Page 11 of Death is My BFF

The Stars, Devin and his only son, David, had surpassed the Kardashians in fame. Charming and an innovative genius, Devin Star had taken the advertisement industry by storm, quickly expanding his interests into multiple successful companies, including the infamous D&S Tower in New York City. David, the alleged child protégé, would soon follow in his father’s footsteps, but I found that awfully hard to believe. I’d heard all about David Star’s partying escapades through Europe during his gap year before Harvard. I only knew this because my mom was subscribed to every gossip magazine known to man and had a life-size cardboard standup of Devin Star in the basement.

David Star was the primary enemy of proper brain development in all the girls at my high school.The pastiche of God’s finest creations,a proud, lucrative product of an even hand, or so the tabloids said last summer.

Give me a break.

David sauntered around the pool table to me and leaned against his pool stick. Thick chestnut-colored hair with subtle blond highlights styled away from a handsome, angular face, and gorgeous brown eyes that speared mine with an unflinching, assertive confidence. Everything about David Star repelled me, especially his vain beauty, but now that he was here,in person, like a 3D printout of the perfect man, and I was starstruck.

“Well?” That lollipop stick wedged between his teeth shifted to the other side of his mouth, those full lips curving into a slow fox grin. “We gonna hunt for your friend or what?”

Get a grip, girl. My brain chugged back into gear, slow as molasses.

“No offense,” I said, “but guys with reputations like yours are the reason I’m worried about her.”

David raised a supercilious brow and stared down at me like he couldn’t fully process the rejection. He clutched his heart in mock hurt. “Ouch. If she’s with a guy like me, then wouldn’t I be the perfect person to know where to find her?”

He had me there, but why did he even want to help me? I looked over at the three pretty cheerleaders. They giggled and whispered behind their coveted hands as they watched us interact. My gut feeling had been right. He was messing with me.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your groupies,” I said.

I turned away before I could see David’s reaction, but I did see my words had impacted those three mean girls. They fumed with disdain as I left the room.

Music blared in the hallway as I ventured to the center of the mansion again. My skin felt slick with adrenaline, my mind still reeling over my conversation with David Star. Talking to him had certainly been the last interaction I’d expected that night. I’ddissedhim too. Wait until Marcy got a load of that story. If, of course, I ever found her . . .

In the Gregorys’ crowded living room, I became lost at the center of a bouquet of strobe lights and realized everyone had stopped dancing to stare at me. At first, I thought it was my dress. But the dress was fine. I thought there was a spectacle behind me, so I turned around. There wasn’t. All at once, their distorted faces looked away from me and everything went back to normal.

I frowned.’Kay. . .

This night was about to go from bad to worse. I could feel it in my gut like a sixth sense, and at the back of my neck, where small hairs stood on end.

Time’s up.

It was an almost imperceptible whisper in my skull, layered over the pounding music.

My mouse in a maze. Come to me.

I turned sharply around, meeting an empty spot across the room.

Someone had been standing there, watching me.

And somehow, I knew they were also the voice in my head.

Panic climbed my throat. Squeezing through a grinding couple, I passed a girl in a crayon costume throwing up and slid into the kitchen. I was elbowed into a counter, where I knocked over a line of colorful rum drinks onto a girl’s white sequined top.

“Watch it!” she seethed, her bloodshot, glossy gaze sliding up and down my lace dress. Another snobbish student from the rich side of Pleasant Valley. “Nice costume, gothic freak—”

All of a sudden, the girl gasped, her eyes rolling back. She foamed at the mouth. I began to yell for help, when her hand shot out and clutched my arm in a crushing grip. When she spoke again, her words were choked out and guttural. “He wants your soul . . . ” Her eyes flipped back down. “The pool,” she wheezed. She gripped me by the wrists, a smile peeling back her lips. “He’s waiting for you there.”

I ripped free of her grasp.

“Go to him!” Voices shouted at me from all directions, cascading one after another. Their faces contorted, bone leaking beneath their skin like painted skeleton faces. “He wants your flesh . . . blood . . . ”

There was a sharp, clenching feeling in my stomach and terror hit me like a truck. “Go to the pool!”

“What the hell is happening?” Shoving away the partiers, I ran.

People followed me close behind, chasing me with sinister grins. I slipped on the liquor-stained floor, crashed into a wall, and took off again.

Shoving through heavy doors, I rushed to lock them behind me and hunkered down inside the dark room. My heart was an orchestra at crescendo. Chlorine filled my nostrils and paranoia set in.

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