Prom Nights From Hell

Chapter One

"Sorry this wasn't more of a storybook ending," the man with his hands around her throat said, smiling, holding her eyes with his own as he choked her.

"If you're going to kill me, can't you just get on with it? This is kind of uncomfortable."

"What, my hands? Or the feeling that you're a failure-"

"I'm not a failure."

"— again."

She spit in his face.

"Still got some fire. I really admire that about you. I think you and I could have gotten along nicely. Unfortunately, there just isn't time."

She gave one last fight, clawing at his hands around her throat, his forearms, anything, but he didn't even flinch. Her fists fell hopelessly to her sides.

He leaned in so close to her face that she could feel him exhale. "Any last words?"

"Three: Listerine breath strips. You really need them."

He laughed and tightened the hands around her neck until they overlapped. "Good-bye."

For a second, his eyes burned into hers. Then she heard a sharp crack and felt herself fall to the floor as everything went black.

Chapter Two

EIGHT HOURS EARLIER…

"Foxy girls know that silence may be golden-but only for four seconds. Anything longer and you re heading for Awkward Avenue," Miranda read, then frowned at the book. "If you feel the countdown creeping, make him an offer! A simple 'Would you like some nuts? said with a smile can break the silence stagnation in a snap. Remember, foxy is as foxy does."

Miranda was starting to deeply distrust How to Get-And Kiss! — Your Guy.

Leaning against the side of the black Town Car parked in the loading zone at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport that June evening, she thought of how totally thrilled she'd been when she'd found it at the bookstore. It looked like an and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after dream come true in book form-who wouldn't want to learn "The Five Facial Expressions That Will Change Your Life" or "The Secrets of the Tongue Tantra Only Da Pros Know"? — but having done all the exercises, she wasn't convinced of the transformative powers of the Winsome Smile or spending half an hour a day sucking on a grape. It wasn't the first time a self-help book had let her down-Procrastinate No More and Make Friends with YOU had both been total disasters-but it was depressing because she'd had such high hopes this time. And because, as her best friend, Kenzi, recently pointed out, any senior in high school who acted like Miranda did around her crush really, really needed help.

She tried another passage. "Rephrase one of his questions back to him, adding that hint of suggestion with a raised eyebrow. Or pick up the conversation with a pickup line! You: Are we in the china section? Him: No, why? You: Because you are fine. If china isn't your thing, this one never fails to launch-You: Are you wearing space pants? Him: No, why? You: Because your butt is-"

"Hello, Miss Kiss."

Miranda looked up and found herself staring up at the cleft chin and tanned face of Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds.

She must have been really distracted to not even have heard his heartbeat when he approached. It was distinctive, with a little echo at the end, kind of like a one-two-three cha-cha beat (she'd learned about the cha-cha beat from You Can Dance! another massively unfortunate self-help experience). He'd probably have trouble with that when he got old, but at twenty-two it didn't seem to be stopping him from going to the gym, at least from the looks of his pecs, biceps, shoulders, forearms, wrists-

Stop staring.

Since she had an attack of Crazy Mouth whenever she tried to talk to a cute guy-let alone Santa Barbara's youngest sheriff's deputy, who was only four years older than she and who surfed every morning before work and who was cool enough to get away with wearing sunglasses even though it was almost 8:00 p.m.-she said, "Hi, deputy. Come here often?"

Causing him to frown. "No."

"No, you wouldn't, why would you? Me either. Well, not that often. Maybe once a week. Not often enough to know where the bathrooms are. Ha-ha!" Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you'd utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.

"Good book?" he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, "A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad" out loud.

But life did not come with a trapdoor.

"It's for a school project. Homework. On, um, mating rituals."

"Thought crime was more your thing." He hit her with one of his half smiles, too cool to pull out a big grin. "You planning on foiling any more convenience store heists any time soon?"

That had been a mistake. Not stopping the guys who'd held up Ron's 24-Hour Open Market #3, but sticking around long enough to let the police see her. For some reason they'd found it hard to believe that she'd just been leaning against the lamppost when it fell across the front of the robbers' car as it sped through the intersection. It was sad how suspicious people were, especially people in law enforcement. And school administration. But she'd learned a lot since then.

