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She likes school. Next year's high school, and she'll be a freshman. Her last two semesters of count as one, so she will be hanging with sophomores for at least one class. That, and freshmen like her who took French in junior high. Ah, c'est la vie.
She's also into AP History and Chemistry. If things go well, they'll count as college credit. There's PE, too, right before math, which really sucks, but the rest of it is cool. She might even go out for the school play. That'll look great on a transcript.
Next year's gonna be so great.
She's been having this odd dream, all axes and crossbows and swords and orcs, with Eowyn in the center. Nothing angered her more than the short shrift they gave to her and Faramir in the movie. Their marriage united Gondor and Rohan! It's important! Anyway, there was her and Galadrial with her pretty white hair, and a pillar of light....
Tolkien never wrote about pillars of light. That's not right.
You can't complain that your dreams aren't faithful to the book. Well, you can, but it must mean something. Kayla read that book on dreams. Maybe she should borrow it.
Nobody she doesn't know uses this road. Well, some, but they're kinda out and there are better ways to get from points east to points west than this road.
So the motorcycle really stood out.
It crossed at least five times while she had the rider out front. Their lawn is pretty big. About the same as the neighbors but much bigger than the one in Mountain View. Dad says this is a first step toward learning to drive, but clearly he'd rather golf on Saturday than mow lawn.
She didn't write down the number, but it's a California plate.
Science fiction and fantasy should not be shelved together. Not even in the bad bookstores they have in the malls. The Shannara books shouldn't have to share a shelf with zap guns.
"You read Doug Adams?"
The woman asking is not a reader. "I prefer Pratchett."
"People I know swear by him. One even puts a towel in his carry-on bag."
"Really." If she wanted to talk, she'd go ... somewhere else.
"What I like is the words 'Don't Panic' in big letters."
"'Big, friendly letters'"
She recognizes the jacket when the looks. The biker. "Those are very useful words."
Oh god.
Oh god oh god.
It's a hand. Coming out of the grave.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!
"It's coming to get you, Sierra!"
She's laughing. The graves are giving up their dead and she's laughing. Oh god.
"Big, friendly letters, girl."
If she dies, Mom and Dad will kill her.
"What?"
"What's written in big, friendly letters?"
It's head is out. Angry yellow eyes.
"Don't panic?"
Hands on her shoulders. "You're panicing. That's bad. Don't- Don't panic."
Head. Shoulders.
"Deep breaths. The stake is part of you. Use it."
It's on it's feet. She hits, misses, then hits again.
Dust.
Oh god.
It's still September and she's crashed in Chem twice. The teacher starts by saying "Can someone nudge Sierra? We wouldn't want her to miss anything."
She's blown every French quiz. Madame Phelps has moved her to the front of the class.
PE's going well -- surprisingly well, Mom says -- but Dad says that he'll take her cell phone if they get called in again.
She should be studying. She should be memorizing the vocab or reading that biography of Rasputin for her history class. She should be anywhere but on her five-speed. But laTanya Reynolds was buried this morning.
She drops from the balcony after they enter, blocking the only exit.
Not really the only exit. There are two emergency exits, plus windows, but the gas-soaked books will block them. Once they're lit, at least. Dad's grill lighter and Mom's hairspray start the flame across the librarian's desk, which hits the reference section, which starts the periodicals. Nonfiction goes off in a flash.
She starts sweating. Quick count: one, two, three. Damn it. There are four.
Rough hands grab her shoulders and push her toward the desk. She turns, pushs and there's a flash. Three.
She can do three.
They never find enough evidence to blame the fire on her, but that just means no juvie. Still expelled. Mom and Dad got in a huge, scary knock-down drag-out over it.
She's miles from home and Dad now, from all her friends. There are new ones, kinda. They smoke and dress in black, and so does she, now. She hears Mom cry sometimes, when she sneaks out.
A Jamie Curtis got killed. Looked suspicious and sure enough, here he is. Nice suit. Bye, now! Something's up. Most of the young deaths here are wash-outs, but too many are coming back.
She's almost home when she's blindsided. Straight to the cobblestone and the second hit comes right after, throwing her against the brick wall.
"Don't you know you're already dead?"
She pops back to stance. Her braces cut into her lips. Blood drips down her lip. She blocks twice, but catches an elbow to the temple, then a tear at her ear as she falls.
She sees it hanging. Her earring. On a shiny metal hook.
The voice shatters a crate, makes a stake. She backs up.
"From dust you came. Let's send you back."
She bolts away at top speed.
Her lip is still fat and bruised when Faith rolls up. The tear in her ear hurts when she turns.
"Cavalry's here. Where's the target? Worse for wear, I hope."
"Barely got away."
"It did a number on you, too. What do we know?"
"Wild hair. Mean. Carries a hook. Didn't see a face."
"That helps a hell of a lot. Throw me a bone already. So, what's the next move?"
"You tell me. You're the teacher. You're supposed to know all this crap."
Faith lights a cigarette. "Yeah. Dirty Deeds, reasonable price. Concrete shoes, cyanide, TNT. It's all me."
"Cops. Oh shit."
"Big friendly letters, girl."
"Fuck you."
"Listen, you got gotta take the hit."
"Fuck you."
"Listen, I'm an escaped felon. I don't wanna fight 'em, but they get me, I'll never see daylight again. They get us, you get big time for aiding and abetting. I know, but the first squad is away." "I run off, you say that a friend talked you into it--"
"That's a big lie."
"Who called me? Anyway, you give up and you'll get some time in juvie. Maybe even house arrest. We both run, they shoot. I'll finish this, don't worry."
"I like this guy." The first Narnia book slides across the bed. "Mom got me the set for Christmas. It's pretty much -- what's the word? Allegory? Allegorical? But I like them."
"I heard about him, but never read him." She scratches under her house-arrest anklet, then picks up the book. "He was friends with Tolkien, I know. Thanks."
Rejoice is her first friend in the new school. The new new school. She's nice. It's okay. It's a church school, but she can go without Mom having to move.
"You read Tolkien? Funny, I never pegged you for a reader."