The Impossible Adventure Page 5

  Window shopping, indeed. You stomp your way down the sidewalk and across the mouth of another alley to arrive at Corner Coffee. As always, the sign of a steaming coffee mug half your height greets you. You walk past the first cheery window with its baskets of fake coffee beans and potted plants, straight toward the center door. You tug it open with a grumble.

  A line winds through the tables, at least ten people deep. Your brows furrow. It’s not usually this busy on a weekday afternoon. As you stride toward the back counter, you peer around your annoyed customers.

  Ah, that explains it. Bryce is here on his own. You pass through the wooden gate on one side of the counter and join him in the workers’ area. Dodging his frantic movements, you head to the closed door behind him. You crack it open, then twist toward Bryce. “No Sammy today?”

  “Not yet,” Bryce growls, his back to you while he fiddles with the espresso machine. A cloud of steam swirls around him.

  You slip behind the door and enter the break room-slash-inventory area. Leaving it open a sliver, you unzip your floppy backpack and get out your book and the black T-shirt emblazoned with the Corner Coffee logo. Then you tuck your bag into your cubby. You poke your head around the open door. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  You peel off your regular T-shirt and replace it with the Corner Coffee one. In the open doorway, you wriggle your timecard at Bryce. “You want help or do you want me to wait the one minute until my shift officially starts?”

  He rolls his green eyes while delivering two steamy mugs onto the raised serving counter. “Help, please.”

  After storing your book under the counter, you begin a hectic shift filled with impatient, irritated customers. By the time Julia and Paige arrive well over an hour later, you’re hot and sweaty. You push back a strand of hair sticking to your forehead. “Hey guys. What do you want?”

  “Store credit?” Paige winks.

  “Sorry, no can do. Bryce is here and watching me like a hawk.” Taking a sip of the iced coffee you poured during a rare break in customers, you tip your head toward Bryce and the busy espresso machine.

  “All right, fine.” Paige points at your plastic cup. “I’ll just have what you’re having.”

  “Me too,” Julia pipes in.

  “Large?”

  Paige and Julia nod as one.

  You get out the cups and the marker, then mutter, “Okay, two large iced coffees for?”

  Paige giggles.

  Embarrassment floods your cheeks. You scribble “Paige” on one cup and “Julia” on the other. “Sorry, it’s been a long day already.”

  “It’s okay, hun.” Paige grins up at you.

  You smile. It’s been a rough start, but it seems to be slowing down a bit. Besides, Bryce has to give you a dinner break at some point. Now you’ll have someone to spend it with.

  The bell attached to the door chimes. As you ring Paige and Julia up, two people enter the café.

  You add Paige’s and Julia’s cups to Bryce’s queue. “Okay, you’re all set.”

  Paige and Julia move down the counter to the serving area. You glance behind them to check on the new customers ambling toward you.

  You stifle a gasp.

  There they are, NFHS’s newest students, the twins Magda and Davey.

  In shock, you stutter through your rehearsed greeting, “W-welcome to C-Corner Coffee. What can I get you on this f-fine day?”

  Davey scans the chalkboard menu behind you. His dark brown eyes scrunch at the corners when he smiles. “A large black coffee will work fine, thanks.”

  “What type?”

  “Ummm…” Davey chews on his full lower lip, his gaze raised toward the menu. “The Kona blend, I think.”

  You enter Davey’s order on the cash register. “No problem. Mug or cardboard cup?”

  “Mug, please.”

  After writing “blk-k” on a neon post-it, you add it and a clean mug to Bryce’s queue. Then you switch to Magda.

  Her eyes—a reddish brown—peruse the menu. When they deign to meet yours, they smack of challenge. “I’ll have a small soy sugar-free vanilla latte, extra foam, extra hot, with a bit of cinnamon.” There is no “please” with her order.

  “Got it.” After such a high maintenance drink, you don’t ask whether Magda would prefer a cardboard cup or a mug. Instead, you grab a small cup and scrawl “van,” “X-F,” “X-hot”, and “cinn” in the bottom notes section before you can forget them.

