Authors: Victoria Scott
Chapter Fifteen
Surprise!
I pull Charlie down on the bed and sit beside her.
“What are you talking about, Dante?” Charlie stares down at her feet. I know I’ve hurt her by implying she’s not beautiful, but we have to face facts to move forward.
“There are some things you don’t know about me,” I answer.
The realization that I’m going to expose myself crashes down on my shoulders. They hunch over from the weight. This could go wrong so many different ways. I haven’t really thought about how I would say this, because I never thought I would.
“I’m sure there are a lot of things I don’t know about you. We’ve only known each other two days.”
Stalling, I point to the clock. “Technically three.”
She seems confused, then turns to glance at the clock. I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t. “Okay, three.”
I stand up from the bed and put my hands on my head, lacing my fingers together. Then I shake my arms out and sit back down.
“What is it?” Her voice brims with concern, and it only makes me feel worse about the lies I’ve told her. This is exactly why I hate making things personal.
“What I mean to say is I haven’t been honest about who I am,” I tell her.
She leans back. It’s hardly noticeable, but I notice it all the same. “Well, this seems easy enough. Just tell me the truth. Who are you?”
I’m a collector sent from hell to manipulate you into sinning until I can collect your soul.
This doesn’t seem like the best way to start. So instead, I say, “I didn’t come to Peachville because of my mom’s new job. I came for you.”
Charlie swallows. “What do you mean you came for me?”
To seem like I care, I cover her hand with mine. “My mom doesn’t live down the road.
I
don’t live down the road. I’m staying at Wink Hotel near the plaza.” I squeeze her fingers. “Charlie, my job was to find you.”
She wiggles her fingers free. “Why?”
I don’t know what to say next, so I decide to just leap. “I work as a collector.”
“Like a debt collector?”
“No, Charlie.” I crack my knuckles. Here goes. “I work as a
soul
collector.”
Charlie starts laughing and stands up from the bed, leaning on her good hip. “My gosh, Dante. It’s three o’clock in the freaking morning. If you wanted to mess with my head, why didn’t you do it at the party?”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“No, you’re being a jerk. And I want you to leave.”
“Charlie, listen.” I cross the room and grab her elbows. “I’m a collector. My job is to place seals on people’s souls.”
“Why are you talking to me like I’m an idiot?”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” I say. “I swear I’m—”
“Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re a soul collector,” she says mockingly. “How’d you get the job?”
“I was deemed the best for the position.”
“By whom?”
“By God.”
I don’t know why I say this. Maybe because there’s no way I can tell her who actually employs me. But now that I’ve said it aloud, I realize the idea is brilliant. If I can convince her I work for Big Guy, she might agree to the contract. It’s not like there’s anything in the fine print specifying
where
her soul goes.
“By God?” Charlie’s eyes narrow. “And why does God want my soul?”
“Because it’s pure.” Though I’m lying, somehow this part feels true.
“You got some sort of proof you work for God?”
“No, I don’t, but—” I stop. Wait a second. Heck, yeah, I got proof. “Okay, I’m going to do something, and you have to promise not to scream or do any other loud chick thing. ’Kay?”
She seems unsure, but nods anyway.
I press my lips together and pull on my shadow, leaving her seemingly alone in the room.
Charlie stumbles back and bumps into her dresser. A dozen crystal figurines teeter. “Dante?” she says, her voice quivering. “Where’d you go?”
I remove my shadow and reappear.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “You just disappeared,” she says through her fingers.
“Word,” I say. “It’s called shadow. All collectors can do it with one of these bad boys.” I reach down, pull up my jeans, and point to my gold cuff—my Achilles heel. “The reason I never wear shorts.”
“What. Is. That?” She runs her hands over the smooth metal.
“It’s my cuff. It allows me to collect souls, and use shadow, and walk the earth after death.”
Charlie’s eyes become enormous. “After
death
? You’re trying to tell me you’re dead?”
“Yeah. And the cuff keeps me alive. Honestly, Charlie. Do I look like the kind of guy that’d wear this for fun?”
“No. But you don’t look dead, either.” She bites her lip, thinking. “If you’re so dead…how’d you die?”
Every muscle in my body seems to ache at once. Though this is a reasonable question, I’m not prepared for it. My throat seems unbearably dry, and I’m not sure I can answer. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to think about that night.
Charlie must see the pain in my face because she says, “Oh, my gosh. You’re being completely serious. You’re, like, dead.”
My stare falls to the floor. I can’t meet her gaze. I don’t want her knowing this about me. But for some reason, the words tumble out. “Yeah. It was a car accident.”
