Page 21 of The Last Vampire
“No.”
Everyone snaps their gazes to me, and I get the sense that if I tell them what I think is down there now, they’ll only bemoreeager to check it out. I should’ve said something last night, when they were still afraid.
“We need to sleep,” I say instead.
“I know you were scared,” says Zach, his voice sounding kind and not judgmental, “but something is going on in that basement, and we have the chance to find out.”
“I agree with Zach,” says Salma, to my dismay. “We need to know.”
“I agree with Salma,” says Tiffany.
“Well, I think we need to report the room to Minaro,” I say, bracing myself for their reaction.
“And let her know we broke the rules on the first day?!” Tiffany demands in a loud whisper. “Don’t even think of it, Navarro.”
“Seriously, Lore,” says Salma, her gaze narrowing. “That would be so messed up.”
“Then we stay away from there.” I look her dead in the eye so she knows I’m not budging. “It’s roped off for a reason. I don’t think we should be messing with it. I fucking mean it, Sal.”
She holds my gaze, and we both know that as much as I hate being confrontational, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe—even if it pisses her off.
I’m the one who told our parents three years ago when she made plans to meet up with a guy she met online who claimed to be fifteen. I’d had my doubts for a while, but she wouldn’t listen. It took Pa’s investigator at the law firm all of eight minutes to learn her suitor was really a forty-year-old man.
Even though I was right, Salma didn’t talk to me for five days. It’s the longest we’ve ever gone without speaking.
“Fine,” says Salma at last. “Lore’s right. Let’s sleep on it tonight, and we can take a vote in the morning.”
Since I know I’ll be outvoted, I eat quickly, and while the others go back for dessert, I tell Salma, “I need to change my pad. See you back at the room.”
I’m halfway to the exit when I hear my name.
“Hey, Lorena!”
I turn to see a couple of girls who aren’t in any of my classes. “You’re LorenaNavarro,right?” asks the one with platinum-blond hair, holding a caseless purple phone in her hand. She looks a bit like one of the moms who was talking shit yesterday.
“Yeah,” I say, my jaw tight.
“I’m Brooke.”
“And I’m Cat,” says her friend. She speaks with a familiar Southern twang, and I think she’s the girl from Augusta I overheard in the bathroom.
“Can we get a selfie with you?” asks Brooke, the camera app already open on her phone.
“Oh”is all I’m able to get out before their faces sandwich mine and Brooke snaps the picture. People tend to want a photo with Ma, not me.
“What’s it like being famous?” asks Cat, while Brooke’s fingers tap to edit the image.
“Um, I wouldn’t know.” I try to smile in that easy way Ma does. “I’m just the daughter. Famous by association.”
“But that video of you partying is everywhere!” says Brooke, her blue eyes wide with awe. “It was on TV, and a bunch of celebs reposted it.” She sounds jealous, and I wonder what her mom would think of her daughter wanting to be like Lorena Navarro.
“Sorry, I really have to use the bathroom,” I say, turning away and hurrying out.
I glance back at my friends as I step through the open doors, and I wonder if Salma caught any of that. But she and the others are all leaning into the table, as though deep in conversation.
Except for Tiffany, who’s watching me with a sour expression.
Back in our room, I tear out a sheet of paper from my notebook, already putting a plan into action.