"I'm trying to keep it to one heist a month," she said, hoping for a light, ha-ha-I'm-just-kidding-foxy-is-as-foxy-does tone. "Today it's just my regular job, VIP airport pickup." Miranda heard his cha-cha heartbeat speed up slightly. Maybe he thought VIPs were cool.

"That boarding school you go to, Chatsworth Academy? They let you off campus any time you want or only certain days?"

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, if you're a senior. We don't have classes then," she said and heard his heartbeat pick up more.

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons free. What do you do for fun?"

Was he asking her out? No. Way. NOWAYNOWAYNOWAY! Flirt! she ordered herself. Winsome Smile! Say something! Anything! Be foxy! Now!

"What do you do for fun?" she repeated his question back to him, raising one eyebrow for that hint of suggestion.

He seemed taken aback for a second, then said very formally, "I work, Miss Kiss."

Please give a warm welcome to Miranda Kiss, our new Miss Idiot Girl of the year, she thought. Said: "Of course. Me too. I mean, I'm either driving clients or at team practice. I'm one of Tony Bosun's Bee Girls? The Roller Derby team? That's why I do this," meaning to point to the Town Car but bashing it with her hand instead. "You have to be a driver for Tony's company, 5Bs Luxury Transport, to be on the team. We usually only have games on the weekends, but we practice on Wednesdays, sometimes on other days…" Crazy Mouth trailed off.

"I've seen the Bees play. That's a professional team, isn't it? They let a high school student play?"

Miranda swallowed. "Oh, sure. Of course."

He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

"Okay, I had to lie to get on the team. Tony thinks I'm twenty. You won't tell him, will you?"

"He believed you were twenty?"

"He needed a new jammer."

Deputy Reynolds chuckled. "So you're the jammer? You're good. I can see why he might have made an exception." Eyeing her some more. "I never would have recognized you."

"Well, you know, we wear those wigs and the gold masks over our eyes so we all look the same." It was one of the things she liked about Roller Derby, the anonymity, the fact that no one knew who you were, what your skills were. It made her feel invulnerable, safe. No one could single you out for… anything.

Deputy Reynolds took his sunglasses all the way off now to look at her. "So you put on one of those red, white, and blue satin outfits? The ones with the short skirts and that cute cape? I'd like to see that sometime."

He smiled at her, right into her eyes, and her knees went weak and her mind started playing out a scenario involving him without his shirt but with a pitcher of maple syrup and a big-

"Well, there's my lady," he said. "Catch you." And then walked away.

— stack of pancakes. Miranda watched him go up to a woman in her early twenties-thick blond hair, thin but muscular-put his arm around her, and kiss her neck. The kind of woman whose bras had tags that said, SIZE 36c, not MADE BY SANRIO in them. Heard him saying excitedly, "Wait until we get to the house. I've got some amazing new toys, something special just for you," his voice husky, heart racing.

As he passed Miranda, he lifted his chin in her direction and said, "You stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, you too," Crazy Mouth told him. Miranda wanted to bang her head against the top of the car at how idiotic she was. She tried to give a Lite Laff (expression number four from the book) but ended up making herself choke instead.

When they were across the parking lot, she heard the woman asking who she was and heard Deputy Reynolds say, "The local Town Car driver."

"She's the driver?" the woman said. "Looks like one of those girls from Hawaiian Airlines you used to date, but younger. And cuter. You know how your judgment gets around cute young girls. You're sure I don't need to be concerned?"

Miranda heard him laugh, the genuine amusement in his voice as he said, "Her? Baby, she's just a high school student who has a crush on me. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."

And thought: Trap. Door. Now. Please.

Sometimes having superhearing supersucked.

Chapter Three

Miranda loved the Santa Barbara airport, the way it looked more like an Acapulco Joe's Cantina than an official building with its adobe-style walls, cool terra-cotta floor, loopy blue and gold tile, and bougainvillaea careening down the walls. It was small, so planes just parked where they landed and had staircases wheeled out to them, with only a chain-link fence separating people waiting for someone from the people coming off the plane.

