Night Prowler Part One Read online

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zeus sat down in his easy chair. He liked it much better than his throne, which was too straight-backed for his taste. The report from Sagittarius’s ghost was in a small vile full of memories sitting on the side table next to him.

  Getting comfortable, Zeus took one last look out over the Palace grounds. He tipped the vial to his view, and then tossed the contents down his throat.

  When he opened his eyes, he was a visitor in the past. He stood next to a younger looking Sagittarius, and could hear her thoughts clearer than his own.

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  Teenagers

  Samantha Steele

  Keyboarding? Did I really get stuck in keyboarding?

  Putting me in a class that teaches you how to type is like putting Carly Patterson in a beginner’s gymnastics class.

  Oh well. At least it will be an easy A.

  I sit next to a girl named Megan. I know her a little bit because she used to be friends with my best friend Sarah, but we don’t talk. Nobody does. Mrs. Bowan lets us, but no one says anything. I don’t understand, but it makes me look like less of a loser.

  One day I went to class, but someone else was sitting where I was supposed to be. Megan was out of luck, too; there was a new girl in her seat as well. So I sat behind my normal seat.

  Moving four feet was like moving into a different room; there’s a completely different set of people here.

  The tables were arranged so that the computers face each other. I had never seen the three boys sitting across from me before. Guessing by their features, comfortable expressions, and placid eyes, I assumed they were juniors.

  The one in the middle was pretty cute. He had short, dark blonde hair, and large, round blue eyes. His friend to the left had curly brown hair, but it was always hidden under a knit hat, and his skinny arms were always covered in plaid flannel shirts. They often muttered to each other, but never to me, until one day in February.

  “Is your last name Smallman?” the blonde one asked quietly.

  Something hit me when he spoke. There is no way to explain how I felt because I barely remember it. I remember being scared and shocked and excited, and then embarrassed because I didn’t even reply verbally; I just shook my head. His

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  Samantha Steele

  expression didn’t change. He just looked away, making me feel like a stupid freshman.

  He didn’t say anything to me for another whole week, but he began to glance at me a little more often. Then, on the day I decided I had a crush on him, he spoke to me.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, using the same blank, empty tone as before.

  “Sam,” I tried to say. My voice was broken and almost inaudible, but by a stroke of luck, he heard it.

  “What?” he asked, his whole body suddenly showing expression. “Sam?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows and leaning forward. Not looking from my screen, I nodded with my mouth slightly dropped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod and turn back to his screen.

  The room was silent for a few moments until he asked me what grade I was in. His tone had returned to that dry, placid meter.

  “Are you in 10th grade?” I shook my head. “Ninth?” I nodded, and so did he. After a few moments, I gathered my courage and, in a steady and normal voice, I asked,

  “Why?” Again his whole body surged with emotion.

  “Just curious,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, pushing out his bottom lip, and turning towards the door.

  For the rest of the day, I tried desperately to figure him out. For a week he acts like I don’t exist, and then he wants to know my name. He speaks like he’s dead when he asks me questions, but comes alive when I speak to him.

  Two days later, we spoke again, but this time it was an actual conversation. I was so thrilled to actually be talking to him that I hardly recollect it, but I do remember this: His two friends had ditched class that day, and I thought to myself, Why would he come to class if his friends ditched? I tried to convince myself that he came to class just to see me. I don’t remember how we got talking, but we did.

  Devin’s computer was down, so he sat next to Blue-Eyes instead of Plaid Boy (I had started to call my new crush Blue-

  11

  Teenagers

  Eyes and his friend, who always wore those flannel shirts, Plaid Boy). Now, Devin and I hate each other, and for a very good reason that I need not explain quite yet.

  Devin started talking to Blue-Eyes, which made me very nervous. Somehow we got onto the subject of why Devin and I hate each other, and Blue-Eyes kept pressing me to tell him.

  Finally, Devin divulged the truth, and Blue-Eyes thought it was funny. That made me angry, because the reason I hate Devin has to do with him taking something from my best friend that she can never, ever get back. And then he told everyone about it, including some junior he’d known for a mere five minutes!

