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

the nickname. No one’s ever called me that, but I could get used to it. Taking a corner of the board, I give a light pull. I don’t want to damage it before I can even show it to Esau, but suddenly I don’t want Dariel scrutinizing it anymore either. “I’m hoping if he sees a visual of the lighting scheme I’ve been trying to sell him on, he’ll let me try it.”

Up front, the projector makes a loud beeping noise, drawing my attention. The teacher is hovering around the projector, pressing buttons in a way that does not look good. A few rows over, the class techie gets up and trudges up there, tapping the teacher on the shoulder so he’ll stop his assault on the projector long enough to look at her. Poor techie girl.

Dariel leans closer. “We’re talking about the same Esau, right? Esau Chavez? Control freak? Man bun? Always barking orders?”

I roll my eyes and frown. “He’s going to hate it.”

“I mean, probably. Yeah.” His fingers tap a rhythm on the desktop.

My frown deepens. “My ideas for this show are good. I just have to make him see that somehow.”

“Good luck with that.” Dariel chuffs incredulously.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’m going to need it.” I spend the rest of the day going through what I’m going to say to Esau to get him to try my lighting so that by the time the last bell rings I have it memorized. It’s a welcome break from the conversations all around me. Death, fear, and confusion are the rule of the day. Not for me. Not anymore, if I can help it.

My opportunity to show Esau my vision for the show comes sooner than I expected it would and goes a lot smoother too. Esau isn’t in the drama room when I get there after class. Marisa and one of the other actors are running lines in the middle of the stage area. She’s still using her script, I notice. Fiona and Dariel are upstairs in the booth, and it does not sound like they’re working. In the far corner near the hallway, the whir of Viv’s sewing machine draws me closer.

My eyes land on the fabric and my feet halt abruptly. Blood is pooling around the machine, inching outward toward my sandals. A pair of hands lie cut and bleeding in the middle of the widening puddle. A dinged wedding band glints on a twitching ring finger.

A cry escapes from my throat. If I don’t back away, it’s going to seep into my shoes. But I can’t move. The haze of terror in my brain is blocking all communication with my limbs. I squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s not real. It’s not. I’m not in that place anymore.

I force my eyes to open and refocus.

A puddle of scarlet cloth is lain out in a swath around Viv’s machine, but the whirring has stopped. Viv is staring up at me with wide, attentive eyes. “Megan? You in there?” she asks.

Almost too late, I manage to nod. “Sorry. I zoned out for a second there.”

Viv studies me, her expression not quite believing. Then gestures past me. “Fiona’s calling you.”

“Right.”

Fiona is standing on the stairs leading to the booth, and when she spots me she grins. “Esau’s not coming today.”

“What?”

“There was some problem at the farm, so he had to rush home after last period. You know what this means?”

“Everyone’s leaving?” I’m surprised at how disappointed I am to hear that. Despite constantly butting heads with Esau about aspects of the show, the afternoons I’m able to spend here rather than cooped up in the restless quiet of Aunt Karen’s house have become my safe space. The only time I can truly be myself without fear of being scrutinized by my overprotective guardian.

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘the show must go on?’” Fiona plants a hand on her hip.

“I’m not following.”

Holding up my collage of inspiration photos, Fiona raises her eyebrows.

My eyes run over the flashes of neon color in the images. Then to everyone around us, who for some reason are looking at Fiona and me as if we’re in charge around here.

“You think?” I ask.

“Let’s try it. We can reset the lights afterward.” Fiona grins. I do too.

Excitement hums in my veins. This is my shot to set up the lighting scheme how I want. Run through the show the way I imagine it should look. Take some photos. It’s going to be so fantastic even Esau won’t be able to argue. It’ll show him my vision is just as valid as his. I’m making this happen, thanks to Fiona.

“Thanks, girl,” I say. “All right everyone. Esau’s not here today, so we’re going to try something a little different. Dariel?”

“Your wish is my command, Meggie.”

A thrill runs through me as my fellow club members listen and comply with my requests. Bodies scramble around the drama room, setting up for a run through of the first act. Fiona’s on a ladder changing the colored films over the lights. Up in the booth, Dariel gives me a thumbs up. A sense that I’m right where I’m supposed to be makes my chest puff up.

My phone chimes in my pocket. A text from Noah. I start to ignore it, but a word in the preview snags my attention. I scan the message quickly. It shoots an arrow that pops a gaping hole in my ballooning heart and sends it careening toward my feet as it loses all of its air. He’s gotten in contact with someone who’s willing to share some of the police’s case files with him. Crime scene images, too. It’s the break in the case he needs, Noah insists. Will I meet up with him Monday after school to look through it for leads?

It’s the break we both need, really. If I’m going to figure out who’s behind the killings and protect myself, a look at the police files would be useful. If I can stomach them.

“We’re ready,” Fiona