. The plan had been simple: She and Sibby would switch identities by switching outfits. When Deputy Reynolds double-crossed them, like Miranda knew he would, it would be Miranda disguised as Sibby he'd hand over to his crew, and she'd deal with them, then come back and rescue Sibby.

At least, that's how it should have gone.

"Okay, Sib, time to wake up," Miranda said, carrying the girl now, cradling her pressed against her chest as she moved as quickly as possible. She could hear Sibby's heartbeat, but it was faint, and slow. Getting fainter. This is not happening.

"Rise and shine, Sibby," she said, her voice cracking. "Up and at 'em."

Miranda hadn't expected to find all five of Deputy Reynolds's goons waiting for her-shouldn't someone have been in the getaway car? - and especially hadn't anticipated the woman he'd picked up from the airport having rhinestone-studded brass knuckles. The blow to the head had given them time to cuff Miranda to a pipe and made her a little weak, so it had taken her longer than it should have to knock them off with a series of roundhouse kicks and one side scissor, then break the chain on the cuffs and free herself. Giving Deputy Reynolds more time with Sibby's esophagus than she'd planned.

A lot more.

The heartbeat was getting softer, harder to hear.

"I'm so sorry, Sibby. I should have gotten here sooner. I tried my best, but I couldn't get the handcuffs off and I was too weak and I failed and-" Miranda was having trouble seeing and realized she was crying. She stumbled but kept running. "Sibby, you've got to be okay. You can't go. If you don't come back, I swear I'll never have fun again. Not once." The heartbeat was just a whisper now, the girl in her arms a pale ghost. Miranda choked back a sob. "God, Sibby, please-"

Sibby's eyes flickered. Color surged into her cheeks and her heart picked up. "Did it work?" she whispered.

Miranda swallowed the huge lump in her throat and resisted the urge to crush her. "It worked."

"Did you-"

"Clocked him with the clock, as requested."

Sibby smiled, reached her hand up to Miranda's cheek, then closed her eyes again. They didn't reopen until they were in the car with the historical society behind them. She sat up and looked around. "I'm in the front seat."

"Special occasion," Miranda explained. "Don't get used to it."

"Right." Sibby worked her neck back and forth. "That was a good plan. Trading outfits so they'd think you were me and not worry so much about restraints."

"They still went all out." Miranda pushed the cape back. "I broke the chain, but I can't get the bracelets off." Thinking for some reason of Kenzi at the prom saying, Are you ready to unshackle yourself from the insecurities of your youth? Are you ready to own your future?

"What happened to Plant Boy?"

"I called in an anonymous tip telling them where to find him and the bodies of the guards he shot. He should be on his way to jail."

"How did you know you were right? That he was trying to trick us?"

"I can tell when people are lying."

"How?"

"Different things. Little gestures. Mostly by listening to their heartbeats."

"Like if they speed up, they're lying?"

"Everyone is different. You need to know how they react when they're telling the truth to know how they react when they're lying. His heartbeat gets slower, more even when he lies, like he's trying to be extra careful."

Sibby looked at her more closely. "You can hear people's heartbeats?"

"I hear a lot of things."

Sibby took that in. "When Plant Boy was strangling me because he thought I was you? He called me Princess. And said some people thought you had superpowers like a teen Wonder Woman or something."

Miranda felt her chest get tight. "He did?"

"And he said there was a bounty on your head. Alive or dead. Although I'm sorry to say that I'm worth ten times as much as you are."

"It's not nice to brag."

"Is it true? That you're Wonder Woman?"

"Maybe the lack of oxygen went to your head but Wonder Woman is a comic-book character. Made up. I'm a real, normal person."

Sibby snorted. "You are definitely not normal. You're totally neurotic." A pause. "That wasn't an answer. Are you really a princess with superpowers?"

"Are you really a sacred prophet who knows everything that is going to happen?"

Their eyes met. Neither of them said anything.

Sibby stretched, sprawling out over the front seat, and Miranda turned up the radio and they drove on in silence, both of them smiling.

After a few miles Sibby said, "I'm starving. Could we stop for a burger?"

"Yeah, but we're on a schedule, so no kissing strange guys."

"I knew you were going to say that."

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Thirteen



Miranda sat in the car watching the power boat disappear on the horizon, taking Sibby wherever she was going. You have no time to relax, she reminded herself. Deputy Reynolds might be headed for prison, but he can still talk, and you know he lied about how he found you, which means someone at Chatsworth knows something, and then there's the question of who put the bounty on your head and-

Her cell phone rang. She reached across the seat to grab her suit jacket and tried to jam her hand into the pocket to get the phone, but the handcuff bracelet kept getting caught. She turned the jacket over and dumped everything onto her lap.

