Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

We stop at noon, a little ways from the top of the mountain. My legs are already tired, and I'm sporting quite a few bug bites, despite the spray I used.

“You've got sweet blood,” Mom says, handing me the spray again. I want to laugh, but it makes me think of Peter. Yuck. I scratch at one of the bites and try not to look at the red that smears on my skin. I plug my earbuds back in, cranking up Linkin' Park.

Somehow we make it to the top. Mom scrambles up the last bit as graceful as a mountain goat. Dad's right behind her, hands held out toward her in case she slips. I stumble along, bringing up the rear.

We're alone at the top. It's strange with just the three of us. The trees grow scraggly needles on only one side, owing to the wind that constantly blows. They look like half-trees. There is almost nothing else up here, save a few blueberry bushes and some hardy grass, and lots of rocks. It's still beautiful. It almost takes my breath away. The air is thin, and I have to work harder to get my breath back after the final climb.

“We made it,” she says, still panting from the last push to get to the top. The word top is confusing when applied to mountains, because they aren't flat. When I was younger, I used to climb to the highest point I could find. That was the top, I thought. I look around and find a boulder, about the size of a couple of cars stacked up. It's the highest place I can see, so I pull myself to the top, adding more scratches, and banging my knee. It's totally worth it, though. I shut my eyes and pretend I'm flying, the wind streaming through my hair.

I think of Peter.

Dad gets obsessed with watching a hawk, hogging the binoculars while we eat lunch. I still want to hit him, but it's hard to hate him when he hands Mom his Cracker Jack prize.

It's too chilly to stay on the top long in the open air. With protesting legs, we tromp our way back down just as it gets dark.

Dinner is hot dogs again, and I fall asleep in my chair before s'mores. No further messages from Peter. Twenty texts from Tex.

It rains the next day while we pack up, so everything's wet and I'm miserable. Mom flutters around, making sure everything that we took out of the car fits back into it. She keeps shoving Dad and me out of the way, saying we're packing wrong. There's a little kerfuffle when Dad puts the tent in the wrong way, apparently, and she orders us to stand in the rain while she repacks everything.

At this point, I'm ready to go.

The trunk of the car barely closes, but after Dad jumps up and down on it, success! I'm grubby and tired and I miss my nights in the cemetery. I miss Peter. I'll be happy to get home, selfish as it is. Mom is the last one in the car when we leave. She sighs as we pull out, smiling at me in the mirror. I slump over in my seat and fall asleep.

I don't want to want to go see Peter that night, but I've got to stop lying to myself, because really, I do.

Sixteen

“You survived!” Tex throws herself at me, as if I've just barely made it back alive from the big bad woods. I wish I'd been allowed to skip school, seeing as how I haven't done any of my homework, including studying for a geometry quiz, but my request had been denied.

“Yeah. Imagine that,” I say against her shoulder.

“God, did you take a shower? You smell all...” She waves her hands in the air, groping for a word.

“Woodsy?” I say, with more than a pinch of sarcasm. “It's this new perfume I'm working on. The bottle is shaped like an axe. I'm thinking of calling it 'Lumberlust.' What do you think?”

She sniffs me again and pulls back.

“I think I'll stick with the Clinique.” I stick my tongue out at her and she honks my nose.

“I thought I was going to get a phone call to come get you. I can't believe they forced you into that.” She leans against my locker as I slowly pack my bag for the day, trying to forget about the reading and assignments I also didn't do.

“They didn't force me. It was nice.” I'm back to the lies. I change the subject. “Did you go to the O'Hurley party?”

“Nah, it wouldn't have been the same without you. It got busted anyway. Four arrests.” She wiggles four fingers.

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Anyway, there's a Grayson party this weekend,” she says in a singsong voice, eyes gleaming. Chuck Grayson is a bit like the Ferris Beuler of Maine. Only he's less cute, and wears Carharts and holds a Budweiser. His parties are pretty legendary, which isn't saying much. Still, everyone wanted to go to them, or so I've heard.

“Sooo?” I draw out the word.

“And we have to go. It's going to be awesome. The theme is White Trash.” Chuck's also big on themes. He plans them out months in advance, keeping up with the current trends. It's a wonder he's not g*y, with all the party planning he did.

“Classy.”

“Oh come on, it's going to be fun. I have the best outfit.”

“A white t-shirt with a red bra and ripped Daisy Dukes?”

“How did you... You're totally missing the point.” She's frustrated with my lack of enthusiasm. “You have to come. Jamie's going.” Only because he was driving the drunk van.

“I don't know.” I reeealllllyyy don't want to go.

“Come on, you have to come.” The whine seeps into her voice, making my ears burn. She's worse than a two-year-old.

“I'll think about it.” Of course she knows I'm going to cave. I should tattoo doormat on my forehead in swirly lettering, with a butterfly perched on the D.

“Then I have a whole week to convince you how awesome it's going to be.” She isn't deterred. Tex never says die when it comes to a party.

“I'll think about it,” I say again. Maybe a drunken party would be a nice change from all the other crap I've been dealing with. Or, it could be a huge mistake. It can really only go one of two ways.

“Hey, are you okay?” I drop my Ava's fine face just for a second when I think she's not looking. Long enough for her to notice. Damn.

“What?” I say. She's looking at me like I'd just told her my grandmother died. All concerned-like. It immediately rings my alarm bells. Here we go.

“Are you okay?” She says it slow, like I'm hard of hearing.

“Yeah, fine.” Even to me my voice sounds flat and fake. She breathes out her nose and puts on her serious face.

“So, here's how this is going to go. I'm going to suggest things and you can say yes or no? Okie dokie? Does this have to do with school?” She's pissed now, and I risk poking the dragon in the eye if I don't answer. She's never going to guess that I'm hanging out with a noctalis in a cemetery and my mother is dying of cancer. There's just no way.