Playlist for the Dead (9 page)

My Gchat window pinged.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not now. I couldn’t handle another night without enough sleep; that had to be why all this was happening. None of it was real.

And yet the song kept playing.

I tried shutting down iTunes again, clicking out of Gchat. Nothing.

It sounded as if the song was getting even louder. Which was impossible.

My heart was pounding and when I looked down I realized my hands were shaking. Finally I slammed my laptop shut. The music ended as abruptly as it had begun; the silence seemed almost loud. Loud enough to keep me awake, but I really had to go to sleep.

Except when I turned around, someone was sitting on my bed.

I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. The person on the bed was a man, young but not handsome, with long reddish-brown hair that almost matched his skin.

ArchmageGed.

Or at least someone who looked almost exactly like the wizard figurine I’d bought. I looked up at my shelf—but the figurine wasn’t there.

It made no sense. I felt myself starting to panic. How did he get in my room? There was no way this could really be happening.

“Who are you?” I asked, finally, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. Then the air around him seemed to shimmer, and the room got cold, almost like there was a breeze blowing in, though my windows were closed. And yet I was sweating.

I closed my eyes and felt my head pounding, almost like my brain was trying to come out my ears. This was not real. It couldn’t be.

I tried to monitor my breathing, to keep from panicking. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly. I had to find a way to be rational. Hayden’s vision of ArchmageGed was, I knew, a kind of dashing magician, a glamorous alternative-universe David Blaine. If he were really ArchmageGed, wasn’t that who I would see? I’d always pictured him as more like Gandalf, a tall old man with long gray hair and flowing robes; if this were all my imagination, the person on the bed would look like him.

I was a little calmer now. I opened my eyes again.

The figurine was there.

But the wizard was gone.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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All day Friday I stared at Astrid’s text. She’d really meant it when she said I should come. It was Friday afternoon, and though I hadn’t forgotten about the party, I just wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go.

I’d spent the rest of the week completely freaked out about the Archmage situation. What had really happened in my room that night? I’d been so wired that I hadn’t slept at all, and I’d been up most nights since trying to figure it out. Now I felt like a zombie. I needed to talk to someone about it, but there was no way I would even consider Astrid, and the only other people I could imagine—Mom, Mr. Beaumont, Jimmy—would all think I was crazy. Which I was starting to think I was. No, I had to put it out of my mind. I knew I should probably just stay in, especially given what happened last time I went to a party, but maybe this was the kind of distraction I needed.

Kind of presumptuous of you to assume I’m going, isn’t it?
I read it over before I sent it and realized it sounded rude, so I added a winking smiley face and hoped it was enough.
;-)

How could I argue with that? I started getting ready. I brushed my teeth so many times my gums bled, and I accidentally put too much gel in my hair and had to wash it twice to get it out. I spent what felt like an hour staring at a drawer of T-shirts, before deciding on a Raygun shirt that said
MAKE AWKWARD SEXUAL ADVANCES NOT WAR
. Mom had rolled her eyes when I bought it, but I guess she thought the odds were against me getting to make the advances in the first place. She was probably right; I had a feeling the shirt could do more harm than good. But I liked it.

Hayden’s mix wasn’t exactly filled with party music, but I was finding it hard to listen to anything else these days. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to listen to that Vampire Weekend song again, so I opted instead for a song we’d rocked out to together before. It felt a little bit like an homage.

But it made me even more conflicted about whether I should be going out. I couldn’t imagine what Hayden would do in my place, but I’d never have put him in this place. And I wouldn’t be in this place at all if he were still here. Bitter, maybe, but true.

The party was on my side of town, which was already a point in its favor. The jock jerks tended to stay on their side, where there was always action because their parents traveled so much. “I’m kind of nervous about this,” I admitted to Astrid, when she called to give me the details. “I haven’t been to that many parties, and the last one . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Not out loud.

“I know,” she said. “Why don’t I come to your house first and we can walk over together? Then maybe you won’t feel weird about going.”

“That would be great,” I said, exhaling. I’d wanted to ask her if we could meet up first, but I’d been too nervous. So much for awkward sexual advances—I couldn’t even make awkward friendly advances. “Eric won’t mind?”

“Not at all! He can drive us home.”

For a second, I’d hoped she’d say that he wasn’t coming, that they’d broken up, but I reminded myself that she was my new friend, not my future girlfriend. Even if that might have been nice. Or amazing.

Now I just had to wait for her to show up. Of all nights for Mom to be working the graveyard shift, this was the worst, because she hadn’t left the house yet.

“Look at you,” she said, and messed up my hair.

I ducked back. “Cut it out!”

“Don’t worry, it still looks . . . I’m not sure what it is you’re going for here. It still looks messy. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not messy,” I said. “It’s spiked.”

“Sweetie, your hair’s a little too long for that. But it looks great. Really.”

She totally didn’t mean it, but I didn’t care.

“Now I have to get parental. Where is this party, and who’s going to be there? What time are you coming home?” She said it all rapid fire, like she was joking, but I knew she was serious.

I didn’t see that it mattered, given that she’d be gone all night, but whatever. I gave her the details I knew and told her I had no idea who would be there or when I was coming back.

“You’re just daring me to give you a curfew, aren’t you?”

“Would you really do that?” She never had before. Then again, there hadn’t been much of a need.

“Do I have to?” She frowned and put her hands on her hips.

She didn’t, really—the town already had a curfew of midnight, so it wasn’t like I could stay out any later than that. Which I reminded her.

