I couldn’t say anything for a moment, and Garret’s gunmetal eyes shifted to Lexi and Kristin, who were also staring at him. “Sorry. Do you mind if I kidnap Ember for a while? Just to make sure she doesn’t eat anyone before you leave.”
Kristin, appraising Garret with a sly look on her face, hesitated, but Lexi grabbed her arm and stepped away from me. “Hey, Garret!
Sure, you two go ahead. Take your time.” She gave me a very unsubtle wink, and I frowned at her. “We’ll be around. Text us when you’re done, Em. Or…you know…whenever.”
They walked off, Lexi nearly dragging Kristin with her, Joe-Bob following behind like a lost puppy, and melted into the crowds. I glanced at Garret, and he smiled. “Looks like it’s just us.”
The food court was a madhouse, as usual. I breathed in the sweet, greasy smell of hamburgers, eggrolls, pizza, corndogs, waffle cones, and cinnamon buns, and sighed. Oh yeah. If I could eat General Tso’s chicken every single day for the rest of my life, I could die happy. The crowds were much thicker here, dozens of voices blending into a general cacophony of noise, and Garret seemed tenser than usual.
Still, he was a perfect gentleman, buying lunch for us at Panda Garden, attempting to teach me how to use chopsticks, which I’d never gotten the hang of. After I accidentally launched a piece of the general’s chicken at his head, which he impressively dodged, he finally acknowledged defeat and let me have my plastic fork.
Dragons don’t eat with tiny sticks.
“How long have you been here?” Garret asked, once I’d plowed through most of my food. He probably realized he wouldn’t get very far if he tried talking to me while I was starving, and in this, the boy was observant. I took a sip of Mountain Dew before answering.
“Not long.” I shrugged. “Just since the beginning of the summer.”
“Where did you live before?”
“North Carolina, with my grandparents.” I speared a carrot with the fork and shoved it in my mouth. “Our parents died in a car crash when Dante and I were really young, so I barely remember them. our grandparents took us in after that.”
“What brought you here?”
Questions. For just a moment, unease flickered. Our instructors always cautioned us about too many questions, particularly questions into our history and personal lives. It could be genuine curiosity, or it could be something far more sinister. Many a hatchling had been murdered by the Order because they’d said the wrong thing, revealed too much.
Garret? Could he be…? I glanced at him over the Styrofoam plates.
Settled back in his chair, he watched me over the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. The way he was looking at me with those bright gray eyes made my stomach dance. No way. I’m being paranoid.
He’s too young to be a ruthless kil er.
Besides, I already had the answer ready to go. “Grandpa Bill developed lung cancer and could no longer take care of us,” I said, reciting the script flawlessly. “Dante and I came to Crescent Beach to live with our aunt and uncle until he recovers. I hope he’ll be okay, but, to tell you truth, I like it here better.”
He cocked his head, adorably puzzled. “Why?”
“There aren’t many oceans in South Dakota,” I sighed. “There’s not much of anything, really. I think I’ve always been a Cali girl at heart. If I left the ocean now, I might shrivel up and blow away on the breeze. What about you?” I waved the fork at him. “You’re from Chicago, right? Won’t you miss this when you leave? Or do you get homesick?”
It was his turn to shrug. “One place is as good as another.”
I didn’t understand that, or the flatness in his voice. “But you have friends, right? Back home? Don’t you miss them?”
“I guess.”
Now he seemed uncomfortable, as if this conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. I let the subject drop, and he fell silent, gazing at his hands. His eyes had gone blank and cold, his expression closed off. I blinked at the change, at the wall lying between us now, wondering what I’d said to shut him down. Morosely, I picked at my food, but then perked up at something over his head.
“Wait here,” I told him, rising from my seat. “I’ll be right back.”
“Here,” I said when I returned. I placed a large, gooey cinnamon bun on the table in front of him. “Dessert is on me.”
He eyed it curiously. “What is it?”
“A cinnamon roll, duh.” I sat and took a large bite out of mine, feeling the warm, cloying sweetness spread right through my teeth.
“Just try it. I got you the extra, extra sweet roll, with the caramel-pecan icing on top. You’ll like it, trust me.”
He took a cautious bite, and his eyes got huge, before his face scrunched up like he had swallowed a lemon. Swallowing, he coughed twice, reached for his soda and took a long sip before leaning back in his chair, like the bun might suddenly leap up and force its way into his mouth again.
“Too sweet?” I asked innocently, biting my lip to keep from cackling with laughter at his shocked expression. “If it’s too much, I could help you eat it.”
“You go ahead,” he rasped, taking another long sip of his drink.
“I think I can feel my veins clogging.”
Giggling hysterically, I finished mine, snagged his napkin and pulled the abandoned bun toward me. He gazed back with a slightly exasperated smile on his face.
“You should smile more,” I told him, biting into the Sweet Cinnamon Bun of Death. Oh yeah, this was a diabetic’s nightmare. my teeth were screaming for mercy. “You’re very cute when you smile, you know.”
He cocked his head in that puzzled, adorable way. “Don’t I smile?”
“Not very often,” I admitted. “Mostly you look like you’re trying to decide where the next sniper attack will come from. Some might call that paranoia, but you know…” I shrugged and took another bite of Death by Icing.
He chuckled. “It isn’t being paranoid if they’re really out to get you.”
I blinked at him before I realized he was making a joke. Laughing, I threw my wadded up napkin at him (he caught it, of course) and shook my head. “See, I knew you had it in you somewhere.”
