Drop Dead Gorgeous (Return to Fear Street Book 3)

Part 2

Morgan isn’t the first totally hot girl to want to get close to me. Maybe I’m bragging. But if you’ve got it, flaunt it. At least, that’s what I’ve heard people say.

Girls fall all over me, and it’s not because of my awesome good looks or my bod. It’s simple. Girls like me because I’m really into girls.

Winks may be a big cuddly teddy bear, and Zane is a serious dude who is driven and ambitious. He says he wants to do comedy, but he almost never smiles. He always looks like someone just murdered his puppy.

I, on the other hand, am romance personified. So when I told Morgan I was building a drone in my garage, I knew she’d want to see it. How could she resist?

Her big green eyes went wide, and she gazed at me as if I was some kind of brilliant scientist. “You’re really building a drone? By yourself? Can I see it?”

I played the modest game. “It’s nothing, really. No biggie.”

Hard for me to be modest, but sometimes I can pull it off.

We made a plan to meet after school. I didn’t know that Amber was going to kidnap Morgan and interview her in the art room. So I waited out in the hall.

The school emptied out pretty fast. I sprawled on the floor with my back against the wall and texted Winks. I still hadn’t rounded up enough guys for our Ultimate Frisbee game on Saturday. I wondered if he had any ideas.

I could hear Morgan and Amber mumble on inside the art room. Amber was pounding her with questions. I wished I could hear the answers. But they were at the far end of the room away from the door, and I just heard mumbling.

When she finally came out, Morgan was surprised to see me. And the big smile on her face told me she was pleased. “You didn’t have to wait,” she said.

“For sure I did,” I said. “How was the interview?”

She shrugged as she pulled on her jacket. “Amber just wanted my impressions. I don’t really have any yet. I mean, you’re one of the few people I’ve met. And I don’t know you very well, do I?”

She said it kind of in a sexy way, like she was teasing me or something.

“We can fix that,” I said. Awkward. That sounded like some dude in a stupid rom-com movie. “Hey, you still want to see my drone?”

She laughed. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”

So we ended up in my garage, and, of course, I’ve just started to put the thing together. I had some of the support rods connected. And I showed her the rest of the kit and the two engines.

She grabbed my arm and kind of squeezed me against her. I guess she was impressed. Her soft hair brushed my face and sent shivers down my whole body.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.

“Fly it to Mars,” I said. “It should make a Mars landing in about a million light-years.”

She laughed. “No. Really.”

“Buzz the neighborhood with it and annoy everyone,” I said.

“Sounds like a plan.” She picked up a Frisbee and spun it in her hand. “Are you seriously into science?”

“No. I’m seriously into wasting time,” I said.

She tossed the Frisbee at my chest. I think she wanted to catch me by surprise, but I caught it easily. “Lightning reflexes,” I said.

Her eyes flashed. “I’m impressed.”

I pulled out my phone. “A quick selfie?”

She pressed herself against me again, bringing her face close to mine, and I snapped a few photos.

Then she was hungry, and so was I. I led the way into the house.

“Mom was supposed to make pizza tonight,” I said.

Morgan examined the round glob of dough covered with wax paper on the counter. “You make homemade pizza?”

I nodded. “We have it a lot. My parents love gadgets and things. They bought this special pan that makes it really crispy.”

“Cool,” Morgan said.

“But they’re not here,” I explained. “They had to go visit my great-aunt in Pearson Falls.”

“Well . . . can we make the pizza without them?” Morgan asked. She lifted the dough from the wax paper and began to knead it in her hands. “I’m a really good cook.”

I squinted at her. “Seriously?”

“No. I’m lying. Sorry.”

We both laughed.

I clicked the oven on. You need a very high oven temperature for pizza. Then I found the mozzarella cheese in the fridge. Mom had already grated it. It was ready to spread on the dough. And I pulled out a thin salami. We always have this very spicy Sopressata salami on our pizzas.

Morgan slid a big knife from the wooden holder on the counter. “I like to slice,” she said. “You do the cheese, and I’ll slice the salami.”

“Hey, we’re a team!” I said. “Maybe we should go on Food Network.”

I started to spread the cheese with my fingers. I’m not quite sure how it happened. But I let out a cry when I felt a sharp stab of pain at my wrist.

I spun around. Morgan had the knife in the air. I saw bright red blood trickle out from a cut on my wrist.

“Oh no!” she cried. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Liam. It slipped. The knife slipped.”

“It’s okay,” I said. Actually, it hurt a lot. And the blood was oozing over my hand.

“I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz.” She set the knife down and grabbed my hand. She brought my wrist up close to her face. Then she raised those amazing eyes to me.

“I . . . I have a thing about blood,” she said. She lowered her gaze to the bright red pool on my hand. “That’s disturbing, right? But . . . I can’t help it. It’s so . . . basic.”

“I . . . well . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I started to reach for the paper towels, but she held on to my wrist.

And then I kind of gasped when she licked my wrist. Just a quick lick, and when she raised her head, she had my blood on her lips.

Then she leaned forward—and kissed me.

She pressed her lips hard against mine, and I could taste the blood. I could taste it as I kissed her, and we held the kiss for the longest time, her warm lips and the metal taste of my blood. My brain was spinning.

And I thought, I won. Winks and Zane, I won the bet.

When Morgan left, I pulled out my phone. I wanted to check out the selfies we took in the garage. My proof. My proof that I was the winner.

I raised the phone and hit the Photos app. And gazed at the first photo, then the next, then the next. “Whoa. What’s up with this?” I murmured aloud.

I had this big grin on my face in each photo. There I was, grinning into the camera. But where was Morgan? The space next to me was empty. Morgan was missing. She wasn’t in any of the photos.