Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) by Emily Kazmierski (summer reads .txt) 📗

the older man before leaning closer to me, voice lowered. “Since he’s still at large, a lot of people in the true crime community are trying to find him.”

“The sooner the better,” I breathe.

“Exactly.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

Noah visibly relaxes. “Right? Hey, you wouldn’t want to help me gather info on him, would you? Because there’s a lot out there, and it would be awesome if we found something that could help.”

The bell rings, and Mr. Baugh starts walking up and down the now-full rows of desks. “All right everyone. Today we’re going to exercise your ability to improvise creatively. Each of you will be given a newspaper article, and it’s your job to come up with a collage piece that conveys the emotion of the article.” He goes on to detail the list of supplies we’re allowed to use and reminds us that it’s a timed exercise that ends when the bell rings signaling the end of class.

Noah scans his quickly before pushing out of his chair and loping to the back for supplies.

I’m glued to my chair. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears. Licking my lips, I glance up at Mr. Baugh. He’s talking to another student near his desk, gesturing to the sheet in her hand. His gaze skims over me without lingering.

I look back down at the paper sitting on my desk. Did he hear my conversation with Noah? Is that why he gave me this article?

Flat on my desk is a story on the Mayday Killer.

Emotions flash in my chest like fireworks as I scan it. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Fear. But which of those can I possibly convey in an art project that I have to finish in the next forty minutes? Better yet, which one can I dwell on without poking at the riptide of tears that’s always hovering behind my eyelids? I breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, willing my fracturing nerves to steady. This is no big deal; I lie to myself.

Choosing the sensation I gauge to be the least risky, I get to work.

When Noah sits down beside me with supplies of his own, I whisper, “I’ll help you with your research. Maybe we’ll find something.”

And if it helps the authorities find him sooner, it still won’t be soon enough.

Aunt Karen got delayed at the store, so she sent a deputy to drive me home. But then the deputy got a call on her radio about some emergency across town, so she left me half a mile from Aunt Karen’s.

Luckily for me, it’s a scorching hot day.

Gasping in the heat, I slog toward the old house.

The asphalt is rippling with it as I trudge along. No one else is out, and whenever someone parks on the street, they hurry inside their destination as quickly as possible, slamming the door closed behind them.

I am dying to duck inside one of the businesses to get a break, but I really just want to get to safety. Besides, I’m not much for being stared at. It’s the downside of such a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, except me. I stick out like a sore thumb.

The downtown melts away and I make a right toward the neighborhood where the old house sits. The road is flanked on both sides by almond orchards. From what Aunt Karen has said, the farmers here used to grow all kinds of different crops, from cherries to citrus, but there’s more money in almonds.

Ahead, the road undulates like the ocean’s waves. I blink, aware that what I’m seeing is a trick of the eye from staring so long. Then I stop. Look behind me. There’s no one there, but I could swear I heard footsteps.

I keep walking, focused on listening to see if the footsteps pick up again. My heart skitters, and I take a deep breath. I was hearing things. Probably from being out in this heat for too long. Because of course the first time Aunt Karen would agree to let me walk home, it has to be the hottest day of the year.

Despite the exhaustion in my limbs, I pick up my pace. Sweat drips down my back.

There’s a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision, and my head snaps toward it. Just a tree branch caught in the breeze.

I freeze. There isn’t any breeze. The air is dead and still in this heat.

But that means…

I stare at that branch, but it’s not moving now. I must have imagined that, too.

Repeating it over and over in my head doesn’t keep me from breaking into a jog.

And then I hear it. Footsteps matching my pace. Someone is definitely nearby and trying to hide their footfalls in mine. I don’t want to think about what that means.

I whirl around to look. If I can identify them, they’ll stop. They’ll have to. Right?

There’s no one there. I must be imagining it. It’s all in my head.

But it wasn’t last time.

When the time is right.

I dash away, my backpack slamming into my butt with every step. Textbooks weigh it down, causing the straps to dig into my shoulders. My shoes slam the pavement with each stride forward.

I can still hear the footsteps. Matching each of mine. This time I don’t dare turn around. I’m too afraid of whose face I’d see.

I run all the way to Aunt Karen’s neighborhood, rounding the corner toward her house without glancing behind me. The devil himself could be giving chase and I wouldn’t know. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

My body slams into something hard, and I fall backward, winded.

Firm hands grasp my wrists and arrest my motion. “Whoa, are you all right? A t-rex chasing you or something?” Justin the janitor shoots an appraising glance at me before looking over my shoulder. When his expression remains easy, I chance a peek.

The street is empty save for a few parked cars. Whoever it was could be hiding behind one. Watching.

“You’re awfully red. Maybe you should go inside. Hot