I didn't ask any more questions, but even as I stood there wobbling with shock, I had to wonder: Why did the killer only shoot Dalton? If he was going around killing random teens, why not Nikki, too? Or Spencer, if he'd managed to catch up with them?

Maybe the shootings weren't so random after all.

It was eight fifteen. School was about to start. Suddenly I didn't feel quite as gung ho about going.

Chapter 10.

I Heard What You Did I was officially grounded.

I know in the grand scheme of things, especially considering all the insanity of the past few days, being grounded should have been the least of my problems. But here's the thing: I had never once been grounded in my entire life. I'd never done anything even remotely requiring a punishment of that magnitude. Doing grounding-worthy things usually requires a person to leave the house.

But drinking and wandering off and disappearing all night? Yeah, that was worthy of punishment, being forced to stay home with no internet or TV for the weekend. I wasn't mad at my dad or anything. I was glad he was laying down the law. I deserved it.

Oh, how my life was changing.

I wanted to stay home that day, just surround myself with my dad and stepmom and Dawn, even if they were going to spend the next several hours lecturing me on the dangers of alcohol and of acting so reckless. My dad was sympathetic at first, thinking maybe I wanted to go to the hospital along with all my "friends" and hold vigil, waiting to hear about Dalton. I refused and gave a lame excuse about being afraid of hospitals; I couldn't really explain why my showing up there would be the worst idea since George Lucas said, "Hey, how 'bout some prequels?"

Thinking I was trying to get out of my education on top of everything else, he forced me to go to school. I couldn't really blame him.

Megan wasn't outside when Dawn drove me to school. Of course not; school had started twenty minutes before. But a quick check of my cell phone showed that she also hadn't called me. After the frantic way she'd been all over my case the past few days-ever since seeing me transform into the type of girl she loathed with every fiber of her lanky being-and after hearing about Dalton, surely she would have checked up on me.

That she hadn't? I had no idea what it meant, but I had to a.s.sume with her it was because she was mad at me. Join the club, Reedy.

"Okay, so, I'll come here to pick you up right after school."

Dawn leaned against the steering wheel of her car, looking at me with a serious expression I'd never once seen from her. Grabbing my backpack from where it rested between my knees, I opened the door, then hesitated.

"I'm really sorry," I said without turning around.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. Finally she said, "I was really, really worried about you, dude."

"I know, I-"

"Just don't ever do that to me again. I want to help you break out of your sh.e.l.l and all, but not if it means you're going to make me think you're dead all night."

I turned to her. I smiled weakly. She did not return the expression.

"I won't. I promise."

She coughed and looked away. "All righty. So right after school, then. I need to go home and take a nap."

"Okay."

Clutching my bag to my chest, I surveyed the school. The brick buildings were quiet, seeming almost empty. The sky was a matte gray-it often was in the morning-and the cool wind blew through the towering evergreens that surrounded the school. Across the parking lot there were news vans, some preparing to pull away, others setting up cameras. The reporter from TV that morning talked with her cameraman, cradling a steaming cup of coffee and laughing.

Near the front doors was a pile of flowers and teddy bears, ribbons tied to the pole they rested against. Last year's school pictures of Emily C. and Dalton were pasted against the brick wall. They both looked so happy. At least maybe Dalton would get to take a new picture.

I went to the front office and gave the secretary the note my dad had written, and she wrote something in her ledger and sent me on my way.

Behind her the princ.i.p.al stood with the vice princ.i.p.al, the two women nodding solemnly while speaking to a pair of men I a.s.sumed were detectives based on the badges clipped to their belts.

I took my time walking through the quiet, empty halls to my locker. First period was already halfway over, and the last thing I wanted was to walk in and have everyone's eyes on me.

Storing my backpack, I wandered past the lockers, past the half-empty cla.s.srooms where the kids who either weren't close to Dalton or whose parents weren't overprotective enough to keep them home sat, learning reading and writing and 'rithmetic. I stopped outside of room 113: Mr.

Woods's English cla.s.s. Megan's first period.

I don't know how long I stood there until the bell rang; I more or less zoned out, my back against the lockers by the door and eyes cast down at the green tile floor, my mind circling around the same things over and over.