Finishing the last of the bun, I wiped my hands and stood, tossing our trash into a nearby bin. “Well, now that I’m sufficiently hyped up on sugar and preservatives, wanna go shoot some zombies with me?”
Kristin, appraising Garret with a sly look on her face, hesitated, but Lexi grabbed her arm and stepped away from me. “Hey, Garret!
Sure, you two go ahead. Take your time.” She gave me a very unsubtle wink, and I frowned at her. “We’ll be around. Text us when you’re done, Em. Or…you know…whenever.”
They walked off, Lexi nearly dragging Kristin with her, Joe-Bob following behind like a lost puppy, and melted into the crowds. I glanced at Garret, and he smiled. “Looks like it’s just us.”
The food court was a madhouse, as usual. I breathed in the sweet, greasy smell of hamburgers, eggrolls, pizza, corndogs, waffle cones, and cinnamon buns, and sighed. Oh yeah. If I could eat General Tso’s chicken every single day for the rest of my life, I could die happy. The crowds were much thicker here, dozens of voices blending into a general cacophony of noise, and Garret seemed tenser than usual.
Still, he was a perfect gentleman, buying lunch for us at Panda Garden, attempting to teach me how to use chopsticks, which I’d never gotten the hang of. After I accidentally launched a piece of the general’s chicken at his head, which he impressively dodged, he finally acknowledged defeat and let me have my plastic fork.
Dragons don’t eat with tiny sticks.
“How long have you been here?” Garret asked, once I’d plowed through most of my food. He probably realized he wouldn’t get very far if he tried talking to me while I was starving, and in this, the boy was observant. I took a sip of Mountain Dew before answering.
“Not long.” I shrugged. “Just since the beginning of the summer.”
“Where did you live before?”
“North Carolina, with my grandparents.” I speared a carrot with the fork and shoved it in my mouth. “Our parents died in a car crash when Dante and I were really young, so I barely remember them. our grandparents took us in after that.”
“What brought you here?”
Questions. For just a moment, unease flickered. Our instructors always cautioned us about too many questions, particularly questions into our history and personal lives. It could be genuine curiosity, or it could be something far more sinister. Many a hatchling had been murdered by the Order because they’d said the wrong thing, revealed too much.
Garret? Could he be…? I glanced at him over the Styrofoam plates.
Settled back in his chair, he watched me over the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. The way he was looking at me with those bright gray eyes made my stomach dance. No way. I’m being paranoid.
He’s too young to be a ruthless kil er.
Besides, I already had the answer ready to go. “Grandpa Bill developed lung cancer and could no longer take care of us,” I said, reciting the script flawlessly. “Dante and I came to Crescent Beach to live with our aunt and uncle until he recovers. I hope he’ll be okay, but, to tell you truth, I like it here better.”
He cocked his head, adorably puzzled. “Why?”
“There aren’t many oceans in South Dakota,” I sighed. “There’s not much of anything, really. I think I’ve always been a Cali girl at heart. If I left the ocean now, I might shrivel up and blow away on the breeze. What about you?” I waved the fork at him. “You’re from Chicago, right? Won’t you miss this when you leave? Or do you get homesick?”
It was his turn to shrug. “One place is as good as another.”
I didn’t understand that, or the flatness in his voice. “But you have friends, right? Back home? Don’t you miss them?”
“I guess.”
Now he seemed uncomfortable, as if this conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. I let the subject drop, and he fell silent, gazing at his hands. His eyes had gone blank and cold, his expression closed off. I blinked at the change, at the wall lying between us now, wondering what I’d said to shut him down. Morosely, I picked at my food, but then perked up at something over his head.
“Wait here,” I told him, rising from my seat. “I’ll be right back.”
“Here,” I said when I returned. I placed a large, gooey cinnamon bun on the table in front of him. “Dessert is on me.”
He eyed it curiously. “What is it?”
“A cinnamon roll, duh.” I sat and took a large bite out of mine, feeling the warm, cloying sweetness spread right through my teeth.
“Just try it. I got you the extra, extra sweet roll, with the caramel-pecan icing on top. You’ll like it, trust me.”
He took a cautious bite, and his eyes got huge, before his face scrunched up like he had swallowed a lemon. Swallowing, he coughed twice, reached for his soda and took a long sip before leaning back in his chair, like the bun might suddenly leap up and force its way into his mouth again.
“Too sweet?” I asked innocently, biting my lip to keep from cackling with laughter at his shocked expression. “If it’s too much, I could help you eat it.”
“You go ahead,” he rasped, taking another long sip of his drink.
“I think I can feel my veins clogging.”
Giggling hysterically, I finished mine, snagged his napkin and pulled the abandoned bun toward me. He gazed back with a slightly exasperated smile on his face.
“You should smile more,” I told him, biting into the Sweet Cinnamon Bun of Death. Oh yeah, this was a diabetic’s nightmare. my teeth were screaming for mercy. “You’re very cute when you smile, you know.”
He cocked his head in that puzzled, adorable way. “Don’t I smile?”
“Not very often,” I admitted. “Mostly you look like you’re trying to decide where the next sniper attack will come from. Some might call that paranoia, but you know…” I shrugged and took another bite of Death by Icing.
He chuckled. “It isn’t being paranoid if they’re really out to get you.”
I blinked at him before I realized he was making a joke. Laughing, I threw my wadded up napkin at him (he caught it, of course) and shook my head. “See, I knew you had it in you somewhere.”
Finishing the last of the bun, I wiped my hands and stood, tossing our trash into a nearby bin. “Well, now that I’m sufficiently hyped up on sugar and preservatives, wanna go shoot some zombies with me?”