Pulling the welcome sign out of the Town Car, she checked the name on it-CUMEAN-and held it up in the direction of the disembarking passengers. As she waited, she listened to a woman in the gold Lexus SUV four cars behind her talking on her phone, saying, "If she gets off the plane, I'll know. He'd better have his checkbook ready," then tilted her head to focus on the low srloop srloop srloop sound of a snail slithering across the still-warm pavement toward a bunch of ivy.

She still remembered the exact moment she realized that not everyone heard the things she heard, that she wasn't normal. She'd already spent the first half of her seventh-grade year at Saint Bartolomeo School-the part after the screening of the Your Body Is Changing: Womanhood video-puzzled by all the changes they didn't list, like uncontrolled bursts of speed and randomly crushing objects you were just trying to pick up and hitting your head on the ceiling of the gym when you were doing jumping jacks and suddenly being able to see dust particles on people's clothes. But since Sister Anna answered all her questions with "Stop joking, child," Miranda thought they must just be so obvious the movie didn't need to mention them. It was only when she'd tried to earn Johnnie Voight's undying affection by warning him not to cheat off of Cynthia Riley again because, based on the sound of her pencil five seats away, she always got the wrong answers, that Miranda learned just how "differently abled" she was. Instead of falling on his knees and declaring that she was his goddess in a training bra and plaid skirt, Johnnie had called her a freak, then a nosy bitch, and tried to beat her up.

That was how she'd first learned how dangerous powers were, the way they could make you an outcast.

And also that she was stronger than boys her age, and that they didn't think that was cool or even good. And neither did school administrators.

Since then she'd become expert at acting normal, being careful. Had mastered her powers. Or she'd thought she had, until seven months earlier when-

Miranda pushed the memory aside and turned her attention back to the people at the airport. To her job. She watched a little girl with blond ringlets sitting on her dad's shoulders standing next to the path and waving as a woman walked from the plane toward them, now shouting, "Mommy, Mommy, I missed you!"

She watched the happy family hug and felt like someone had socked her in the stomach. One of the advantages of going to boarding school, Miranda thought, was that you didn't get invited over to people's houses, never had to see them acting like normal families, having breakfast together. For some reason, whenever she imagined truly happy families, they were always eating breakfast.

Plus people who had normal families didn't go to Chatsworth Academy, "The Premier Boarding Experience in Southern California." Or, as Miranda liked to think of it, Child Warehouse, the place where parents (or in her case, guardians) stored their children until they needed them for something.

With the possible exception of her roommate, Kenzi.

She and Kenzi Chin had lived together for four years, since their freshman year, longer than Miranda had lived with almost anyone. Kenzi came from a perfect-eat-breakfast-together family, had perfect skin, perfect grades, perfect everything, and Miranda would have been forced to hate her if Kenzi wasn't also so completely loyal and kind. And a tinsy bit insane.

Like earlier that afternoon when Miranda walked into their room and found her standing on her head, wearing only underpants, with her entire body slathered in drying mint-colored mud.

"I am so going to be in therapy for the rest of my life to get this image out of my mind," Miranda told her.

"You're going to need to be in therapy that long anyway to deal with your messed-up family. I'm just giving you some TTD material to talk about." Kenzi knew more about Miranda's family history than anyone else at Chatsworth, almost all of it fabricated. The part about it being messed up, though, was true.

Kenzi also really liked acronyms and invented new ones all the time. As she dropped her bag and collapsed on her bed, Miranda asked, "TTD?"

"Totally Top Drawer." Then Kenzi said, "I can't believe you're not coming to prom. I always pictured us going together."

"I don't think Beth would like that too much. You know, being the third wheel."

Beth was Kenzi's girlfriend. "Don't even talk to me about that creature," she said now, giving a fake shudder. "The Beth and Kenzi Show is officially canceled."

"As of when?"

"What time is it?"

"Three thirty-five."