  So I joked around with Blue-Eyes, telling him that Devin was a bad person and that he shouldn’t talk to him (well, I suppose it wasn’t joking if I was serious). The point is that I left class satisfied and happy because I had talked to Blue-Eyes, and he had started the conversation.

  But then he didn’t talk to me for almost two weeks. I was nervous all the time, thinking that maybe Devin had said something bad that had turned Blue-Eyes off to me. If Devin ruined this relationship before it even began, I was going to murder his reputation.

  That just wasn’t fair.

  Since Blue-Eyes was a junior, I had never seen him at lunch until one chilly day in February, almost two weeks after our first real conversation. He passed my best friend Cami and I three times while we were wandering around the halls, and on the third time, he walked by and simply said, “What’s up?”

  The next day was the day I began to experience my first serious crush. Now, I had liked boys before, of course, and thought about them all the time, and followed them and knew their schedules and all, but Blue-Eyes was different.

  I literally could not do anything else but think or talk about Blue-Eyes. Occasionally I would get a stroke of luck and be able to read a few chapters in a book or go a whopping ten minutes without him invading my mind with his cute little puppy dog eyes and round nose. I could smell the boredom on my

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  Samantha Steele

  friends when I droned on and on about his gorgeous eyes and exhilarating voice. In English, the period just before my keyboarding class, I constantly watched the clock, waiting as the minutes ticked painfully by.

  Tuesdays were the worst days of the week because I didn’t have his class. On those days, I would scan the entire school any and every moment I got, hoping to see his eyes glittering in the crowd somewhere. I finally figured out his real name one day when Mrs. Bowan asked him something. She said,

  “Zack,” and then I didn’t hear the question.

  So then I wasn’t talking about Blue-Eyes or the blonde boy anymore. Now I was talking about Zack, and he conquered my mind without even knowing - or trying, for that matter.

  As I was sitting in English a few days later, staring at the clock, my chest began to ache. It was actually painful. My heart wasn’t beating fast; it was beating hard. I knew that in fifteen minutes, Zack’s enticing blue eyes and oddly intriguing minor acne would be in front of me. My breath came in hushed gasps; I thought something was wrong with me!

  Cami and I walked down the hall and I became short of breath. I tried to hide it, but my teeth began to chatter. I was shaking. She asked what was wrong with me, and I lied and said I was cold, even though I was wearing a cozy red sweatshirt.

  The three-minute bell rang and I literally ran away from her and towards my class. When I got to the door, Zack was already sitting there in all his glorious beauty. My heart calmed a bit, but my chest still ached. I sat down and he glanced at me. I attempted to smile but got nervous and just stared at my screen.

  That day, Mrs. Bowan made us do timed typing tests. We typed a set of paragraphs for thr
ee minutes into a program, and then it would tell us our word-per-minute rate. While Mrs. Bowan was taking our rates down, Zack and I locked eyes for a moment.

  “What’d you get?” he asked.

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  Teenagers

  “One-oh-eight,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady and proud. He nodded again, just like he always did. “What did you get?” I asked a few moments later.

  “Seventy-nine,” he said a little shyly. I smiled. His friends asked what my word-per-minute rate was, and he told them.

  When Mrs. Bowan came by to record our rates, Zack told her he felt intimidated by my typing skills. It was cute.

  My day passed by slowly and all I could do was think about him. It began to scare me. I barely knew him; but he was the only thing on my mind.

  The next day, I had firmly decided that I HAD to force myself to ask him to the Sadie Hawkin’s dance next Friday. At the end of English, my heart started to beat hard again, and I felt the familiar shortness of breath and painful poundings of blood.

  My body started shaking as the bell rang. What’s wrong with me? I thought. I’ve been obsessed with guys before, but they’ve never made me feel like this. As I walked closer and closer to keyboarding, my cheeks got hot and flushed and I started to sweat lightly.