Charlie wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me. I bury my face in her hair and squeeze my eyes shut. “My dad wanted to go to the store to get brownie mix, of all things. He begged me to go, said he needed backup.” I let my head fall back. “This damn deer was just standing in the street.”
It’s like I can’t stop.
Stop!
“He died first. I watched him. I watched my dad die. After that, I just kind of let go.”
Charlie leans back and raises my chin, and in that moment, I see something in her eyes I hadn’t noticed before. It’s compassion, yes, but there’s something else. Though we met almost three days ago, it seems like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Hey,” she says gently. “It was an accident.”
I nod.
Her arms around me suddenly feel less like a friendly hug, and more like something else entirely. Against my chest, Charlie’s words hum near my skin. The sensation sends a shiver down my back, though I can’t imagine why. “He didn’t know that would happen.”
I nod again.
“You and I aren’t so different,” she says, rubbing a small hand up my arm. “Except that I somehow survived.”
Survival is the exact reason I’m here. To get a second shot at life on earth. I reach inside my pocket and touch my penny, the one Dad gave me on my seventeenth birthday. The one I told him was
not my thing
.
Rubbing my face, I push him to the back of my mind. This whole conversation has gotten way too emotional, and I have to put a stop to it. We both died that night, but he went one way, and I went another. And now here I am.
“Listen, you know how I told you I’d make you beautiful? I have something for you.” I pull the contract out of my back pocket and hold it out to Charlie.
“What is it?” She takes the contract and watches me expectantly.
“Well, like I said, I’m a collector. I came to collect your soul.”
She cringes, and all the things I’d just seen on her face, things that said she saw something in me—they vanish. I try to soften my approach.
“I know that sounds bad, but isn’t that where you want to go when you die?”
“Heaven?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“Yeah. Yes. But I’m not ready to die now.” Her eyes widen with fear. “There are things I still want to do. And what about my grandma? She’d have no one.”
I see my opening to close the deal, and I take it. “That’s the best part. You’ll go on living even after your soul is collected. And in the meantime, we’ll give you anything you want in return.”
“Like a selling your soul kinda thing?” she asks.
I smile and shake my head. “Yeah, exactly. It’s a win-win.”
“I don’t know. This feels weird.”
“There’s nothing to feel weird about. Think of it as a gift. You want us to have your soul anyway, and we’re willing to pay for it.”
“I know, but it’s strange to think I’ll be walking around soulless.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I’m so close to ending this, I can taste it. This needs to be over for my sanity’s sake. “Charlie, a million people would kill for this opportunity.”
She crosses the room and plops down on her bed. “This is a lot to process at three in the morning.”
“People are more open to grand ideas at three in the morning,” I say. “Charlie, let’s just do this. You can be beautiful, and I can finish this job.”
I hear a strange noise escape her mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a sound of pain. “What if I don’t want to change?” she says in a small voice.
“Everyone wants to change.” I take the papers from her and unroll them on her nightstand. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to use a magical pen or something, so I just pull out the one I brought from Wink Hotel and hope it works. “Here. I got you a fancy pen and everything.”
Charlie’s face contorts into an unreadable expression. “You brought a pen?”
“Well, yeah.”
She takes it from me and rolls it between her fingers. “You were sure I was going to sign this, weren’t you?”
“No,” I say. “I just figured—”
“That I’d agree to anything you asked?”
Red Alert! Red Alert! Backpedal!
“Charlie, I’m doing this for your own good.”
“For my own good? Like, because I’m so pathetic?” Though she speaks in a soft voice, her words cut through me.
“That’s not what I meant. But…”
“But?”
I fumble with my belt buckle. “But you could look so different.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Charlie—”
“Leave!”
I stumble backward. Never could I have imagined Charlie yelling. It shakes me to my core. I reach toward her, but she steps back and squares her shoulders.
I tuck the contract back into my pocket and pause beside her window.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” I whisper. I’m not sure she hears me, and I’m definitely not sure I mean it, but it feels like the right thing to say.
I climb down the trellis, slide into my car, and stare up at her room. For a moment there, I really thought it was going to happen. But I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
As I drive back to the hotel, I realize just how bad I botched this. She knows who I am. She’s not going to sin if she thinks I work for Big Guy. And the contract is a no-go.
I may not be able to complete this job.
And now all I can think about are those damn
consequences
.
Chapter Sixteen
Angry Charlie
On Monday morning, I search everywhere for Charlie. I went by her house yesterday, but her grandmother said she was out.
My ass.
I catch up with her in first period biology. She sees me staring, I know she does, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.
“Hey, Charlie, you going to ignore me forever?” I ask from the desk next to hers.
She glares ahead at the whiteboard like I don’t even exist. This is something I never thought I’d experience, getting dissed by a girl like Charlie.
