her hair away from her eyes, then leaned forward and nibbled, once, on her ear. Em’s whole body felt like it was on fire.
“Wow,” he whispered in her ear, and then took a stepbackward, watching her, his arms around her waist. Em laughed nervously, desperate to know what he was thinking.
“Yeah.” She gulped. Em looked around, with the sudden conviction that someone was watching them. (Stupid, obviously: Who would be watching, on Zach’s secluded property, at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve?)
His thumbs made figure eights around the small of her back. And now all Em wanted was to curl up on his couch and talk and kiss. She wanted him to run his fingers through her hair. She wanted to tell him that she still kept Cordy on her bed, that she would always remember what he’d said to her that day at the carnival.
But Zach stepped away from her. “You’ve gotta go home now, little Christmas elf. My mom and Tim will be home any second, and . . .”
The disappointment was physical; a slamming cold wall. But Em tried to sound cheerful. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, of course.” She was dying to ask him when they would see each other again, and what their kiss had meant, but she swallowed back the words.
“Hope Santa doesn’t find out we’ve been naughty,” he whispered. He took a step away, and Em felt herself, almost involuntarily, reaching out to grab his hand. This was about more than just a kiss. It was so much bigger. He looked at her.
“Have a good night,” was all she could say. He squeezedher hand, before dropping it. For a second she stood there in the soft glow of the holiday lights. Then she turned, and he watched as she got in her car and drove off.
On the way home, Em turned up the radio and sang along, full volume, to the oldies station. The same bowling ball was still sitting in her stomach, but now it felt like it was floating on a sea of whipped cream—still heavy, but surrounded by giddy sweetness. She and Zach had kissed. Zach had kissed her. The memory was looping in her mind.
“I think we’re alone now,” she sang-shouted.
And then her headlights lit up a figure standing by the side of the road. For a moment Em saw only the person’s face in the mist, a gaping mouth, frozen in a scream. . . .
Startled, Em jerked the wheel to the left, then yanked it back in the other direction. She could feel the tires skidding back and forth, quivering uncertainly. Her car went lurching off the road as she desperately braked—too fast, too jerkily. She was on the rumble strip, and then in a shallow drift of snow. She felt the front passenger side collide with and crunch into a low stone guard wall, jolting her entire body forward so her chest nearly hit the steering wheel before her seat belt jerked her backward.
Then everything was silent, except for the radio still blaring: “There doesn’t seem to be anyone a-rou-ound.”
Shaking, she loosened her hands from the steering wheel, punched the radio dial to turn it off, and unbuckled her seat belt. She didn’t think she was actually hurt, but her heart was pounding, and there was a faint trail of smoke rising from the hood of her car. She fumbled with her purse, got out her phone, and dialed Zach’s number. She was still only a few miles from his house—he would come pick her up. No answer. She tried again, and it rang and rang. After one last attempt, she called JD.
“Em?”
As soon as she heard JD’s voice, Em started crying.
“JD. I went off the road. On Rolling Hill, down by the stone wall? I don’t know what to do.” Her wailing filled the emptiness of the car, the stifling silence.
“Don’t move. I’ll come get you,” JD said. “I’ll be there in a few, okay? Just stay in the car and keep warm.”
“Okay . . . okay,” she sniveled and hung up, putting her head in her hands. Then she suddenly remembered: The figure. The girl. The one she’d seen in the dark, the vision that had made her swerve. Was there someone out there? Em opened
“Wow,” he whispered in her ear, and then took a stepbackward, watching her, his arms around her waist. Em laughed nervously, desperate to know what he was thinking.
“Yeah.” She gulped. Em looked around, with the sudden conviction that someone was watching them. (Stupid, obviously: Who would be watching, on Zach’s secluded property, at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve?)
His thumbs made figure eights around the small of her back. And now all Em wanted was to curl up on his couch and talk and kiss. She wanted him to run his fingers through her hair. She wanted to tell him that she still kept Cordy on her bed, that she would always remember what he’d said to her that day at the carnival.
But Zach stepped away from her. “You’ve gotta go home now, little Christmas elf. My mom and Tim will be home any second, and . . .”
The disappointment was physical; a slamming cold wall. But Em tried to sound cheerful. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, of course.” She was dying to ask him when they would see each other again, and what their kiss had meant, but she swallowed back the words.
“Hope Santa doesn’t find out we’ve been naughty,” he whispered. He took a step away, and Em felt herself, almost involuntarily, reaching out to grab his hand. This was about more than just a kiss. It was so much bigger. He looked at her.
“Have a good night,” was all she could say. He squeezedher hand, before dropping it. For a second she stood there in the soft glow of the holiday lights. Then she turned, and he watched as she got in her car and drove off.
On the way home, Em turned up the radio and sang along, full volume, to the oldies station. The same bowling ball was still sitting in her stomach, but now it felt like it was floating on a sea of whipped cream—still heavy, but surrounded by giddy sweetness. She and Zach had kissed. Zach had kissed her. The memory was looping in her mind.
“I think we’re alone now,” she sang-shouted.
And then her headlights lit up a figure standing by the side of the road. For a moment Em saw only the person’s face in the mist, a gaping mouth, frozen in a scream. . . .
Startled, Em jerked the wheel to the left, then yanked it back in the other direction. She could feel the tires skidding back and forth, quivering uncertainly. Her car went lurching off the road as she desperately braked—too fast, too jerkily. She was on the rumble strip, and then in a shallow drift of snow. She felt the front passenger side collide with and crunch into a low stone guard wall, jolting her entire body forward so her chest nearly hit the steering wheel before her seat belt jerked her backward.
Then everything was silent, except for the radio still blaring: “There doesn’t seem to be anyone a-rou-ound.”
Shaking, she loosened her hands from the steering wheel, punched the radio dial to turn it off, and unbuckled her seat belt. She didn’t think she was actually hurt, but her heart was pounding, and there was a faint trail of smoke rising from the hood of her car. She fumbled with her purse, got out her phone, and dialed Zach’s number. She was still only a few miles from his house—he would come pick her up. No answer. She tried again, and it rang and rang. After one last attempt, she called JD.
“Em?”
As soon as she heard JD’s voice, Em started crying.
“JD. I went off the road. On Rolling Hill, down by the stone wall? I don’t know what to do.” Her wailing filled the emptiness of the car, the stifling silence.
“Don’t move. I’ll come get you,” JD said. “I’ll be there in a few, okay? Just stay in the car and keep warm.”
“Okay . . . okay,” she sniveled and hung up, putting her head in her hands. Then she suddenly remembered: The figure. The girl. The one she’d seen in the dark, the vision that had made her swerve. Was there someone out there? Em opened
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