“Can I help you?” I say, somewhat rudely.
“I’m Tawni,” the girl says, sticking out her hand.
I stare at her slender fingers like they’re a nest of snakes, hesitate, and then eventually take them. I shiver at her icy touch, but her handshake feels surprisingly firm for how thin she is.
“Sorry. Poor circulation,” she says.
I chew my lip, considering her. “Have a seat,” I finally say with a slight wave of my arm.
Flashing a grin, she takes a seat next to me on the rock bench. “Thanks,” she says.
I grin back. I can’t believe it. I’m actually smiling. Well, sort of. I think it’s a pathetic attempt, but at least my lips are curled up in a crooked, awkward, I-don’t-know-how-to-smile-for-pictures kind of way. You know, like those kids in Year Three who always end up with the worst yearbook photos? The ones with the crazy eyes and fake smiles. That’s me trying to smile at my new friend, Tawni.
“Are you going to answer my question or what?” she says.
I go back to chewing on my lip. “What question?” I say, feigning ignorance.
“C’mon,” she says. “Do you like Tristan or not?”
“I don’t know him,” I say neutrally, internally considering whether she’s one of his crazed fans, obsessive to the point of throwing underwear.
The parade passes slowly—Tristan will be out of sight in a few minutes, moving down another street, probably heading toward Moon Hall, where the local politicians gather to do whatever it is that they do. Mostly screw us over. I crane my neck, trying to get a final glimpse of his smile.
“I don’t think he’s a bad guy,” Tawni says.
“Mmm, really?” I say, only half listening.
“No. I mean his dad’s a jerk, but I don’t think kids should be judged by what their stupid parents do.”
My ears perk up. I glance at Tawni. Her slight grin has melted. Her lips are pursed and thin. If nothing else, her statement has piqued my interest in her. Where she comes from, who she is, what she’s done to land herself in this hellhole. And why she cares about what Tristan and his father do.
Tawni ignores my look and continues watching the parade, so I turn back, too. The lead car, in which Tristan is standing, is about to turn the corner. He’s waving to his fans, smiling his mesmerizing smile, and then…
…he looks at me.
Right at me, like his eyes are gun sights and I’m their target. Despite the distance, it’s like they pierce my soul, sending waves of energy up my back and through my neck, slamming into my brain like a freaking sledge hammer.
“Arrr!” I cry out, flinching. I tear my eyes away from him and settle my head in my hands, massaging my pounding temples.
“What is it?” Tawni asks, putting an arm on my back.
Ignoring her, I glance up at Tristan, who’s still looking my way. The pounding in my skull comes back in droves, but not quite as strong this time.
As I stare at him, his face changes. Gone is the smile. Gone are his piercing eyes. All swallowed up in a frown. At first I think I was rude, that I’ve stared too long, or too crazy, because of my weird spasm, but then I feel a presence approaching from the side—a dark shadow.
Not good.
THE MOON DWELLERS by David Estes is available NOW!
David Estes, Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3)
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