Read Online Blue Is for Nightmares by Laurie Faria Stolarz - Free Book Online Page A

mind, where no one could ruin it.
    He told me he had been waiting to kiss me for a whole year.
    But now it's me who's waiting.

    "Earth to Stacey- Amber shouts, plucking me off the blissful path of memory lane. "If this whole card thing is right, then Chad has less than two hours to cancel Drea's date, right?"
    I nod.
    "So what happens if you're wrong about the prediction?" Drea asks, her arm loaded down with school uniforms. "I guess I could be wrong about it all."
    But I know I'm not. I turn to glance back out the window That's when I see him. Again. The man from last night. "He's back!" I shout.
    -Who is?" Drea asks. But then she sees and drops the uniforms to the floor.
    He's standing out on the grass, only a few yards away. He looks straight up at us and smiles.
    "What a freak!" Amber says.
    "Should we do something?" Drea asks.
    "Like what?" I say.
    "Call security"
    "They'll never listen," Amber says. -They think we're nutty"
    "Thanks to you," I say.
    He takes a step closer and points in our direction. I look at Amber and Drea, but can't tell who he means, who his eyes are focused on, if it's me. I squint to focus harder. But before I can figure it out, he tilts his cap to salute us, and then simply walks away.

Ten
    "Are you ready?" Drea is standing by the door of our room, waiting for me, doing a last-minute vanity inspection in the mirror. She drapes her monogrammed towel around her neck and pulls her hair forward over her shoulders. "Remind me to make an appointment later to get my eyebrows waxed." She runs a finger over the invisible fuzz between her eyes. "Let's go. All the showers are going to be taken."
    But now that Amber's gone, I want to talk.
    "Looks like Chad and I are sitill on for this morning." She winds a long strand of wavy blond around her fingers, her nails freshly painted in corn yellow.
    "Looks like," I say, practically biting through my tongue. Chad still has a whole hour to cancel.
    And I know he will. I grab the towel from the foot of my bed and drape it around my shoulders.
    "Drea, before we go, there's something I need to ask you about."
    "What?"
    "That guy who keeps calling you. Why were you upset the last time he called?"
    "Who says I was upset?"
    "I know you, Drea. Who is he and why were you upset?" She sighs. "He's a friend, okay? We just had a misunderstanding."
    'About what?"
    "He just thought I was seeing someone, but I'm not, so there's no problem."
    "What does that mean? Are you two a couple?"
    "I don't have time for this. Are you coming or not?" She jiggles her basket full of shampoo products and shower gels.
    "Not," I say. "Not until we talk about this."
    "Fine," she says. "Then I guess I'll see you later." She closes the door behind her.
    I plop down on my bed, a serious headache creeping across my temples. Sometimes I wish my problems could be solved as simply as that sceue in the movie Grease. The one where the diner morphs into a chunk of heaven. Where Frankie Avalon swoops down from a sparkling, light-filled sky and plays guardian angel for Frenchy, who needs advice about beauty school.
    I could use some advice, too.
    I roll over and glance toward the broken window. There's a clicking sound coming from just outside it. "Drea?- I sit up. Maybe she forgot something.
    The noise continues.
    I move off the bed and grab the baseball bat from behind the door. I sling it over my shoulder, batter-up style, and wait. A whistling now slow and steady and separated by human breaths. I take a few steps toward the sound, but then it seems to travel over to the corner window, the one that isn't broken. I follow it, noticing the window is open a crack.
    "Stacey" says a voice. "I can see you. Can see your pretty plaid pajamas.-

    I take another step, my heart beating down the door of my chest, forcing me to stop, take a deep breath. I root myself in place, secure my hands around the baseball bat, and mentally prepare myself for his next move.
    And there it is a hand smacks up against the glass,