I guess I had always known it would happen but now it was official: I had died and gone to hell. I knew I was dead because as I threw myself to the floor to escape the shots, my life flashed before my eyes. (Little Life/Death Lesson 25: Live large or else you, like me, will be forced to fall back on second-rate memories like kissing Jimmy Drabber on the floor of the Beverly Center Cineplex in eighth grade.) And I knew I was in hell because I could smell two distinct odors: sulfur, which, according to Paradise Lost, is what hell smells like; and Bubble Yum, the signature scent of evil in my world.
After my mom died, I listened in on a lot of conversations between grown-ups I wasn’t supposed to understand, and what I remembered the most was my mom’s sister, Aunt Jean, saying that when you died, you walked toward a bright light and God was waiting for you there to mete out your punishment. Which is why I wasn’t that surprised when, opening my eyes, I found myself blinded by a light.
I was a little surprised when the first thing God said to me was, “Get your ass out from under there. How many times do I have to tell you kids—no messing around in the Sports Stars room?” because I hadn’t expected that God would use words like “ass.”
Or, for that matter, that God would be a middle-aged woman with big platinum-blonde hair dressed in a museum security uniform. If I were God, I’m not sure that is what I would choose to wear. I think I’d go for one of Cher’s old show costumes or at least some cool platform boots. But maybe those are too hard to maneuver in. Because God had some moves. For example, the Grab-Jas-by-the-Hair-from-Under-the-Fighting-Ring-Where-She’d-Thrown-Herself-to-Avoid-Being-Shot-and-Drag-Her-Out-Toward-You move. Which was a doozy. And came with its own backup band singing “Bye Bye Bye.”
Which got me started thinking that maybe I wasn’t dead.
The fact that God was sporting a name tag that said SGT. DARLEEN SMITH, PATROL, also helped. Oh, and that the lights had come back on.
Sgt. Darleen gave me a powerfully disapproving eye as I stood up. “Can you make that thing stop?” she said, glaring at the watch.
“Sorry.”
I pushed the button and Sgt. Darleen studied me in silence for a moment. “You should have run away like your friend did. Now I will have to make a report.”
“What friend?”
“Your little boyfriend. Don’t play stupid with me. You were up to hanky-panky. Oh, yes, I know why you kids all come in here—”
“What? Hanky-panky?” I interrupted. “In case you didn’t notice, someone SHOT at me.”
But Sgt. Darleen kept right on like I hadn’t said a word. “—you girls like to do the necking under the ring. Disgusting, that’s what it is. I know you all think Vegas is a playground, but we are decent, family-loving people here, and we don’t look kindly—”
Wow. I’d never been mistaken for a slut before, especially one who liked to do the necking. It was kind of…novel. But I didn’t have time to enjoy it. I was still registering the fact that Jack had tried to kill me.
I had been so stupid. A guy like him would never go for a girl like me for real. Never in a million years.
I felt my eyes get hot, and it was suddenly hard to swallow. I guess I must have looked pretty bad, because Sgt. Darleen’s expression softened. “Are you all right, honey? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No,” I said, not managing to keep the quaver out of my voice. “And I promise you I didn’t come here to do the necking. I just wanted—”
Her walkie-talkie crackled, and she put up a hand. I heard something through the static about a “Code 6 in progress at American Idol.” Sgt. Darleen said, “Not another one. I have to go take this call. Guess I’ll just have to let you go without writing a report. You be careful now and stay out of trouble.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
I nodded, but only like a robot. I was a mere shell of my former self. I’d never realized it was possible to feel fine and not fine at the same time. I was completely alive. But I felt dead inside. The only time I remembered feeling anything close to this was after my mom died, when my dad threw away all her fingerprints.
It was so stupid, too, because it was not like I even knew Jack. He was just a guy I had a crush on, right? I’d had crushes before. Crushes that ended, well, badly. But nothing that made me feel like this.
Because I felt totally betrayed. Jack had made my body tingle. He’d looked at me with those eyes in a way I thought only a guy who liked me could. I would fully have done the necking with him if the opportunity arose. But he didn’t care about me. He was only using me.
When he wasn’t trying to kill me.
I should have known he was evil. Only someone who had made a pact with the devil could make my body do the things he made it do without even touching me.
And, on the up side, he hadn’t killed me. Because by now it was clear that I was alive, whether I liked it or not. This led to other interesting questions like: What had stopped him from finishing me off?