“I know you hear me. Will you just let me talk to you?”
Nothing.
“Look…” I glance around to see if anyone’s listening and lower my voice. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’re great.” I can’t bring myself to say she’s beautiful as is. She’s not. “Come on, let’s ditch this class. I’ll take you—”
“Dante, you have something you’d like to share with the class?”
I scowl at Mr. Gordon. He has one eyebrow raised like this affects me. I shake my head and roll my wrist, motioning for him to go ahead.
“Glad I have your permission.” Mr. Gordon raises his arm to the whiteboard, and for the next sixty minutes, I alternate between watching Charlie ignore me and admiring Mr. Gordon’s yellow pit stains.
When the bell rings, I try to play it cool, like I’ve lost all interest in her. I know the drill, when girls get pissed, you gotta let ’em come to you. That’s why people compare chicks to felines.
Except my strategy fails. Charlie grabs her lime-green backpack and storms from the room before I get a chance to show her how much I don’t care. Instead, I find myself jogging to keep up with her.
“Charlie, wait.”
She keeps walking, pumping her short little legs to outpace mine. Seriously? I’ve got, like, a foot on this girl.
I grab her arm and pull her toward me. “Will you just stop? You’re acting like one of those girls.”
“You mean a girl like that?”
She points to a girl with long, shiny hair and even longer, shinier legs.
Hot damn!
“A
beautiful
girl?” Charlie pushes. She steps toward me. I know she’s going for intimidating, but she’s too small to pull it off. Silly rabbit.
“Yes, exactly,” I say. “You’re acting like one of those shallow chicks.”
“Why? Because I care about how I look? You know, I realize I’m not pretty. But that doesn’t mean I want you pointing it out to me.” Charlie glances away, gritting her teeth. “Guess I hoped that maybe you thought…I don’t know…”
She trails off, so I open my mouth to jump in. I need to convince her to sign the damn contract. But I also need her to stop looking at me like that—like I hurt her in this deep way. Before I can say anything, the bell screams overhead.
“I’ve got to go to class,” she says, sighing.
I let go of her arm. “I’m going where you’re going, remember?”
She doesn’t rush off, which is a small miracle I’ll take. We walk side by side to Alabama History, and she doesn’t complain when I sit next to her. The class feels even longer than the first, and I vow never to enter high school again when my ten days are up. When the bell finally rings, I get up to walk Charlie to lunch. She catches my eye, then heads out before I can stop her.
Dumb. I thought we were past this.
In the cafeteria, Charlie sits down at her usual lunch table. Blue and Annabelle are already there, and Blue’s jaw tightens as I close in.
“Charlie, can we please talk?” I say.
Annabelle stops pulling grapes out of her brown paper bag, and her eyes widen. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I answer.
Annabelle and Blue turn toward Charlie.
“It’s nothing,” she confirms.
I run a hand through my hair and decide I need a peace offering. But the only thing this POS cafeteria has is faux food.
But there
is
a vending machine, and I know one thing Miss Charlie loves.
I grab my wallet out of my back pocket and head toward it. Standing in front of the huge glass box, I pull out enough money to buy every last bag of Skittles. Then I do the fun thing where I put in a bill, and the machine spits it back out. Dollar goes back in. Dollar comes back out.
Damn it! Do you want the freaking money or not?!
After fifteen and a half years, I drain the machine of Skittles and walk back to the cafeteria table with my loot. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself until I notice Charlie’s not there.
“Where’d she go?” I ask, my pockets and hands full of glossy red bags.
“Where’d who go?” Blue mumbles.
“She went with Taylor,” Annabelle says. She points toward one of the hallways, and I start to go in that direction. But Annabelle stops me. “Wait. Dante.”
I turn around, and one of the bags plops onto the tile floor.
“Don’t go after her. She’s obviously pissed about something.” Annabelle pauses, hoping I’ll fill her in on what happened. When I don’t say anything, she asks, “Did something happen at the party?”
“You haven’t talked to her since Saturday night?” I ask back.
She pops a grape into her mouth and shakes her head.
“Yeah,” I say, “something happened.”
Still loaded down with candy, I drop down into a chair. Annabelle tosses powdered sugar-covered doughnuts at Blue, and this time he manages to catch them.
“Lunch of champions, eh?” I say, trying to make conversation with Blue. It certainly beats the staring contest we’re having.
He wipes sugar from the corner of his mouth and takes his sweet-ass time answering. “Something like that.”
“You know,” Annabelle starts, “Charlie really likes you.”
“Yeah?” I say. These are her friends. I have to pretend what they say matters.
“Mm-hmm. Then again, she cares for just about everyone. Even people who don’t deserve it.”