"Two hours and six minutes ago."

"Oh, so it'll be back on by prom."

"Of course."

Kenzi's «cancellations» happened about once a week and never lasted more than four hours. She thought the drama of breakups and the thrill of reconciliation kept a relationship fresh. And in some weird way it seemed to work, because she and Beth were the happiest couple Miranda knew. More perfection.

"Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. I think you're making a grave mistake by missing prom."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll never forgive myself."

"I'm serious."

"Why? What's the big deal? It's a big dance with a dorky theme. You know I'm dancelexic and should not be allowed out on a dance floor near other people."

"A Sweet Salute to the Red, White, and Blue isn't dorky, it's patriotic. And you do okay with the Hustle."

"I think Libby Geer would disagree with you. If her mouth weren't still wired shut."

"Whatever, prom isn't just a big dance. It's a rite of passage, a moment when we move from who we were into the vastness of the adults we're going to become, throwing off the weight of our youthful insecurities to-"

"— get drunk and maybe lucky. Depending on your definition of luck."

"You'll be sorry if you don't come. Do you really want to grow up miserable and filled with regret?"

"Yes, please! Besides, I have to work."

"TGI as If. You're hiding behind your job again. You could so get one Saturday off. At least be honest about why you're not going."

Miranda gave Kenzi Innocent Eyes, expression number two from the kissing book. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't look at me like you're My Little Pony. I have four letters for you: W-I–L-L."

"And I have four letters for you: N-O-P-E. Oh and four more: M-Y-O-"

But Kenzi just went on, ignoring her, something she did professionally. "It's true that Will might need to be vaccinated or screened for diseases after going with Ariel, but I can't believe you're giving up that easily."

Will Javelin filled up about 98 percent of Miranda's dreams. She'd been trying to cut it out since she learned he was going to the prom with Ariel-"I named my new breasts after my family's country houses, does your family have any country houses, Miranda? Oh right, I forgot, you're a foster child"-West, of the West-Sugar-Is-Best! fortune, but it was a challenge. To avoid bad karma Miranda said, "There's nothing wrong with Ariel."

"Yeah, nothing that couldn't be cured with an exorcism." Kenzi came out of her headstand, planting her feet on the floor. She reached for her towel. "At least promise you'll come to the after-party. At Sean's parents' place on the beach? You will, right? We're all going to hang around and watch the sun rise. It will give you a chance to talk to Will outside of school. And when are you going to tell me what happened between you two that other night, anyway? Why are you being so MLAS about it?"

Miranda knew that one. "I'm not being My Lips Are Sealed," she said, picking up a pile of papers on the bookshelf between her and Kenzi's beds and straightening them.

"You're doing that thing again. The thing where you pretend to be Holly Homemaker to avoid having a discussion."

"Maybe." Miranda was looking at the papers now, photocopies of newspaper articles from the past half year. "Purse snatcher caught by mysterious Good Samaritan, found bound to fence with yo-yo," the first and most recent said. Then, from a few months before, "Get a grip: Stickup foiled when robber loses control of gun. Witness says Pez dispenser 'came out of nowhere' to knock weapon from assailant's hand." Finally, from seven months earlier, "Convenience store heist getaway halted by falling lightpost; two arrested." She started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach.

At least it was only three out of, what, a dozen different incidents she told herself. But that didn't really make her feel better. No one was supposed to link any of those events together. Ever.

The convenience store was the first one. It was dusk, fog coming off the ocean, the streetlights making misty halos in the air. She'd been driving down a side street in Santa Barbara on her way to roller derby practice when she'd heard the threats from inside Ron's 24-Hour Open Market #3 and just… acted. She'd had no control over what she did, it was like she was in a dream, her body knowing exactly what to do, where the robbers would go, how to stop them. Coming back to her the way the words from a favorite song did even if you hadn't heard it in years. Only she had no idea where it was coming back from.

She'd spent the three days following the convenience store incident in bed, curled in a ball, trembling. She told Kenzi she had the flu, but really what she had was terror. She was terrified of the powers she suddenly couldn't restrain.