  Your pen hovers over the cup. An idea bounces around your mind. You know you shouldn’t…but Paige would really get a kick out of it. Plus, Magda could never prove that it wasn’t an innocent mistake caused by her too-complicated order.

  Do you “forget” to note Magda’s sugar-free and soy milk details?

  If you “forget” to mark the sugar-free and soy milk details on Magda’s cup, click here.

  If you fill out the details for Magda’s coffee exactly as ordered, click here.

  Your hand flicks away from Paige’s. “I’m going with Magda.”

  Paige’s hazel eyes narrow in the dim light of the street lamps. “Fine. It’s your funeral.” After waving her phone at you, Paige turns around and saunters back down State Ave. She angles her body so that you can watch her poke at her phone. In about five minutes, the entire school will know about your unfortunate life decisions.

  You shift back to Magda, the one you chose. She stares at Paige sashaying down the sidewalk. If not for the furrow between her eyebrows and the frown bending her full lips downward, you’d think she was smitten like so many before her. When her gaze snaps back to you, her mouth spreads into a smile. It doesn’t ease the worry etched around her eyes.

  With a gulp, you gather your courage. Your trembling fingers trail down Magda’s cheek, soft and smooth beneath your touch. She leans into it, covering your hand with hers. After a squeeze, Magda lowers your hand to her side and intertwines your fingers together.

  The wind calms.

  Magda grins. “Glad to see I have a good effect on you.”

  Hand in hand, you stroll down State Ave, but your mind spins. When you reach the glass door marked “Second Street Parking Garage,” you stop short. “Magda…what’s going on? I mean that guy, he straight up attacked us. Why would he do that? And how could he possibly survive that hit to the head? Shouldn’t we call an ambulance or something? And that bat did not fly right.” Your fingers leap out of Magda’s and rip through your tangled locks. The wind blows at your back.

  Magda catches your hand in both of hers. Her skin is warm, almost calming. “Listen, I’m going to explain everything. What happened in the alley, the bat, all of it. But first we need to get to safety, okay?”

  “Safety? You mean we’re not safe now?” Panic crawls over you like baby spiders out of an egg. Your breath sticks in your chest. A gust slashes at your face.

  “Look at me,” Magda commands in a gentle tone.

  You can’t move.

  Magda’s heavy brows drop. Her voice become cold hard steel, brooking no argument. “Look at me.”

  It requires all your determination, but you obey.

  “Good. Just breathe,” Magda soothes. “You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re safe enough right now. I only want to get us somewhere even safer. Okay?”

  Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you nod.

  “All right, just follow me.”

  You follow Magda into the parking structure, then into the elevator, then into her beat-up station wagon with its peeling green paint and stained seats. Together, you and Magda head toward the outskirts of North Fruitvale.

  To continue, click here.

  You dash to the bat. Your fingers curl around cold steel. You brandish it between you and the advancing form.

  The figure laughs as it steps into the flickering light. A worn face meets you, with high cheekbones, a long nose, and almond eyes so black they swallow the lamp light. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

&
nbsp; You wave the bat. “Don’t come any closer.”

  His hands raise with fingers outspread. “It’s okay. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

  You lower your bat.

  He slams into your side, the attack nothing but a blur. You crash onto the rocky asphalt. Talons slash your abdomen, tracing your ribs. Daggers of pain stab through your torso, then radiate through your body. Every breath is agony. Tears spring to your eyes.

  Rough hands flip you onto your back. Your skull bounces off the unyielding ground. Stars in the night sky swirl above the brick walls looming over you.

  He blocks them out. His greasy locks swing toward you. Canines almost an inch long poke through his lips. His fangs shine so white it hurts your eyes.

  He leers at you, then darts to your neck. Twin knives puncture your throat.

  Your life drains away.

  Oops, I forgot to scream.

  To continue, click here.

  You shrug off your concern. What is with your paranoia lately? Of course, the paranoia from…before may have been called for, considering you’re now one of the undead. Still, it’s silly of you.