I study her closely, but it doesn’t seem like she means me.
“But you,” she continues, “you’ve really gotten under her skin. And you’ve only been here, like, three days.” Annabelle turns her milk box up but keeps her eyes on me. Then she crushes the empty box in her hand. “Where’d you say you were from again?”
Wait? Is she trying to intimidate me? Because if she is…it just might work. Bitch be scary.
“I didn’t,” I answer.
“Phoenix, right?”
“Sure.”
Blue takes the lead from Annabelle and locks eyes on me as he slowly chews a doughnut.
“Why’d Charlie go with Taylor?” I ask her, ignoring Blue’s stank eye.
The muscles in Annabelle’s face relax. “I don’t know. Taylor said she wanted to apologize. That’s why I was asking about the party.”
I can’t believe Taylor would apologize. Unless it benefits her in some way.
Blue brings up the Knicks, and he and Annabelle discuss the fundamentals of run-and-gun basketball.
“Do you guys ever actually play?” I interrupt, relieved by the change in subject.
“Play?” Annabelle asks, her dark eyebrows rising.
“Yeah. Play. As in, do you play basketball?”
“Hell, yeah, we play!” Annabelle says at the exact moment that Blue shakes his head.
“Well, which is it?” I ask. “Do you play or not?”
Annabelle balls up her lunch bag and throws it at Blue. “Yes, we play. He just doesn’t want you there.”
“Where do you play?” My legs twitch just thinking about getting on the court. Or field. Or track. Anything I can compete in.
“At the Rec. It’s on the north side of Peachville.” Annabelle steals a glance at Blue, who stays mute. He’s not a man of many words. But if he were, I could imagine what he’d say right about now.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I have no freaking idea why, but my stomach flips. “I’ll play with you guys.” There. It’s out. No big deal.
“No,” Blue says.
Now
he opens his mouth? Apparently moving in on Charlie is bad, but stealing the court is intolerable.
“No, huh?” I say.
“No.”
Blue gets up to leave, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll go.” I don’t want to sit here any longer. I have the confidence of a killer whale, but being shot down by these losers stings.
Intimidation Annabelle calls after me. “Ah, come on, Dante. You can play.” But the damage is done. So I stalk off all butt-hurt and head outside. Elizabeth Taylor gives a wide chrome grin. I slap her hood and hop inside. “Let’s get some smokes, girl.”
I rev her engine and drive to the closest gas station. I’ve got a few minutes left of lunch and know just how I’d like to spend them.
The guy behind the counter hands me a pack of Marlboro Reds and a black plastic lighter. The second I walk outside, I flick the grind and light my cigarette. I pull in and push out two long drags, and it feels great.
I quit smoking after I died, which is pretty ironic. It’s not like I care about keeping my dead body healthy, but it felt like a good time to stop. Mostly it’s the smell that kills me. But right now, there’s no better scent on earth.
Beside me, I get that nagging feeling like I’m being watched. And it’s getting hella old. “Want one?” I ask the invisible air to my right. Holding the pack of cigarettes out, I wonder if the collector will finally show himself. I count three beats, then drop my arm and stub out my cigarette. “Chickenshit.”
Turning to go, I feel something hit my back. I stumble a couple of steps and spin around.
Did someone just push me?
My eyes flick around, searching the area. I don’t spot anyone, but it doesn’t matter. I know who it was. The collector either accidentally bumped into me or just took a cheap shot. Blood pounds against my temples, and I fantasize about breaking his jaw, but I can’t do anything if he won’t show himself. Today’s Monday. Within six days, I’ll finish this assignment.
Then Boss Man and I are going to clean house.
…
When I get back to school, I have to jog to get to class on time. I don’t feel like dealing with angry, sweaty teachers this afternoon, so I make the effort. The second I enter the classroom, I realize Charlie’s not there. Which can’t be right. That girl wouldn’t miss a class if someone threatened her life.
I stand at the entrance of the classroom without moving and realize the entire class is watching me do nothing. Someone clears their throat, and I take the hint to stop being a creeper. At least now I can sit in the back like a socially capable person. Charlie’s a front-row kinda girl.
My math teacher’s a chick, so I check out her rack for a while, then lie down on my desk for a nap. Maybe when I wake up, class will be over, and I can hunt my assignment down. But right as I’m drifting off to the teacher talking about an algorithmic something or other, I hear Charlie’s voice.
I snap upright and see that it’s coming from a television. Wait, what? Why is Charlie on that ridiculously outdated TV? My jaw goes slack as Teacher Lady kills the lights, and I realize that Charlie is broadcasting in the journalism room.
No. No. This can’t be good. Taylor would never relinquish her spotlight unless…
Oh, crap.