Terrified because using them felt so good. So right. Like she was alive for the first time.

Terrified because she knew what could happen if people found out. To her. And to-

She waved the copies toward Kenzi, demanding, "What are you doing with these?"

"Whoa, Drill Sergeant Kiss in the house," Kenzi said, saluting. "All due respect, ma'am, but as they say in the military, SSTB. You won't get away with changing the subject just by using your scary voice."

SSTB stood for So Sad Too Bad. Miranda couldn't not laugh. "If I were trying to change the subject, army of one, I'd point out that the stuff on your body is flaking all over the rug your mother's decorator tracked over three continents because it supposedly belonged to Lucy Lawless. I seriously want to know, why are you interested in street crime in Santa Barbara?"

Kenzi stepped from the rug onto the wood floor. "Not street crime in Santa Barbara, foiled street crime. It's for my journalism final project. Some people are saying there's a mystical force at work. Maybe even Santa Barbara come back herself."

"Can't it just be a coincidence? Criminals mess up all the time, right?"

"People don't like coincidences. Like the way it's no coincidence that you are trying to make me talk about this rather than answer my questions about what happened with you and Will. One minute it looks like you two are totally-and I might add, finally-hooking up and the next you are back here in our room. Ruining, I might also add, a totally ace romantic evening for me."

"I did tell you," Miranda groaned. "It was nothing. Nothing happened."

Slouching against the Town Car now as the last of the daylight faded, Miranda thought that nothing was an understatement. It had been worse than nothing. That expression on Will's face, the one that hovered between you've-got-something-green-caught-in-your-teeth and oh-hello-Professor-Crazy, a mixture of horror and, well, horror, when she'd finally gotten up the guts to-

That's when it hit her. The articles on Kenzi's desk had all come out on Thursdays, reporting on things that had happened-things she'd done-on Wednesdays.

"Wednesday and Saturday afternoons free," she heard Caleb saying, repeating her words.

That was bad. That was really bad. She was going to have to lay low.

The gold Lexus SUV behind her pulled away from the curb and Miranda could hear the couple inside fighting over the sound of their air conditioner. The woman at the wheel turning her head to yell at her husband-Don't lie to me! I know you were with her! — hitting the gas hard right as the family with the little blond girl stepped into the crosswalk in front of her…

Afterward no one was really sure what had happened.

One second the car was careening toward the family in the crosswalk, the next there was a blur and they were on the curb, bewildered but safe.

As she watched the gold SUV speed off into the distance, Miranda felt the adrenaline thrill she always got after she'd acted without thinking, saved someone. It was addictive, like a drug.

And dangerous, like a drug, she reminded herself.

I think you should get yourself a dictionary. That is not what "laying low" means.

Shut up. It was only a handspring and a little push. Hardly some big tactical maneuver.

You shouldn't have done it. It was too risky. You're not invisible, you know.

But I wasn't seen. It was fine.

This time.

Miranda wondered if everyone had a voice in their head permanently set to the U-Suck channel.

What are you trying to do, anyway? Do you think you can save everyone? When you couldn't even-

Shut up.

"What?" a girl's voice asked and Miranda was startled to realize she'd spoken aloud, and someone was standing there.

The girl was about Miranda's height but younger, maybe fourteen, and dressed like she'd been studying early Madonna videos and wanted to be sure that if mesh shirts worn over bras, fingerless gloves, teased hair, thick black eyeliner, rubber bracelets, petticoat skirts with fishnets, and ankle boots came back in style, she'd be ready.

"I'm sorry," Miranda said, "I was talking to myself." Not exactly how the Mature Driver Person she was supposed to be should act.

"Oh." The girl held the sign with the word CUMEAN on it out to Miranda. "You'll want this. And this," she said, handing her a small square box.

Miranda took the sign but shook her head at the box. "That's not mine."

"It must be. And me, too. I mean, I'm Sibby Cumean." She pointed at the sign.

Miranda pocketed the box to open the back door for the girl, wondering what kind of parent let their fourteen-year-old get picked up by a stranger at eight at night.

