Chapter 1

Scott smiled the minute he laid eyes on her, hurrying down the hall away from him. It was because of her T-shirt that said A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE HOUSE. AND IN THE SENATE. So—she was a liberated female. He could handle that. He hoped. He was a liberated male.

Numero uno on his list of girls he’d flirt with was one who knew her own mind and had a sense of humor. He was a sucker for a female who smiled on a regular basis. One who could laugh at herself. And, most important, one who could make him laugh at himself. He knew one of his major failings was taking himself too seriously. He’d had one honest male amigo and a record number of blunt females tell him so to his face.

When she turned around, he was hooked, dead meat. Honey-colored hair tumbled wildly around her face, saying I don’t spend hours with a blow dryer and a curling iron. Startling green eyes stared right at him. A smile started slowly, ending up almost too large for her small features.

“Are you following me?” The smile disappeared into eyes that teased.

“I didn’t think so at first,” he said. “But now I’ve decided I will.”

He was grateful the words slipped out before he could think about what to say, since small talk, especially with a girl, didn’t come naturally to him. Uppermost in his mind this morning was entering a new school and now, finding the chem lab. He’d never even dreamed about meeting or talking to a new girl, one that got an A-plus for stirring up his own chemistry.

She laughed and shifted a stack of books to her other hip. He had time for one more thought. He liked the small firm breasts that filled out her shirt. Big-busted girls intimidated him.

“Come walk beside me then. You’re obviously the new guy in town and could use a girl guide. You a senior?”

“Yeah.” He reverted to monosyllables.

“Got a schedule?”

He handed her a card that he’d only had time to glance at.

“God, why do they give new people the leftovers? You’re stuck with all the toughest subjects and the workaholic teachers.” One blunt-cut, unpolished nail followed the printout of his day. “Look at this. Second-year algebra, trig, chemistry, advanced physics, and advanced journalism. What do you do for fun?”

“I blew up the lab in my last school.” It was his only claim to fame as a regular guy.

“No kidding? Do you do cafeterias?” Setting down her books, digging into a denim tote over her shoulder, she pulled out a pair of huge glasses. When she’d put them on, she wrinkled her forehead into a serious frown. “Better? Do you like intellectual girls? Or do you prefer girls who have nothing in common with you? I’m ultimately flexible.”

He grinned, liking her better by the minute.

She pulled off the glasses, put one earpiece into her mouth, and studied him. “Think it over. You have all day. This is the chem lab—I think. It smells like chemistry, but it may be physics. I’m sure not going in there. Not my thing. I’ll see you in journalism, though, and it’s your last class.” Her smile suggested that an invitation to continue their conversation after school wouldn’t be rejected. With that promise, she bounced away.

“Wait,” he whispered. “What’s your name?” He realized he hadn’t asked and she hadn’t volunteered. Rooted, he stared after her.

Behind him, a male voice broke the spell. “Vicki Valentine. Yes, it’s her real name, and she’s everybody’s fantasy woman. But she refuses to go with only one guy, so there’s always hope. Incidentally, there’s a huge purse waiting for the guy who changes her mind. If no one wins by June first, the money goes into the fund for the senior project. Interested?”

Scott still couldn’t speak and it made him feel incredibly foolish.

“Alan Berkman—friends call me Berk.” Tall and gangly thin, with zits scarring his face, the guy who spoke to Scott looked like a misplaced seventh grader. “You’re new here, aren’t you? Going into the chem lab?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Scott gained his senses. “Scott Lawrence. Don’t call me Scottie, and no, I’m not going to be an engineer in a star fleet. I’m headed for science writing.”

“Newspaper can probably use your help.” Berk pushed wire-rimmed glasses back onto his nose. “Where you from?”

“New York City.”

“Godzilla, what are you doing in this burg?”

“My dad’s new head of the reactor in Russelville.”

“Keep it a secret. It’s not a popular subject.”

“I figured that, but you’ll have to admit, nuclear power is the only answer for a future fuel source.” Scott had strong opinions on science subjects.

“Okay, don’t keep it secret. You look like a guy who can take a strong stand and defend it. It just so happens I agree with you. I’ll help you write your first article.”

Scott liked Berk. They chose seats side by side, agreed to be lab partners, and exchanged groans when the teacher outlined the class expectations.

The rest of the day he settled into the familiar routine of classes feeling he’d made two friends—well, one, Berk, with Vicki a maybe. To his surprise, since Sparksville High certainly wasn’t a New York City school, he had all good teachers except one, and that in a subject that didn’t matter as much. He could learn it on his own if he had to.

He was able to keep his mind firmly on the subject matter most of the day. But an occasional vision of Vicki surfaced when he least expected it. She had definitely made an impression on him. Maybe he could change his image, become a ladies’ man, by moving. Dream on, old man, dream on. What if cats could fly and spiders weave magic spells on nerds?

She waved at him in journalism class, but sat across the room, talking to a guy with an obvious triple major in sports.

After class, in the hall, she turned around, seemed to be looking for someone. He followed her, hoping. But two girls and a teacher got to her first.

He had never experienced anyone else’s pain so incredibly from a distance. His stomach clinched as if someone had used it for a punching bag. Bile rose in his throat, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

At first her face registered shock. Then her smile faded to a grimace as her features contorted with pain. Crumpling into the arms of the two girls, she bent double with sobs. The teacher reached out her hand helplessly and touched Vicki’s shoulder with empathy.

Students drifted into small islands of curiosity and dismay like clumps of grease on the surface of cold soup. Whispers circulated Vicki’s news.

Berk dropped his hand on Scott’s shoulder, but Scott took no offense from the gesture from an almost stranger.

“What? What is it, Berk? What happened?” Scott whispered, too, as he would at a funeral.

“SueAnne Groober, Vicki’s best friend. She disappeared a month ago. They found her this morning.”

“She’s—she’s—”

“Very dead. But her body wasn’t even cold. Apparently, she had just died, so where has she been for a month? And the strange thing is that she wasn’t dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt she was wearing the last time anyone saw her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had on a yellow prom dress, the one she wore to the junior-senior prom last spring. Yellow roses were woven into her hair—fresh roses—and there was a smile on her face.”

Being from New York City, Scott was familiar with a certain level of violence. But he’d never known anyone who’d been a victim of it. It had stayed a comfortable distance from him and his circle of friends.

He hadn’t known SueAnne, but the picture that Berk had painted for him was as real as his sister’s recent wedding photos, as real as today’s front page from the small-town newspaper. As real as the pain he’d experienced, reflected from Vicki Valentine’s face.

Too real.