Finally the doors burst open and kids began pouring out. Megan was one of the first. She walked right past me.

"Hey," I said, reaching out to touch her arm.

She stiffened and spun around, ready to verbally smack down whoever had touched her. But her face softened-only slightly-when she saw it was me.

Dragging me away from the door so we wouldn't be caught up in the wake of chattering kids rushing into the hall, she put her head close to mine.

"I heard what you did," she said through clenched teeth.

Oh c.r.a.p.

I looked away from her accusing gray eyes and bit my lip. "Uh, yeah, so what did you hear?"

"Enough," she said. "When someone like us makes a scene, word gets around fast. Even when one of their lunkhead boyfriends almost gets murdered, people still have plenty of time to make comments online all night laughing about you getting smashed and acting like a wh.o.r.e."

I glanced sidelong at the kids pa.s.sing us as they went to their lockers and cla.s.ses. A few glowered at me, their expressions judgmental, before whispering into the ears of whoever they walked with.

I didn't know what to say. I stood silent, then finally said, "Dalton isn't a lunkhead. He's a nice guy."

Megan threw her hands in the air. "You're trying to become one of them, aren't you?" she said. "Is that what this is all about? You're pretending to have some sort of brain malfunction so, what, I wouldn't be mad that I'm not good enough for you anymore? Is that it?"

She crossed her arms and slammed back against the locker. Her lower lip trembled.

"What?" I said. "No! Of course not!"

"Right," she muttered. "Whatever."

We stood there in silence for a few moments. More kids walked by, their eyes melting holes in my hoodie. I turned away, faced the lockers, my cheeks burning.

"I promise you," I whispered, "I'm not trying to ditch you, and I'm not going to turn into a Sarah Plainsworth. I would never go all Heather on you like that."

Megan looked at me blankly. "Go all what?"

"You know, a Heather?" I said. "Like in the movie Heathers?"

Megan's look remained blank.

"Oh, we need to Netflix that, it's totally eighties and raunchy and great.

There's evil popular girls dying left and right, you'd totally love it." The words left my mouth before I really thought about them-movies about dead popular girls probably weren't the best thing to talk about-and I winced.

Seemingly despite herself, Megan smirked and let out a sharp laugh.

"Yeah," she said. "You always know what I'll love."

We stood there in silence. The first bell for next period rang, and the hall began to empty.

"Look," I said. "Something weird is going on with me lately, I know.

Maybe ... maybe you could come over tonight, like you were going to do last night. When I start acting strange, you can make sure I don't run out and embarra.s.s myself, or get myself shot."

"Your dad will be cool with that?" Megan asked me.

"Uh," I said. "I'm sort of grounded. But we'll see."

Megan's eyes went wide. "You're grounded?" The second bell rang. The hall was completely empty.

"Oh c.r.a.p," I muttered. "The last thing I need is detention." Rushing down the hall toward my cla.s.s, I waved at Megan. "I'll tell you about it later," I said.

"Just make sure your mom doesn't keep you home this time!"

Megan waved and ran off to her own cla.s.s. I was completely unsure if I was doing the right thing by asking her to guard-dog me, but I knew I probably needed her now more than ever if I had any hope of keeping from wreaking havoc as Nighttime Emily. Or getting drunk and turning into...

I didn't want to think about it. I skidded around a corner and ran to Mr.

Philbrick's biology cla.s.s.

I opened the door as quietly as I could. Mr. Philbrick's expansive back was turned to me, and I peeked around him at the cla.s.sroom. The first person I saw was someone I seriously did not expect to see at school that day: Amy Delgado.

She caught my eye just as I caught hers. She slowly mouthed, Wh.o.r.e.

I quietly shut the door. Guess there would be no science for me.

I ended up in the library, sitting on the short carpet, hiding behind the stacks. I wanted to cry, but that felt so stupidly childish. Yet why shouldn't I cry? I mean, I went from being completely anonymous to being called the "fat" Emily and the "wh.o.r.e" Emily, and Megan thought I was trying to drop her as a friend, and my whole family was mad at me, and because of me poor Dalton got shot, and there were my nighttime changes that had gone from being heady thrills to something completely out of control....