"Can't I ride in front?"

"Clients prefer the back," Miranda said in her most professional voice.

"What you really mean is that you prefer it when they ride in the back. But what if I want to ride in the front? Don't clients get to do what they want?"

5Bs Luxury Transport was named after a set of principles the owner, Tony Bosun, had made up-B on time, B polite, B accommodating, B discreet, B sure to get paid. Even though Miranda suspected he'd come up with them when he was drunk late one night, she tried to follow the rules and she was pretty sure this counted as B accommodating. She moved to open the front door.

The girl shook her head. "Never mind. I'll stay in back."

Miranda plastered on a smile. What a rad day she was having! Her VIP client was a tiny demon, her dream guy was going to the prom with someone else, and the sheriff's deputy she had a crush on not only knew it but joked about it with his girlfriend! Awesome.

At least, she told herself, things couldn't possibly get any worse.

Oh, now you've done it.

Shut up.

Chapter Four

Sibby Cumean started talking as soon as they got out of the airport.

"How long have you been driving people around?" she asked Miranda.

A year.

"Did you grow up here?"

"No."

"Do you have any brothers?"

"No."

"Any sisters?"

"N-no."

"Do you like driving?"

"Yes."

"Do you have to wear that boring black suit?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Um, not."

"Fine. Eighteen."

"Have you ever had sex?"

Miranda cleared her throat. "I don't think that question is appropriate." She heard herself sound like Dr. Trope, the assistant head of school, with the voice he used to tell her he wasn't listening to another excuse about why she was late getting back to campus, rules were made for a reason and that reason wasn't so she could flout them for her amusement; and speaking of late, did she plan at some point to decide what she was going to do next year or just irresponsibly forfeit her place at the several top-tier colleges she'd been accepted to, making the school look bad and herself look worse; and really he didn't know what had gotten into her recently, where was the Miranda Kiss who was going to be a doctor and save the world, who was a credit to the school and herself, rather than the one who was on her way to being expelled-is that what you really want, young lady? A voice she knew well since she seemed to have been hearing it at least once a week since early November.

"You're a virgin," Sibby announced, like she was confirming a sad fact she'd long suspected.

"That's not-"

"Do you at least have a boyfriend?"

"Not at this-"

"A girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have any friends? You're not really very good at conversation."

Miranda was beginning to understand why the girl's relatives hadn't come to the airport for her.

"I have lots of friends."

"Sure. I believe you. What do you do for fun?"

"Answer questions."

"Please never try to be funny again." Sibby leaned forward. "Have you ever thought of wearing some black eyeliner? It would be an improvement."

B polite! "Thanks."

"Can you pull up?"

"Um, we're at a stoplight."

"Just go forward a tiny-perfect."

Looking in the side mirror, Miranda saw that Sibby had rolled down her window and was leaning out, saying now to the guys in the jeep next to them, "Where are you boys going?"

The guys answered, "A little moonlight surfing. Want to come, goddess?"

"I'm not a goddess. Do you think I look like one?"

"I can't tell. Maybe if you take off your shirt."

"Maybe if you give me a kiss."

Miranda hit the button to roll up the window.

"What are you doing?" Sibby demanded. "You could have broken my hand."

"Put your seat belt on, please."

"Put your seat belt on, please," Sibby mimicked, slumping back into the seat. "Oh my gods, I was just trying to be sociable."

"Until we get to your destination, no more socializing."

"Have you listened to yourself recently? You sound like you're eighty, not eighteen." She scowled at Miranda in the mirror. "I thought you were a driver, not a jailer."

"It's my job to make sure you get where you're going in a safe and timely manner. That's printed on the card you'll find in your seat pocket, by the way."

"How is kissing some boys going to make me unsafe?"

"A million different ways. What if they have an invisible mouth fungus? Or DeathLip."

"There's no such thing as DeathLip."

"Are you sure?"

"You're just jealous because I know how to have fun and you don't. Virgin."