She caught it on the last ring. "Hello."

"Miranda? It's Will."

Her heart stopped. "Hi." Suddenly feeling shy. "Did you, um, have fun at prom?"

"Parts of it. You?"

"Me too. Parts of it."

"I looked for you after the bomb threat, but I didn't see you."

"Yeah, it got kind of hectic."

There was a pause and they both started talking at once. He said, "You first," and she said, "No, you," and they both cracked up and he started, "Listen, I don't know if you were planning to come to Sean's place for the after-party. Everyone is here. It's fun and all. But-"

"But?"

"I was wondering if maybe you'd want to get breakfast instead. At the Waffle House? Just the two of us?"

Miranda forgot to breathe. She said, "That would be completely fantastic." And remembering she wasn't supposed to be too eager, added, "I mean, that would be okay, I guess."

Will laughed, his warm-butter-melting-on-break-fast-treats laugh, and said, "I think it would be completely fantastic, too."

She hung up and saw that her hands were shaking. She was having breakfast with a guy. Not just a guy. With Will. A guy who wore space pants. And thought she was hot.

And possibly crazy. Which, p.s., accessorizing with handcuffs is not exactly going to help.

She tried again to snap the bracelets with her hand but she couldn't. Either these weren't normal cuffs or knocking out ten people in one night-actually eight, since she'd done two of them twice-was the limit of her strength. Which was interesting, her strength having limits. She had a lot to learn about her powers. Later.

Right now, she had half an hour to find some other way to get the cuffs off. She started shoving things from her lap back into the pocket of her suit jacket so she could drive, then stopped when she saw an unfamiliar box.

It was the one Sibby had given her when they met-could it seriously be only eight hours ago? What had she said, something odd. Miranda remembered it now, Sibby handing her the name sign and the box and saying, "This must be yours." But with the emphasis different. "This must be yours."

Miranda opened the box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a handcuff key.

Are you ready to own your future?

It was worth a try.

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter One



Hell on Earth

Stephenie Meyer

Gabe stared across the dance floor and frowned. He wasn't sure why he'd asked Celeste to the prom, and it was another mystery why she'd said yes. Even more mysterious now, watching her grip Heath McKenzie around the neck so tightly that Heath was probably having trouble breathing. Their bodies flattened into an indivisible mass as they swayed against the beat, ignoring the rhythm of the song thudding through the room. Heath's hands roamed over Celeste's glistening white dress in an intimate way.

"Tough luck, Gabe."

Gabe looked away from the spectacle his date was making to his approaching friend.

"Hey, Bry. Having a nice night?"

"Better than you, man, better than you," Bryan answered, grinning. He lifted his cup of bilious green punch as if for a toast. Gabe touched his bottled water to Bryan's cup and sighed.

"I had no idea Celeste had a thing for Heath. What is he, her ex or something?"

Bryan took a gulp of the sinister-looking drink, made a face, and shook his head. "Not that I know of. I've never seen them even speak to each other before tonight."

Both of them stared at Celeste, who had apparently lost something she needed deep inside Heath's mouth.

"Huh," Gabe said.

"It's probably just the punch," Bryan said in an attempt to be encouraging. "I don't know how many people spiked it, but ouch. She might not even know that's not you out there."

Bryan took another swig and made another face.

"Why are you drinking that?" Gabe wondered aloud.

Bryan shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the music will start to sound a little less pathetic after I force a glass of this down."

Gabe nodded. "My ears may never forgive me. I should have brought my iPod."

"I wonder where Clara is. Is there some kind of girl-law that demands they spend a certain percentage of every event in the bathroom together?"

"Yes. Stiff penalties for girls who don't meet the quota."

Bryan laughed once, but then his smile faded and he fiddled with his bow tie for a moment. "About Clara..." he began.

"You don't have to say anything," Gabe assured him. "She's an amazing girl. And you two are perfect for each other. I would've had to be blind not to see that."

"You really don't mind?"

"I told you to ask her to the prom, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. Sir Galahad makes another match. Seriously, man, do you ever think about yourself?"

"Sure, every hour on the hour. And hey, speaking of Clara... she better have a great time tonight or I'm going to break your nose." Gabe grinned a wide grin. "She and I are still good friends-don't think I won't call her to check."