My eyes burned with tears, but I refused to let them fall. What would Nighttime Emily do? She would stomp into biology cla.s.s like she owned the place, call Amy Delgado a wh.o.r.e right back, prop her feet on her desk, and get good and ready for some book learnin'. She'd tell Megan to stop acting all oversensitive and start being more supportive, like a best friend should be.

Then she'd probably steal a car and go on a joyride down the freeway, maybe try to rob a bank to catch the attention of a cute guard.

I laughed to myself. My life was rapidly becoming ridiculous.

Grabbing the shelves, I hauled myself to my feet. I read the t.i.tle on the spine of the book in front of me: Werewolves, Witches, and Wandering Spirits: Traditional Belief & Folklore in Early Modern Europe.

Well, that was a freaky coincidence.

I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the book off the shelf. There were a few more on similar subjects near it. I grabbed those, too.

Finding a table in the mostly empty, quiet lobby of the library, I sat down with my pile of books and began flipping through the pages. There were reproduced engravings of werewolves rampaging through villages, eating pigs and chickens and the occasional unlucky human. There was the standard talk about werewolf lore, you know the drill: turned into one after being bitten by another person cursed with lycanthropy, transforming with the full moon, killed only by silver bullets.

Well, none of that applied to me. The moon wasn't in the sky at all last night, and I'd certainly never been bitten by anyone, let alone a wolf. That's the kind of thing you'd remember. And I don't really want to test the theory, but I'm pretty sure that any bullet would get me good and dead, silver or no.

That's what happened to Emily Cooke, at least.

I slammed shut the book and slumped onto my arms. This was completely stupid. Werewolves don't exist! They're just fodder for movies and books, and besides, how could someone completely transform into another creature in the course of a few minutes? It didn't make any sense. I had gotten drunker than a gutter b.u.m the night before, that was all. Maybe all people saw things when they got drunk. I mean, why else would people talk about "beer goggles"?

Sensing something, I glanced up. The librarian, a skinny woman with short white hair and wire-rimmed gla.s.ses, sat quietly at her desk, typing at a computer. I then realized that another student had come into the library while I'd had my nose in my book.

Patrick.

He sat across the lobby at another table, facing me but engrossed in whatever it was he was reading.

I remembered the musk that had made me feel all fluttery at lunch the other day, the way I'd gone all boy crazy when I smelled it at the party last night, frantically chasing him through the woods. I couldn't smell him from this far away, of course, but the memory of his scent had burned its message into some part of my brain that even Nighttime Emily had found strange: He's the one.

The one what?

I had to get up, go talk to him. He was new, and right around the time he appeared, all of this epic weirdness began. And something about him, some pheromone or whatever, drove me even crazier than I already was at night.

Maybe he knew something about what was happening to me. Maybe...

I didn't move. I held a book in front of my face so he wouldn't see who I was, peeking over the top so that I could watch him. Every few minutes I tried to psych myself up to go talk to him. What would Nighttime Emily do?

I asked myself. But it didn't work. Because I wasn't Nighttime Emily. I was just me, Emily Webb, average, everyday geek who didn't have a courageous bone in her body.

Eventually he set down the book he was reading, grabbed his backpack, and left. I watched his tall form head toward the door, telling myself, This is your last chance. Go talk to him.

But I sat where I was, and then he was gone.

Feeling defeated, I grabbed the werewolf books and took them to the librarian to get checked out. That done, I headed toward the door myself-it was almost time for third period. Maybe I could sneak into cla.s.s without anyone else noticing me.

As I pa.s.sed the table where Patrick had sat, I glimpsed the book he'd been reading and had left behind. It was a large, black-covered book. Bold white letters read: Serial Killers in America: Inside the Mind of Fear Itself Well. That was ... interesting.

Not sure what to think about Patrick's choice in reading material, and still cursing myself over my complete inability to suck it up and talk to a boy, I headed off to face the rest of the school day.

Chapter 11.

The Emily and Megan Milkshake Spectacular It was Friday night. Time for everyone to celebrate the end of their first week back at school by getting down, getting funky, getting their party on.