When Stars Come Out (When Stars Come Out 1)

“Yeah.”

Then I realize he’s still holding my books. I go to reach for them. “You probably don’t want to keep holding those.” But he moves them out of my reach, clutching them tighter to his chest—his well-defined, muscly chest.

What kind of workouts is he doing outside of school and how long has it taken him to get that body?

“Why don’t I walk you to

class?”

I just nod. Beside me, Emma giggles, and suddenly I remember I’m not alone.

The god and I look at her. She smiles, all cute with her dimples and blond curls. She holds out her hand. “I’m Emma.”

How is she coherent in front of this guy?

He smiles and takes her hand. “Chase. Chase Lockwood.”

He looks at me. By the time I understand he’s waiting for me to say my name, Emma beats me to it.

“This is Lyra. Lyra Silby.”

Chase’s smile widens and he walks Emma and I to our class. On the way, Emma asks him questions—Where are you from? New York. What school did you transfer from? Midwood. Are you a Senior? Yes. Do you play sports? Lacrosse. Do you have a girlfriend? Chase glances at me and answers, “No.”

I don’t think I’ve blushed so much in my life, and as I walk between Chase and Emma, I realize this is the longest I’ve gone without thinking about poppa being gone.

When we make it to our room, Chase hands me my books.

“It was nice meeting you!” Emma says and disappears into class, leaving Chase and I alone. He’s studying me with those strange eyes and it makes my chest feel all fluttery.

“It was nice meeting you, Lyra,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

I watch him leave. For Once, Olivia was right about the god on campus.

I barely register walking into class and finding my seat. I feel like I’m floating and every time I think about how Chase looked at me, I blush.

Then Mr. Ray returns my chemistry test from Friday.

F.

I’m screwed.

***

It’s almost a month later when Chase discovers my ability to see the dead. A man with a lacerated face has wandered on campus. It’s lunchtime. I’m sitting on the top of a picnic table. Chase sits on the bench, facing me. He keeps trying to tell me how lacrosse works, but I can’t help watching the dead man. His eyes have been on me the entire time, and he continues to stumble toward us. I’m trying to think of excuses to leave before he gets too close. Sometimes I swear they want something from me.

Bathroom. The bathroom is always the best excuse. I can feel his energy pulling at my skin, stealing my breath and I play with the evil eye on my backpack.

After a moment, Chase pauses, looks over his shoulder, and then takes my hand.

“Hey,” his voice is quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I manage, but the word escapes my lips breathlessly, so I smile.

“You know they can’t hurt you.”

My smiles fades fast. “What?”

“The dead. They can’t hurt you.”