Bryan rolled his eyes, but suddenly found it a little difficult to swallow. If Gabe Christensen wanted to break his nose, he wouldn't have much of a problem doing it-Gabe didn't mind getting his knuckles bruised or his permanent record blemished if it meant righting something that was wrong in his eyes.

"I'll take care of Clara," Bryan said, wishing that the words didn't sound so much like a vow. There was something about Gabe and his piercing blue eyes that made you feel that way-like doing the best you could at any given task. It got irritating sometimes. With a grimace, Bryan dumped the rest of his punch into the dead moss at the base of a fake ficus tree. "If she ever leaves the bathroom."

"Good man," Gabe said approvingly, but his smile twisted down on one side. Celeste and Heath had disappeared into the crowd.

Gabe wasn't sure what the protocol was when you got dumped at the prom. How was he supposed to make sure she got home safe? Was that Heath's job now?

Gabe wondered again why he'd asked Celeste to this dance.

She was a very pretty girl-pageant pretty. Perfect blond hair-so full it was fluffy-wide-spaced brown eyes, and curvy lips always painted a flattering shade of pink. Her lips weren't the only things that were curvy. She'd all but shut his brain down with the thin, clingy dress she'd worn tonight.

Her looks weren't the reason he'd noticed her, though. That reason was something else entirely.

It was stupid and embarrassing, really. Gabe would never, ever tell anyone else about this, but every now and then, he got this weird sense that someone needed help. Needed him. He'd gotten that inexplicable pull from Celeste, as if the shapely blonde was hiding a damsel in distress somewhere behind her flawless makeup.

Very stupid. And obviously wrong. Celeste didn't seem interested in any help from Gabe right now.

He scanned the dance floor again but couldn't pick her golden hair out of the crowd. He sighed.

"Hey, Bry, did you miss me?" Clara, her dark curly hair full of glitter, bounced free from a herd of females and joined them against the wall. The rest of the herd dispersed. "Hey, Gabe. Where's Celeste?"

Bryan put his arm around her shoulders. "I thought you left. Guess I'll have to cancel the hot plans I just made with-"

Clara's elbow caught Bryan in the solar plexus.

"Mrs. Finkle," Bryan continued, gasping the words and nodding toward the vice principal glaring from the corner of the room farthest away from the speakers. "We were going to sort failure notices by candlelight."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to miss that! I think I saw Coach Lauder by the cookies. Maybe I could talk him into some extra-cre*** pull-ups."

"Or maybe we could just dance," Bryan suggested.

"Sure, I can settle for that."

Laughing, they pressed their way toward the dance floor, Bryan's hands winding around Clara's waist.

Gabe was glad Clara hadn't waited for an answer to her question. It was a little embarrassing that he didn't have one.

"Hey, Gabe, where's Celeste?"

Gabe grimaced and turned to the sound of Logan's voice.

Logan was also solo for the moment. Perhaps it was his date's turn to exhibit girl-herding behavior.

"I couldn't say," Gabe admitted. "Have you seen her?"

Logan pursed his full lips for a minute, as if debating whether or not to say something. He ran a hand nervously across his springy black hair. "Well, I thought I did. I'm not exactly sure, though... She's wearing a white dress, right?"

"Yeah-where is she?"

"I think I saw her in the lobby. Can't be positive. Her face was sort of hard to see... David Alvarado's face was all over it..."

"David Alvarado?" Gabe repeated in surprise. "Not Heath McKenzie?"

"Heath? Naw. It was definitely David."

Heath was a linebacker, blond and fair. David barely cleared five feet; his coloring was olive and his hair was black. No way to confuse the two.

Logan shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Gabe. That sucks."

"Don't worry about it."

"At least you're not in the stag boat alone," Logan said forlornly.

"Really? What happened to your date?"

Logan shrugged. "She's around here somewhere, glowering at everyone. She doesn't want to dance, she doesn't want to talk, she doesn't want punch, she doesn't want to take pictures, and she doesn't want my company." He ticked each negative off on his fingers. "I don't know why she asked me in the first place. Probably just wanted to show off her dress-it is hot, I'll give her that. But she doesn't seem to care about showing anything now... Wish I'd asked someone else." Logan's eyes lingered wistfully on a group of girls fast dancing in a male-free circle. Gabe thought he saw Logan focus on one girl in particular.

"Why didn't you ask Libby?"

Logan sighed. "I don't know. I think... I think she would have liked it if I'd asked her, though. Oh well."

"Who's your date?"