  When I opened the door, Zack was nowhere in sight. I sat down, my heart still trying to push my lungs aside and make its presence known. Plaid boy (whose actual name was Mitchell) was sitting at his computer, as usual. I stared angrily at Zack’s empty chair, screaming in my head, “Come to class, come to class!” I constantly glanced from the door to his chair, but he didn’t come.

  The clock ticked on until the last bell rang, and Zack never showed up.

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  Samantha Steele

  Zachary Bell

  “I have to go, Dad,” I said, standing up. “I have to pick Lily up this afternoon.”

  “Doesn’t that bitch have a car?” my dad asked.

  “Yes. She’s getting her studs off. I have to take her to pick it up.”

  “Why can’t your good-for-nothing whore of a mother do it? I hardly get to see you anymore.”

  “You’re in jail, Dad. And Mom’s working. So is Phil, not that you care,” I added.

  When I got to my car, I sat in the driver’s seat and stared off into space. I was tired of this.

  My dad, Anthony Bell, is in jail for… a few different things, including child abuse. I don’t actually know why I still go and see him. I guess it has something to do with the whole

  “father-son” thing. I hate him, but I can’t help but love him.

  Lily is my sister. She’s twenty-two.

  Phil is our step-dad. He and my mom got married last year after my parents got divorced. He’s a nice guy, I guess. He treats my mom right, and that’s all that matters. I guess.

  I picked up Lily at her job. She works at a club downtown… the kind of club you wouldn’t want your daughter to work at. I always feel embarrassed pulling in. I’m afraid I’ll see somebody I know, or that Lily will recognize one of my friends and say something while she’s… working.

  Lily came out in streetwalker Barbie shoes, a skirt so short you could see her ass, and a denim jacket. I felt embarrassed letting her get into my car, especially because the first thing she did was say, “Hey Hon,” and kiss my cheek. I smiled stiffly and peeled out of there before anyone saw us.

  Lily sat next to me pulling her skirt down about every three seconds. I asked her why she has to wear that stuff when I pick her up.

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  Teenagers

  “I’m sorry, Zac, but this is what I wear to work. Well, I change when I get inside, but this is what I wear TO work,” she said.

  “Lily, it’s like ten degrees outside. You could at least wear pants. Long, non-see-through pants,” I added, noticing her thoughtful expression.

  “I’m not a prostitute!” she shouted. “I’m just a dancer.”

  “You dance on a freaking pole, Lilith.”

  “Don’t call me Lilith! I’ll leap out the window of this car right now!”

  “I’m not getting out or waiting for you at the car shop.”

  “What if some scary fat guy starts hitting on me? You’re my brother. You’re supposed to save me.”

  “I’m your little brother. You’re supposed to save me.”

  “I don’t like your logic. Thanks for the ride, lil’ bro’,”

  Lily said, getting out of the car and slipping on the ice. She almost fell, but caught herself.

  I peeled out once more and left my sister standing in the cold.

  I walked into computers class, Mitchell at my side.

  Mitchell is my best friend. We’ve known each other since first grade.

  The seat across from me used to be empty, but a new girl was sitting there. I was pretty sure I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t remember where. Maybe I waited on her table once.

  She was pretty damned hot. Looked like a sophomore.

  It’s okay for juniors to date sophomores, right? Ah hell. What am I saying? She’s got expensive clothes, five ear piercings in one ear, a diamond in her nose, and shampoo-commercial hair. What would she want with a washed up junior who waits tables at O’Brady’s and has a stripper for a sister and a dad in jail? I thought.

  But I couldn’t help it. There was just something about her that called to me.

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  Samantha Steele

  Sometimes she curls her hair, and that looks really pretty.

  It’s really dark and silky looking.

  Her eyes are this freaky blue color. They’re super bright and stand out with her really dark hair. I have blue eyes, too, but not like hers.

  She wears braces. Normally braces turn me off, but hers aren’t silver; they’re this interesting gold color. I think they might even be real gold. It’s really cool that she took a curse like that and turned it into something unique. I’ve never seen anyone with gold braces before.