Miranda rolled her eyes but kept quiet, listening to cell phone conversations from the cars behind them, a woman telling someone that the gardener was on his way, a guy saying in a mystical voice, "I see a mysterious stranger coming for you, I can't quite tell if it's a man or a woman." Another man talking to someone about how he wanted to take that bitch out of the will and it didn't matter if she was his mother's favorite dog-

She was interrupted suddenly by Sibby shouting, "Inn-Out Burger! We have to stop."

B accommodating!

Miranda agreed to let Sibby order her own at the drive-through, then regretted it when she heard the girl saying to the guy taking the order, "Do I get a discount if I let you kiss me?"

"Okay, seriously, were you raised on Crazycake? Why do you want to kiss all these guys you don't even know?" Miranda asked.

"There aren't that many boys where I come from. And what does knowing them have to do with it? Kissing is great. I kissed four boys on the airplane. I'm hoping to make it twenty-five before the end of the day."

She added the two working the drive-through lane when she got her burger.

"Are all hamburgers that delicious?" she asked when they were on the road again.

Miranda glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "You've never had a burger before? Where do you live?"

"The mountains," Sibby answered quickly, and Miranda picked up a slight rise in her heart rate, suggesting that she was lying and not used to it. Which seemed hugely unlikely-the not-used-to-it part-for someone who had a case of acute Boy Crazy like this girl. Her parents couldn't possibly let her run around-

Oh So Very Much Not Your Problem, Miranda reminded herself. B discreet.

Sibby tried to solicit kisses from four other guys as they drove. They were a mile from the drop-off point and Miranda was thinking that the ride could not be over soon enough when Sibby shrieked, "Oh my gods, a doughnut store! I've always wanted to try doughnuts, too. Can we stop? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?"

They were already almost an hour late but Miranda couldn't deny anyone a doughnut. Even someone who said, "Oh my gods." But pulling in, she saw a group of guys sitting at a table inside and decided that it would be dangerous to let Sibby near them if she wanted to get out of there in under forty minutes. "I'll go in and get them, you stay here."

Sibby had seen the guys, too. "No way, I'm coming in."

"Either your butt stays in the car, Kissing Bandit, or the doughnuts stay in the store."

"I don't think that's a nice way to talk to customers."

"Feel free to use my phone to file a complaint while I'm inside. Do we have a deal?"

"Fine. But will you at least roll down the window?" Miranda hesitated. Sibby said, "Look, Grandma, I promise I'll keep my butt in the car, I just don't want to suffocate. Gods."

When Miranda came out, Sibby had wedged herself in the window with her body and legs outside the car and her rear hanging back into it, and was deeply involved in kissing a blond guy.

"Excuse me," Miranda said, tapping the guy on the shoulder.

He turned around kind of hazy, looked her up and down. "Hello, dream girl. You want a kiss, too? I could do something really special with lips like yours. You wouldn't even have to pay me a dollar."

"Thanks, but no." Looking at Sibby now. "I thought we'd agreed that-"

"— my butt would stay in the car. Where, if you bothered to look, you would see it is."

Miranda turned away so Sibby wouldn't see her crack up.

She handed Sibby the doughnuts and slid into the driver's seat. Once Sibby had wiggled back through the window, Miranda caught her eye in the rearview. "You were paying guys to kiss you?"

"So what?" Sibby glared. "Not all of us can get kissed for free." More glaring, then, "You barely have boobs. My boobs are bigger than yours. It makes no sense."

Sibby got quiet, not even eating her doughnut. From time to time she'd sigh dramatically.

Miranda started feeling a little sorry. Maybe she had been acting like a grandma. She looked at How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy on the seat next to her. Maybe you're jealous she's four years younger than you but has already kissed more guys in one day than you'll probably date in your whole life even if you get a boob job and live to be two trillion.

Shut up, U-Suck channel.

She should be nice, make conversation. "How many kisses is it total now?"

Sibby kept her eyes on her lap. "Ten." Looking up to add, "But I only paid six of them. And one of them I only gave a quarter."

"Nice work."