"That new girl, Sheba. She's a little intense but really gorgeous, kinda exotic. I was too shocked to say anything but yes when she asked me to go with her. I thought that she, well, that she might be... fun..." Logan finished lamely. What he'd really thought when Sheba had all but commanded him to take her to prom didn't seem entirely appropriate to be spoken aloud, especially to Gabe; lots of things seemed inappropriate around Gabe. It was just the opposite with Sheba. When he'd gotten a look at her mind-blowing red leather dress, his head had been full of ideas that somehow didn't feel in the least bit inappropriate while her deep, dark eyes had been focused on him.

"I don't think I've met her," Gabe said, interrupting Logan's brief fantasy.

"You'd remember if you had." Although Sheba had forgotten Logan quickly enough once they were in the door, hadn't she? "Hey, do you think maybe Libby came alone? I didn't hear about anyone asking her..."

"Er, she came with Dylan."

"Oh," Logan said, crestfallen. Then he half-smiled. "Night's bad enough without getting tortured on top of everything else-weren't they supposed to have a band? This DJ..."

"I know. It's as if we're being punished for our sins,"...

Prom Nights from Hell
Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Two



"Are you kidding? I barely got off suspension in time to be allowed to come tonight." Of course, at the moment Gabe was wishing the timing hadn't been so helpful. "I'm lucky I didn't get expelled."

"Mr. Reese had it coming. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, he did," Gabe said, a sudden edge sharpening his tone. Everyone at school was wary of Mr. Reese, but there wasn't much they could do until the math teacher crossed a line he shouldn't have. All the upperclassmen knew about Mr. Reese, too, but Gabe wasn't about to stand by while he stalked that clueless freshman kid... Still, knocking out a teacher was a bit extreme. There was probably some better way to have handled the situation. His parents had been supportive, though, as usual.

Logan interrupted his thoughts. "Maybe we should take off," Logan said.

"I'd feel bad-if Celeste needs a way home..."

"That girl is not your type, Gabe." She's pure evil-and a full-on whore, Logan could have added, but those just weren't the kinds of things you wanted to say about any girl while Gabe was in hearing range. "Let her get a ride with the guy sticking his tongue down her throat."

Gabe sighed and shook his head. "I'll wait to make sure she's okay."

Logan groaned. "I can't believe you asked her. Well, can we ***ch out long enough to pick up a few decent CDs at least? Then we could hijack that pile of crap the DJ's playing..."

"I like the way you think. I wonder if the limo driver would mind a side trip..."

Logan and Gabe ended up in a mock argument over the best CDs to retrieve-the top five were obvious, but from there down the list was a little more subjective-both of them having a better time than they'd had all evening.

It was funny, but as they joked around, Gabe had a sense that they were the only ones having a good time. Everyone in the room seemed to be frowning about something. And over in the corner by the stale cookies, it looked like a girl was crying. Wasn't that Evie Hess? And another girl, Ursula Tatum, also had red eyes and smeared mascara. Maybe the music and the punch weren't the only things about this prom that sucked. Clara and Bryan looked happy, but aside from those two, Gabe and Logan-both recently humiliated and rejected-seemed to be enjoying themselves more than everyone else.

Less perceptive than Gabe, Logan didn't register the negative atmosphere until Libby and Dylan started arguing; abruptly, Libby stalked off the dance floor. That caught his attention at once.

Logan shifted his weight, his eyes glued to Libby's departing figure. "Hey, Gabe, do you mind if I ***ch you?"

"Not at all. Go for it."

Logan nearly sprinted after her.

Gabe wasn't sure what to do with himself now. Should he find Celeste and ask whether she minded if he bailed? He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of prying her loose from someone else in order to ask, though.

He decided to get another bottle of water and find the quietest corner possible to wait for the evening to drag to an end.

And then, as he went searching for that quiet corner, Gabe felt the strange pull again, stronger than he'd ever felt it in his life; it was like someone was drowning in black waters and screaming to him for help. He glanced around frantically, wondering where the urgent call was coming from. He couldn't understand the vital, jagged edge of this distress. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

For just a moment, his eyes locked on one girl-on her back, as she was walking away from him. The girl's hair was black and glossy, with a mirrorlike sheen. She wore a spectacular floor-length dress the color of flames. As Gabe watched, her earrings flashed once, like little red sparklers.

Gabe began walking after her in an almost unconscious movement, drawn by the wrenching need that surrounded her. She turned slightly, and he got a glimpse of an unfamiliar pale, aquiline profile-full ivory lips and black slanting brows-before she ducked through the ladies' room door.