  Khan offers you a thick hand with his stubby fingers outspread.

  You take it, weaving your fingers between his.

  His thumb strokes the back of your hand. Nothing has ever felt so good.

  Together, you and Khan climb the stairs. Together, you exit the abandoned warehouse. Together, you walk off into the darkness, ready to start your brand new life.

  To continue, click here.

  Not daring to slow down even a hair, you swing right. Julia’s house isn’t too far away. Plus, Sammy and Bryce probably locked up Corner Coffee the second you were out that door. If they are still there, they’re likely in the back room “assessing inventory” anyway. No, heading to Julia’s house is a much better option.

  Your feet pound against the cement as you dash down State Ave. You dodge the few people in your path, ignoring their curious glances.

  A little over half a block away, your heels dig into the sidewalk. You skid to a halt.

  Paige rushes toward you with her palms raised. “Stop, stop! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  You exhale a sigh of relief. The sight of Paige—sweet, normal Paige—brings it all home. What are you doing? Running away from a random person in an alleyway because some weird guy told you to? What are you, a toddler afraid of the dark? No, you are not. An idiot maybe, but not a scared child.

  That whole…episode back there must have been a prank to see how freaked out you can get. Magda probably set it up. Maybe she even recorded it. Maybe she—maybe they—are watching the video right now, cackling at your terror.

  You should have laughed in Davey’s face, then grabbed your bike and pedaled far away from him. “Nothing, Paige, I…I guess I just thought I saw something.” You glance down at her. A smile plays over your lips. “I am glad to see you though.”

  “Mmhmm.” Paige’s finger slips a strand of your hair back in place, then she laces her arm through yours. “Why don’t we go get our bikes?”

  You smother the spike of fear. You were just being stupid earlier. “Yeah, of course.”

  Paige leads you back toward the alleyway. When you reach it, the lamps closest to the entrance still flicker. Inky blackness shrouds the middle.

  Even though the alley is quiet, your heart speeds. Your feet refuse to move forward.

  Paige peeks back at you. Her fingers trail down your bare forearm and intertwine with yours. They tug you forward, into the alleyway.

  With a tight hold on Paige, you follow her to the bike rack. A couple of feet away from it, she stops. You stumble to avoid running into her.

  Paige turns around to face you. She’s so close that you can smell the coffee on her breath. Her fingertips skim down your cheek.

  You can’t breathe.

  “I’m just sorry it had to be you.”

  Confusion furrows your brows. “Paige?”

  With a sad smile, she backs away from you.

  You glance behind her, toward the dumpsters. A shadowy form is splayed behind them. Just past one dumpster’s corner, black Converses with Dracula laces gleam as though a spotlight shines on them. Davey.

  A body slams into your side. You crash onto the rocky asphalt. Talons slash your abdomen, tracing your ribs. Daggers of pain stab through your torso, then radiate through your body. Every breath is agony. Tears spring to your eyes.

  Rough hands flip you onto your back. Your skull bounces off the unyielding ground. Stars in the night sky swirl above the brick walls looming over you.

  A man with greasy locks blocks them out. His pitch-black eyes swallow the lamp light. Canines almost an inch long poke through his lips. His fangs shine so white it hurts your eyes.

  He leers at you, then darts to your neck. The movement is nothing but a blur. Twin knives puncture your throat.

  Your life drains away.

  Oops, I forgot to scream.

  To continue, click here.

  Paige’s fingers clamp down, clutching your hand. As she drags you down the sidewalk, you peek back at Davey. He’s chewing on his lower lip, watching. You mouth “sorry.”

  “Be careful,” Davey calls after you. His forehead wrinkles with concern.

  “I told you that guy was weird.” Paige tosses her stick-straight locks over her shoulder.

  You shrug. “He didn’t seem that weird to me.”

  Arching a dark eyebrow, Paige glances at you out of the corner of her eye. “We’ll call it a momentary lapse of sanity then.”