And: Did the Thwarter need to find out that something else had “happened” to me?
If he did, would he kill me? Would it go better for him if I wrote a letter to the police explaining that it wasn’t his fault? That I was a trial as a daughter? Or would Sherri!’s testimony be adequate?
And finally, where was my crack reconnaissance team? My I-got-your-back squad?
Committing a Code 6 Statue Violation on American Idol judges, I soon learned. Which, translated, meant putting their fingers up Simon Cowell’s wax nose. Or rather, one of their fingers. And getting it stuck there.
Who could resist a temptation like that? Apparently not Alyson.
“We’re really sorry we were late, Jas,” Veronique said from the corner where she and Alyson were consulting over what repairs would be necessary to Alyson’s newly replaced acrylic nail tips. “But Polly told us we didn’t need to be here until five thirty. We would totally have been on time. It wasn’t Alyson’s fault.”
“Yes,” Roxy agreed solemnly. “Nostrils on the statues may be smaller than they appear.”
Alyson, never one to have dampened spirits for too long, said, “Did you have Mexican food for lunch, Jas? It stinks in here.”
“Gee, Allie, thanks so much for caring,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I am feeling a bit queasy. The reason it smells like this is because while you were busy picking Simon’s nose, I was getting shot at.”
“Exaggerate much?” Alyson sneered. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time a guy stood you up, Jas. If there even was a guy.”
But Polly, Roxy, and Tom knew better. Now they crowded around me, all concerned for my welfare. I shrugged the whole thing off, playing down how bad I felt inside, because even with your closest friends, you still do not want to look like the idiot who fell for the cute but EVIL boy. With the British accent. And the Adidas that matched his eyes.
Polly gave me an up-and-down look. “There’s no blood on your outfit, anyway,” she assured me, getting her priorities SO straight. “But you did snag the hem of the skirt.”
“I’m sorry, next time someone SHOOTS at me in the dark, I’ll be certain to look before I dive for cover to make sure there are no nails protruding.”
“How could you do that if it was dark?” Veronique asked.
It was a sad, sad day when the only person tracking was Veronique. I gave Polly a pointed look to indicate this fact, but she and Roxy were leaning against the boxing ring, completely ignoring me and talking intently. Most likely about how my brush with death scarred them and how they were trying to put on a brave face for me, but they were trembling deep inside.15
I should explain that you get into the Sports Stars room by going down some metal steps from a catwalk. In the middle of the room is a boxing ring, and it’s in there that Mohammad Ali is standing (and there that I took refuge when the shoot-out started). Roxy was now walking around the ring like she was searching for aliens (which she probably was), but Polly was just sitting there frowning. I looked to see what she was frowning at and saw Tom who, no doubt savoring the freedom from the Henches that Alyson’s broken nail tip was giving him, had wandered up to the catwalk. He had been leaning down, but now he stood up and his expression was not cheery.
He said, “Jas, I think you should get up here.”
Veronique was on her befringed feet heading for the stairs. “What is it, TommySalami?”
“News flash for Veronique: He asked for Jas, not you,” Alyson hissed. Oooh, trouble in Evil Hench Paradise over a boy. Of course that had to happen right then, when I didn’t have time to enjoy it.
Instead of staying to watch the carnage, I clomped up the metal stairs and went to where Tom was standing. The smell of sulfur was stronger there. He pointed to a pile of ash and red paper. A long piece of wire was coiled around it.
“I thought it might be evidence,” he said. “Do you have any idea what it is?”
“Yes.” I did. It was evidence. Evidence of what a dorkus maximus Jack was. And me, too, for ever liking him, and even being a little scared. King and Queen of the Dorki people is what we were. “They’re firecrackers,” I said. “Like from a joke store.” The popping noises I’d heard weren’t shots at all. Jack hadn’t been trying to kill me—he’d only been trying to terrify me.
But I had news for him. He’d picked the wrong girl. I’d been terrified when I thought someone was aiming a gun at me. But now? Now I was pissed. Pissed at Jack for toying with me. Pissed at L. A. “You Are Only Young Once” Curtis for not taking me seriously.
And really, really pissed at myself.
I wanted answers. Only I had no idea what questions to ask.
And then I heard Roxy saying, “Hello, clues! Come to Auntie. Jas, I think I’ve got something else over here.”