When my friends and I returned to school, Minaro was no longer the director and someone new had been put in charge. She miraculously got the phone reception and Wi-Fi issues resolved, and the school became a lot more…normal.
Trevor, Tiffany, and Zach got into the colleges of their choice, but all threeof them decided to defer their admission to spend the year with me in Los Angeles. Trevor and I are interning for his dad, while Tiffany and Zach work on building up theTiff Investigatesplatform. They already have more than fifty thousand followers.
“You got mail today,” says Tiffany, reaching into her Tory Burch purse and handing me a couple of envelopes.
The first one is a Hallmark card with my parents’ return address. I’ve already video-chatted with them twice today, but Ma loves sending physical cards. Before ripping it open, I look at the other piece of mail—and I sit bolt upright.
A postcard.
The photo is of an endless blue ocean, and I gasp at the sight of it. I flip it over and see my name and address—but the message part is blank.
“Creepy, right?” says Tiffany. “They didn’t write anything. What do you think that’s about?”
How could Salma have known I would come here today? Or maybe she didn’t know, and we both just thought of the same thing. I look around, squinting into the black air for a sign of her. Is she here now? Watching?
Listening?
“How’d the first week of your internship go?” asks Zach.
“Basic introductory stuff,” says Trevor.
“Can’t you just tell your dad you want in on the Legion operations?” asks Tiffany.
Trevor and I told her and Zach about the Legion and his family’s legacy when we got back to school in January. We all agreed that the most important thing we could do with our lives was get close to the Legion and keep an ear to the ground for the vampires.
Tiffany wants to build her platform and reputation, so that when she breaks the story one day, people will believe her. I want to help protect humanity, but I also secretly want to keep Salma safe.
“It doesn’t work like that,” says Trevor. “I first need to earn his trust, and since I’ve spent most of my life doing the opposite, it’s not going to be quick.”
“Let’s not talk about this stuff right now,” I say, lying back down. “I don’t want to think about this on my birthday.”
“I thought itwasn’tyour birthday,” says Tiffany, lying down next to me.
“You know what I mean. Where’s Daniel?” I ask Zach to change thesubject. They’ve become inseparable since Trevor introduced them two months ago.
“I told him tonight was a Huntington-only thing,” says Zach, and he lies down beside Tiffany.
“Fine, then,” says Trevor, resting on my other side. “Let’s just look at the stars and pretend we’re normal.”
“I like that,” I say.
But half an hour later, Trevor is hungry, Tiffany needs to pee, and Zach can’t find his phone. So we pack up and take the pedestrian bridge across the street to the parking lot where we left the car.
Trevor and Tiffany go hunt down a place to eat/pee, while I go with Zach to the car. “Found it,” he says, locating his phone. While we walk toward the main street, he returns Daniel’s missed calls.
I get a group text from Trevor with a location, and Zach nods at me as if to say he’ll meet us there.
The promenade is crowded tonight, and I weave through couples and families and tourists lined up to watch street performers. I look down at my phone to make sure I’m going the right way, and when I look up, I see a flash of purple.
Sometimes I’ll trick myself into thinking I’ve spotted William. Maybe to convince myself he’s within reach and that I’ll see him again in my lifetime.
It’s been nearly a year since we met, and I dream of him every night. There are moments when I wish I hadn’t refused his offer to turn me. Then I recall my parents’ devastation at Salma’s funeral, and I feel horrible for even thinking it.
I remember William telling me how he felt that his chance to marry for love was stolen from him. I, too, feel like my love story has been ripped away from me. It’s as if the vampire tore off a chunk of my heart when he left, and I’ve been walking around with a gaping wound in my chest ever since.
The pedestrian traffic thins out as I cross the street, and when I look left, toward the ocean, someone catches my eye.
He’s leaning against the wall, by the entrance to an alley, staring back at me. He has pale skin and windswept dark hair.