  Paige leads you back toward the alleyway. When you reach it, the lamps closest to the entrance still flicker. Inky blackness shrouds the middle.

  Even though the alley is quiet, your heart speeds. Your feet refuse to move forward. You do not want to see the dead body of the man you killed, no matter what Davey claimed earlier.

  Paige peers back at you. Her fingers intertwine with yours, then tug you forward, into the alleyway.

  You bite your lip, but follow Paige.

  A third of the way in, your jaw drops. The body is gone, as is the bat. There’s not even a speck of blood where the man collapsed.

  Paige stops a couple of feet away from the bike rack. You stumble to avoid running into her.

  When she turns around to face you, she’s so close that you can smell the coffee on her breath. Her fingertips skim down your cheek. “I’m just sorry it had to be you.”

  Confusion furrows your brows. “Paige?”

  With a sad smile, she backs away from you.

  A body slams into your side. You crash onto the rocky asphalt. Talons slash your abdomen, tracing your ribs. Daggers of pain stab through your torso, then radiate through your body. Every breath is agony. Tears spring to your eyes.

  Rough hands flip you onto your back. Your skull bounces off the unyielding ground. Stars in the night sky swirl above the brick walls looming over you.

  A man with greasy locks blocks them out. His pitch-black eyes swallow the lamp light. Canines almost an inch long poke through his lips. His fangs shine so white it hurts your eyes.

  Like a boa constrictor, fear winds around your torso and squeezes. It’s the man you thought you killed only minutes ago.

  He leers at you, then darts to your neck. The movement is nothing but a blur. Twin knives puncture your throat.

  Your life drains away.

  Oops, I forgot to scream.

  You die.

  To continue, click here.

  It hasn’t been that long, so you take a chance and turn left. In a haze, you race back to Corner Coffee, dodging the couples on their romantic strolls and the hurried loners alike. All hurl disgruntled, confused, or concerned looks at you. A few yell at you to slow down.

  You don’t register any of it. All you know is that you have to escape, that you have to make it back to the safe haven of Corner Coffee. When at last you arrive in front of the familiar glass door, you tug on the handle.

  The do
or doesn’t budge.

  Panic surges within you like a tsunami. You shake the door against its frame, then peek over your shoulder, back toward the alleyway. The Fruitvale citizens walking by give you weird looks, but that terrifying silhouette has disappeared. For now. You start banging on the glass.

  “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” Sammy emerges from the back room, dragging his Corner Coffee T-shirt over his six-pack. His straight brows collapse into a scowl. When he sees you at the door, it deepens, but he unlocks the door and lets you in with a grumble. “You know I have to make things up to Bryce right now.”

  Your hand wraps around his muscled forearm. “I know, but listen. There’s…” Like a slap to the face, it hits you. You’re being stupid. You just ran away from a random figure in an alley like a scared toddler.

  “There’s?” Sammy prods. He crosses his arms and juts one hip out. Impatience—not empathy—oozes from his pores.

  You sigh and run your fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, I guess I just freaked out.”

  “You freaked out? About what?” Bryce leans against the doorway to the back room. His cheeks are flushed.

  You wave off his light concern. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” Still, the thought of walking back to that alleyway alone, of riding your bike home alone, sends fear pumping through your veins. You steady your voice, then ask, “Would you mind driving me home, though? I’ll pick up my bike later.” In the daylight.

  Bryce sighs, but gathers his keys from a wooden drawer beneath the counter. “Sure, let’s go.” His finger wags at Sammy. “And you’re coming in early tomorrow to clean up before we open.”

  Sammy raises two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” As soon as Bryce turns toward the exit, Sammy tilts toward you and shakes his head with a mischievous smile.

  You smirk, your fear fading away. At least Sammy can make you feel better. As you follow Bryce and Sammy to the car, you text Paige. She doesn’t answer, not during the drive back to your house, not while you get ready for bed. Sitting in your pajamas with your hair still wet from a supposedly soothing shower, you resort to an actual phone call. You call Paige twice, three times. She never answers.