Gabe was breathing hard with the effort of not following the girl into no-man's-land. He could feel her need sucking at him like quicksand. He leaned against the wall across from the bathroom, folded his arms tight across his chest, and tried to talk himself out of waiting for the girl. This lunatic instinct he had was way off base. Wasn't Celeste proof of that? It was all just imagination.

Maybe he should leave now.

But Gabe couldn't force his feet to move one step away.

Though the girl barely reached five foot three inches in her stiletto heels, something about her figure-whip-slender and rod-straight as a fencing foil-made her appear tall.

She was a walking contradiction in more ways than height-both dark and light with her inky hair and chalky skin, both delicate and hard with her tiny, sharp features, and both inviting and repellent with the mesmerizing undulations of her body under the hostile expression on her face.

Only one thing about her was not ambiguous-her dress was, without question, a work of art: Bright red tongues of leather flame bared her pale shoulders and licked down her willowy curves until they kissed the floor. As she crossed the dance floor, female eyes followed the pathway of the dress with envy and male eyes followed it with lust.

There was another phenomenon that followed her; as the girl in the fiery dress passed through the dancers, little gasps of horror and pain and embarrassment rippled out from around her in strange eddies that could only be coincidence. A high heel cracked, twisting the ankle inside it. A satin dress split along a seam from thigh to waist. A contact lens popped out and was lost on the dirty floor. A vital bra strap snapped in two. A wallet slipped from a pocket. An unexpected cramp announced an early period. A borrowed necklace scattered in a shower of pearls to the floor.

And on and on-little disasters spinning small circles of misery.

The pale dark girl smiled to herself as if she could somehow sense that misery in the air and enjoy it-taste it, perhaps, considering the way she licked her lips in appreciation.

And then she frowned, furrowing her brow in fierce concentration. The one boy who was watching her face saw a strange red glitter near her earlobes, like shooting red sparks. Everyone else turned just then to stare at Brody Farrow, who clutched his arm and shouted in pain; the slight movement of the slow dancing had dislocated his shoulder.

The girl in the red dress smirked.

With her heels ringing sharply against the tile floor, she strode down the hall to the ladies' room. Faint moans of pain and chagrin trailed after her.

A crowd of girls hovered in front of the wall-length mirrors inside the bathroom. They only had a moment to gape at the stunning dress, to notice how the slight girl inside it shivered briefly in the stuffy, too-warm room, before the chaos distracted them. It started with Emma Roland stabbing herself in the eye with a mascara wand. She flailed in dismay, striking the full glass of punch in Bethany Crandall's hand, which then drenched Bethany and stained three other dresses in the most inconvenient places. The atmosphere in the restroom was suddenly hotter than the temperature as one girl-sporting a hideous green smear across her chest-accused Bethany of throwing the punch on her purposely.

The pale dark girl only smiled slightly at the brewing fight, and then strode to the farthest stall in the long room and locked the door behind her.

She did not make use of the privacy the way one might expect. Instead-showing no fear of the less-than-sterile environment-the girl leaned her forehead against the metal wall and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands, balled into sharp little fists, also rested against the metal as if for support.

If any of the girls in the ladies' room had been paying attention, they might have wondered what was causing the red glow that shone dully through the crack between the door and the wall. But no one was paying attention.

The girl in the red dress clenched her teeth tightly together. From between them, a hot spurt of bright flame shot out and singed black patterns into the thin layer of tan paint on the metal wall. She started to pant, struggling with an invisible weight, and the fire burned hotter, thick fingers of red crackling against the cold metal. The fire reached up to her hair, but did not scorch the smooth, inky locks. Traces of smoke began to seep from her nose and ears.

A shower of sparks popped from her ears as she whispered one word through her teeth.

"Melissa."

Back out on the crowded dance floor, Melissa Harris looked up, distracted. Had someone just called her name? There didn't seem to be anyone close enough to be responsible for the low sound. Just her imagination, then. Melissa looked back at her date and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

Melissa wondered why she had agreed to go to the prom with Cooper Silverdale. He wasn't her type. A small boy, consumed with his own importance, with too much to prove. He'd been oddly hyper all night, bragging about his family and his possessions nonstop, and Melissa was tired of it.

Another faint whisper caught Melissa's attention, and she turned.

There, too far across the crowd to be the source behind the sound, Tyson Bell was staring straight at Melissa over the head of the girl he danced with. Melissa looked down at once, shuddering, trying not to care who he was with, forcing herself not to look.

...