Page 23 of Amethyst

So when I see the hundred-dollar bill on the ground, I make a grab for it.

I can’t possibly be this lucky. I’ll be able to help pay for the limo that he ordered. He’s been quite the gentleman, refusing to let me pay for anything. Other than my dress, of course. All my babysitting money went toward the light purple sequined number that fits me like a glove. I’ll wear my hair up, and Mom is lending me her diamond drop earrings.

Max and I aren’t prom king and queen material, but we’re going to look damned good.

A giant grin splits my face. A hundred bucks! What luck! I shove it in the pocket of my jeans, and—

Something feels weird on my fingertips. I brush off some white powder. That’s strange.

But no biggie. I’m a hundred dollars richer, and I continue walking through the shortcut. It’s spring, so no praying mantises yet, but wildflowers are beginning to poke their heads through the moist dirt—mostly sunflowers with bright yellow petals and dark eyes in the middle.

Funny…

The sunflowers are growing taller.

Even as I’m walking. Am I even walking? I look down. My feet are on the ground…until they’re not. They’re floating…and I’m not sure they’re attached to my legs anymore.

I smile as I look to the sky.

The sun glares at me, an almost angry glare.

I don’t like the angry feeling, so I look back at the sunflowers. They surround me, like a halo, negating the angry orb.

And I smile again because I feel good. Like the world is finally at peace.

* * *

I awaken.

When did I fall asleep? I have to get ready for prom!

I jerk upward in bed, expecting to see my prom dress hanging on the back of my door where I left it this morning.

But the back of my door is bare.

In fact…the back of my door…is not the back of my door.

And this isn’t my room. It’s empty. Gray. No desk. No closet door hanging open, clothes strewn on the floor. No Justin Timberlake on the wall.

My head…

My head is… Not aching, but… Not right.

I feel… I feel… I—

The door opens. Only then do I realize I’m naked. Naked in a strange bed, and—

“I’m here to take care of your problem,” a man says.

I gasp.

I scream, pulling a threadbare blanket over my body to cover myself.

It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. I’m naked. Vulnerable. In a strange place. With a strange man. A strange man whose face is a blur, but I can see his teeth. They seem to glow.

“You were examined when you were brought here. Your hymen is still intact. I paid a great sum of money to take care of that for you. I’m looking forward to it.” He stalks toward the bed, his eyes menacing.

And I scream again.

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