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

I take in a great gulp of air and force myself to meet Justin’s eyes. “Thanks,” I stammer. “I’m just going to…” Motioning toward the old house, I skitter up the walk before he can say anything else.

I don’t take another full breath until I’m inside with the deadbolt thrown home. Peer out the peephole.

The street is empty.

Chapter 12

Day 117, Friday

My focus in drama club today has been sloppy, my brain in a fog. I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with a cold or something, after spending all week tiptoeing around school waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Now, I plod around the theater trying to keep my head clear while wishing I was at home, curled up in my bed, watching anime and eating my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup.

Which is why when Esau chews me out for nearly knocking Marisa out with one of the set pieces, I take it, necessarily chastened.

Marisa sits on an overturned milk crate with a wet paper towel pressed to her forehead.

“I’m so sorry!” I croak, but she waves me off.

“It was an accident, right? You weren’t trying to take me out so you could take the lead, right?” She winks at me.

I give a choked laugh, not sure how to respond.

Esau hits me with a glare that sends a shudder down my spine. “You have to be more careful, Megan. How would you feel if we’d had to stop practice to take Marisa to the hospital to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion? You’re not paying attention today, and we don’t have time for these kinds of mistakes. The play opens in six weeks. You’re not terrible at this, so don’t act like it.”

Even with his gruff voice and cold expression, it’s the first compliment Esau has ever given me.

I open my mouth to explain my brain fog, but I’m cut off by a string of sneezes. I manage to aim into my elbow. I always sneeze in fours. Weird, I know.

“God bless you,” Esau mumbles.

“Thanks?” I give a watery laugh.

He rolls his eyes. “If you’re sick, you should go home.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “We’ve only got a half hour left. Thanks for the concern, though.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s my actors. You’re a walking health hazard today.”

Am I hallucinating, or is there a glint of amusement in his eyes?

“Just try not to make any more mistakes in the next thirty minutes, okay?”

And there’s the Esau I’ve come to know and loathe.

“Yeah.”

He stalks off to yell at someone else.

I’d absolutely hate him if I didn’t understand a little about what he’s going through. It’s his first time directing, so he’s responsible for every single person in this theater, from the actors to the lighting and stage crew, to Viv, who spends most of our meetings behind her sewing machine, whipping up costumes, making alterations to old pieces, and sewing whatever else Esau asks her to with a smiling mouth full of sharp pins. Our advisor is basically non-existent. As far as I can tell, she spends all of our meetings in her office reading on her Kindle. Fiona told me she took a peek once when the woman was out and discovered tons and tons of vampire novels.

Fiona rolls her eyes at me playfully as our grumpy director tromps up into the sound booth to confer with Dariel about the lighting. I thought Esau would relax as rehearsals progressed, but it seems like he’s only getting more and more tightly wound.

Esau’s exacting mood makes our practice run long, so I’m late meeting Noah at the library. When I rush inside the old brick building, I spot him using one of the computers at a round table in the far corner. He waves when he spots me.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna show,” he says when I slide into the chair next to him.

“Sorry. Esau kept all of us late.”

He laughs. “I do not envy you. Esau can be pretty intense sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.”

The librarian behind the information desk shushes us, making me clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Should we get started on our research?” I whisper.

Noah gestures to his computer screen. “Yeah. Here, let me show you.”

“What are you working on?”

Noah hesitates before continuing at my nod. “I’m looking through the articles on the Mayday Killer’s victims to try to find some commonality. Usually with serial killers, there’s a reason they pick their targets. It’s not all random. But so far I haven’t come up with anything.”

“What have you looked at so far?” I ask, hoping I sound casual. He can’t know how much I’ve got riding on this.

Noah lets his head fall against the chair’s back and looks up at the ceiling. “Their jobs, income levels, religious beliefs…”

My mind speeds as I try to think of some other aspect Noah could research. What can I give him? The back of my neck tickles like I’m being watched. My pulse beats a staccato rhythm in my throat. Did the phantom who chased me home from school the other day follow me here too? I dig deep for courage and whirl around to look.

Justin’s here, talking intently to the librarian and gesturing toward the non-fiction section. He could have followed me here, easily.

“Small towns…” I murmur, but I don’t believe that’s all it is.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. It’s just, I see the same people everywhere.”

“Small towns.” Noah huffs a laugh.

We focus on the articles he’s got open on the computer, scrolling through the research he’s put together to look for some kind of link between all of the victims. I keep surreptitiously looking over my shoulder to keep track of Justin as he meanders through the stacks.

“They all have kids,” Noah says, nudging me with his elbow.

The contact sends a frisson of surprise along my skin. My mouth is dry, so I take a drink from my water bottle. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“You’re right. A vast majority of people do.” He keeps scrolling. “I feel like I’m