  She wears the same shirt every Monday. It’s a long sleeved, boat neck shirt with green and gray stripes. She usually curls her hair on Mondays.

  I had to talk to her. I just had to. I needed to know her name.

  I remembered Evan saying that his little brother knew a supposedly really hot girl named Ashley Smallman. He mentioned that she was in my computers class.

  I did a quick look around to see if there were any hotter girls in the class. Nope. If this Ashley chick was as hot as Evan’s little brother said, this was definitely her.

  “Is your last name Smallman?” I asked.

  When she looked at me, her eyes got really wide and her jaw dropped slightly. She barely glanced at me before turning back to her computer and just shaking her head. Figuring she probably thought I was a creep or something, I did the same.

  But as the days passed, I noticed her glancing at me more often. She had no set expression in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she thought I was weird, or if she liked me.

  I had to know her name.

  “What’s your name?” I asked her sometime later.

  “Sam,” she said. Her voice was really hard to understand.

  It cracked when she spoke. I guessed she wasn’t expecting me to talk to her. She didn’t even look at me, though, she just keep staring at her screen with a dead look on her face.

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  Teenagers

  “Are you in tenth grade?” I asked. She shook her head.

  “Ninth?” She nodded.

  Well, that kind of sucks. She’s got to be at least fifteen.

  I’m only seventeen. Maybe her birthday is before mine; then nothing will be illegal. Not that I was planning that already or anything…

  “Why?” she asked a few moments later. Her voice was suddenly strong but calm. She was ready this time.

  But I wasn’t. This time I was taken off guard.

  “Just curious,” I said, shrugging. I saw her lick her lips and turn back to her computer.

  “Za
c, I know you too well,” Mitchell said during Home Ec, my other elective. I rarely go, but I needed to talk to Mitchell today.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “You like that freshman. The one with the black hair.”

  “You mean Sam? She’s okay.”

  “Oh come on, Zac. You hardly EVER speak to girls, and all of a sudden you want to know this chick’s name?”

  “You talk to girls all the time! Why is it different with me?”

  “Because girls fall all over me. I wish they didn’t. But you never even talk to girls, Zac. You’re shy.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are. The only thing you do is work. You aren’t even passing Algebra B. You’re like a brother to me, Zac, and that’s why I think I can tell you that you’re an idiot.”

  “I know. Can you believe it? I’m a junior in Algebra B.

  And I’m failing.”

  “Maybe if you took a few hours off-”

  “I’m not giving you my hours!” Mitchell was always trying to steal my hours. It wasn’t really fair. Mitchell was smart, organized, and a chick magnet. I was stupid, scatterbrained, shy, and a workaholic. I guess this proves opposites attract, right?

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  Samantha Steele

  Mitchell Mantel

  “I’m not asking for your stupid hours! I just think you need to act a little more like a teenager. You’re too adult,” I said to my best friend.

  Zac Bell. The most he ever says to girls is, “No, I’m not related to Drake Bell.”

  Now me, I can’t get away from the girls. I don’t know what it is about me they like. I’m always experimenting, trying to get rid of whatever it is that attracts them. I always wear a hat, and I only shampoo my hair on Mondays (don’t worry, I bathe, I just don’t shampoo my hair).

  So one would derive that they obviously aren’t enthralled by my curly, greasy hair.

  I always wear plaid flannel shirts with band tees underneath them so that girls can’t see my muscles (or lack thereof). I wear baggy jeans and skate shoes. I even have a little strip of hair below my lip like a goatee. Once I shaved it, thinking that’s what girls like, but it didn’t help, so I grew it back because I really like it.

  What I really don’t understand is why girls don’t like Zac. I mean, yeah, he’s got some issues with his mom and his dad and his sister and his grades, but he’s a great guy. He’s affectionate and sweet, he’s got Pantene-model blonde hair, electric blue eyes, and maybe a little acne but hey, he’s only seventeen.