Storm (Elemental 1)

Becca stared at the money, feeling the crispness of the bills under her fingertips. She had no idea what it meant.

The physics kids stood up, taking their notebooks with them. “At least he didn’t leave it on the dresser,” one said.

Becca flinched, but they were gone, swallowed by the swarm of students. Typical. She was used to drive-by one-liners.

She reached out to seize her water bottle—then gasped and dropped it.

It was freezing. She could hear bits of ice swish inside the plastic. Cold crystals clung to her fingers before melting.

She stared at the bottle, now sweating on the table, droplets of water collecting below it.

Then she swiped her hand on her jeans and turned to lose herself in the crowd.

CHAPTER 7

Work sucked. But at least tonight she got to work the floor. You were supposed to be eighteen, but when people called in sick, Becca got a reprieve from cleaning kennels and scrubbing the pet baths, and instead put on a service smock and a name tag.

Working sales paid a full two dollars more per hour. Not like she needed the money this week, with Chris’s sixty bucks securely stashed in the employee lockers.

She didn’t want to keep it, but she sure as hell didn’t want to have another conversation with him. Maybe she could just never spend it. She’d stick it in the domestic violence jar at the front of the store, or the homemade can for that kid with leukemia.

Then again, gas wasn’t cheap. Or maybe she could replace her cell phone. Or save it for a Homecoming dress.

Homecoming. OMG, Bex. You’re hilarious.

Becca stacked cans of cat food on the shelf, a practiced motion she could do blindfolded. A couple rows over, some guys were jostling each other in the dog food aisle, and Becca sighed. She’d been listening to their bullshitting for ten minutes, and she’d bet her paycheck they were counting on a five-finger discount.

Pets Plus wasn’t exactly well patrolled. It was a PetSmart wannabe, without the big-box budget or the floor space. The only other person working the floor was Jerry, the night manager, and he’d stepped out for a smoke.

When she heard at least a dozen cans rattle onto the tile, followed by a too-loud curse from one of the guys, she set the cat food aside and went to clean up the mess.

She fixed her expression into polite sternness. More cans hit the floor before she reached the aisle. What were they doing, sweeping them off the shelf?

“Excuse me,” she said as she rounded the corner. “Maybe I could help you—”

She stopped short. At least fifteen cans of dog food lay scattered on the linoleum. A few were still rolling, and some bounced off her sneakers to careen into the main aisle. But above it all stood Seth. And Tyler.

She almost couldn’t breathe.

They looked just as sharp and frightening in the fluorescent store lighting as in the darkness of the parking lot. Tyler’s face carried more shadows, his eyes almost electric. They both wore wolfish smiles, and she’d been right—Seth was clearly shoving a can into the black backpack that hung from his arm.

“Hey,” he said, dragging the word into three syllables, a mockery of a catcall. “It’s Chris’s bodyguard.”

Tyler had a can of dog food in his hand, and he tossed it into the air and caught it like a baseball, thoughtfully, as if he’d pitch it at her next. “You following us now?”

Following them? Couldn’t he see the stupid smock and name tag?

She shook her head. “No. Let me just get—”

Tyler grabbed her arm. She hadn’t even seen him move. “Maybe we didn’t get our point across last night.”

“Get your hands off me.” She tried to jerk her wrist out of his grip, but he held fast. She fought him.

Tyler’s free hand drew back with the can, as if ready to let fly at her face.

But Seth caught his arm. “Dude. Not here.”

She stumbled over her words. She couldn’t even get it together to yell for help. Someone was whispering, “Holy crap,” over and over again. It took a second to realize it was her.