“I guess that will do,” she said. “It’s already after eight. You should get going.”

“I’m waiting for someone.” Crap, I could feel myself blushing.

“You are?” Mom looked excited. “That’s great! Who?”

“Um,” I said, “just someone.”

“A male someone or a female someone?” She looked more intrigued than concerned. It was true that I’d never so much as mentioned a girl to her before; we’d had the talk years ago, the first time I’d asked her a question about babies, but other than that we’d steered clear of conversations about dating other than to make fun of Rachel’s choice of suitors.

The doorbell rang before I could answer her question. I ran to answer it but Mom was closer and beat me there. “Hello,” she said, “I’m Sam’s mom. You can call me Sarah. And you are . . . ?”

“Hi, I’m Astrid. Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t seem at all annoyed to be meeting my mom, which was nice. And she looked fantastic—her whitish-blond hair was down and glittered with silver, gold, and bronze streaks, and she was wearing a silvery top and shiny gold pants and carrying a bronze backpack.

“Is this a costume party?” Mom asked. “I think Sam might be a little underdressed here.”

“Mom!” I yelled, but Astrid just laughed.

“No, it’s just a regular party. I felt like getting fancy is all. This isn’t the kind of outfit I can wear to school.”

“No, you’re right about that,” Mom agreed. I listened for her tone but she seemed amused. “Well, you’re very sparkly.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Astrid said, and laughed again. “Sam, we should really get going.”

“Okay. See you later, Mom.” I prayed she wouldn’t do something annoying like try to kiss me before I left.

“Have fun,” she said. “And make sure to keep your phone on. You never know when I might need you.”

I rolled my eyes as I shut the door behind me.

“Your mom’s really sweet,” Astrid said.

“She’s a total pain,” I said, but secretly I agreed with her. “What’s in the bag?” I pointed to her bulging bronze backpack.

“That’s the beer,” she said. “It’s BYOB. No keg.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. “I didn’t bring anything,” I said apologetically.

“No worries. I brought enough to share. I don’t drink much, anyway.”

My shoulders sagged; I hadn’t realized I’d tensed them. “Neither do I.”

“Something else we have in common, then,” she said.

Was I crazy, or was she flirting with me?

“I like the T-shirt,” she said.

I felt myself blushing again. “Thanks.”

“You know, you haven’t commented on my outfit yet. Were you going to let your mom take care of that for you? Or do you not like it?” She almost looked worried. Did she really care what I thought?

“No, I do, I mean, I meant to say—” Get it together, Sam. “You look great. Really. Sparkly, like my mom said.”

She smiled then, a wide grin that made the gem in her lip ring sparkle in the dim light. She was so pretty, and I liked that it was an odd prettiness, that it wasn’t a given that everyone in the world would be able to see it. It made her special. To me, anyway.

The streets were quiet and dark; this part of town didn’t have that many streetlights. The party wasn’t that far away, so we didn’t have to talk much, which was nice; I was too busy trying to figure out how to talk to Astrid. We walked for a few blocks, past the apartment building they’d been trying unsuccessfully to convert to condos for as long as I could remember, past the all-night 7-Eleven where some Mexican dudes in a cart outside sold some of the best tamales I’d ever had, not that I was any kind of expert on authentic Mexican food. The party was in a neighborhood filled with houses just like ours, little run-down one- and two-family setups with too many people crammed into too-small spaces.

“We’re almost there,” Astrid said, and pointed to a house a block away. I heard the faint strains of music I actually liked blaring from the speakers and I could tell already that it would be a better party than any of the other ones I’d been to, where they played crappy radio dance pop.

When we got to the door, though, I hesitated. I remembered the other night, Vampire Weekend playing in my head, along with the sound of Hayden laughing. Was I really ready for this?

“Come on,” Astrid said, and grabbed my hand.

The door opened into the living room; the house was laid out just like mine. It was a nice change from those other parties, where everything felt unfamiliar. Here I could almost feel at home. The room was full of the indie kids Astrid sat with at lunch—a few locals from my side of town, and the artsy kids from South Branch. Emo kids with dyed hair and piercings; skinny hipsters like Eric. I almost looked like I fit in. I almost felt it, too. It was a strange feeling, one I wasn’t used to.

We walked through the living room to the kitchen, where Astrid took the beer out of her backpack, pulled out two for us, then stashed the rest in the fridge. We found a bottle opener and pulled off the caps, then clinked our bottles.

“Cheers,” I said.

“To a good night,” she said.

I took a long sip of beer, almost spitting it out as soon as I remembered how gross it tasted. Maybe someday I’d get used to it, but I didn’t see it happening anytime soon.

“Let’s meet some people,” she said, and steered me through the crowd. “Here’s someone I think you’ll like. Sam, meet Damian. Damian, Sam. You two get to know each other. I’ll be back.” She wandered off, greeting people as she went.

Sure, not awkward at all. Especially for the guy who couldn’t even talk to people on the bus. I stared at Damian for a minute. “Dig the facial hair,” I said. Damian was the first high school student I’d ever seen who’d successfully managed to grow a full beard.

“Thanks, man.” He smiled and tugged at the end of it. “Most of it’s going to go in Movember.”

“Movember?”

“National mustache month. I’m thinking about a Van Buren.”

“Van Buren?” Was I only going to be able to manage stupid questions?

“After the president. He had some crazy facial hair going. Big mustache, big puffy sideburns, no beard. Sure to be a hit with the ladies.” He pulled out the sides of his beard to show where the sideburns would pouf out.