Miranda saw Sibby look up suspiciously, like she thought she was being made fun of, decide she wasn't, and start picking at her doughnut. After a while she said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"You're asking permission now?"

"For real, just please stop trying to be funny. It's painful."

"Thanks for the hot tip. Did you have a question or-"

"Why didn't you want to kiss that boy back there? The one who wanted to kiss you?"

"I guess he's not my type."

"What's your type?"

Miranda thought of Deputy Reynolds-blue eyes and cleft jaw and shaggy blond hair, getting up every morning to go surfing. The kind of guy who always wore sunglasses or looked at you with his eyes half closed and was too cool for smiling. Then pictured Will with his dark, maple-syrup-color skin, short curly hair, huge boyish smile, and abs that rippled when he stood talking, shirtless, with the other players after lacrosse practice, body glimmering in the sun, his laugh ringing out and making her feel like she felt when she saw butter melting on perfectly cooked Belgian waffles.

Not that she routinely jumped up onto the roof of the marine biology lab when no one was looking to watch this. (Weekly.)

"I don't know, it's more a feeling than a type," Miranda said finally.

"How many boys have you kissed? A hundred?"

"Uh, no."

"Two hundred?"

Miranda felt herself blushing and hoped Sibby couldn't see. "Keep guessing."

They pulled up to the address she'd been given, an hour and fifteen minutes later than they should have, the first time she'd ever dropped a client off late.

When Miranda opened the car door for her, Sibby asked, "Is kissing a boy who's your type really different than kissing just any boy?"

"It's complicated." Miranda was surprised at how relieved she was that she wouldn't have to go into it more, admit to this girl that, actually, she had no idea.

The place looked more like a government safe house for witnesses than a home, she thought, walking Sibby to the door. It was like the dictionary definition of nondescript, sandwiched between a house with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves enacting the Nativity on the front lawn on one side, and one with a pink-and-orange swing set on the other. The only thing you noticed about this house was that there were thick curtains hanging in the front windows so you couldn't see in, and a six-foot-tall solid wood fence blocking off the backyard so you couldn't get in. The street was filled with noises-Miranda heard BBQs sizzling, conversations, someone watching Beauty and the Beast in Spanish-but this house was silent, as though it had been soundproofed.

She registered a low humming coming from the side, like an air conditioner but not quite. Glancing up, she saw that none of the power lines connected to this house. None of the phone lines, either. A generator. Whoever lived here was living off the grid. All in all, the whole place was really cozy, if cozy meant creepy and cultish.

And the woman who opened the front door? Exactly what you'd expect of someone creepy and cultish, Miranda thought. She had graying hair pulled back in a loose bun and was wearing a long skirt and kind of shapeless sweater. She could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty years old, it was impossible to tell because she was wearing a pair of huge bifocals with unflattering square frames that magnified her eyes and covered half her face. She looked completely harmless, like a schoolteacher who'd dedicated her life to caring for an aging relative and whose one indulgence was a secret crush on Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre.

Or almost like that. Like that was the look she'd been going for. But there was something wrong, some tiny thing that did not quite match, one tiny detail that wasn't right.

So. Not. Your. Business.

Miranda said good-bye, took her $1.00 tip-"Because you were really quite late, dear"-and drove away.

She was half a block away when she slammed on the brakes and sprinted back to the house.

Chapter Five

What do you think you're doing? she asked herself. Rhetorically, since she was already up the Snow-White-and-the-Seven-Dwarves-Do-Baby-Jesus neighbor's tree and staring into the yard of the house where she'd left Sibby.

I can't wait to hear you say to the cops, "Yes, officer, I know I was trespassing but that woman was very suspicious because she was wearing false eyelashes."

With a full Creepy Cult costume. They just didn't go. Plus she had a hole for a nose piercing. And a French manicure.

Maybe she just has really big pores! And a love of dated manicures!

She wasn't what she was posing as.

Is this about helping someone or having an excuse not to show up at prom and see Will with his face nuzzled in Ariel's huge, soft-

Shut up, U-Suck.

I was going to say hair.

You are so not funny.

You are so not brave.

There were two guys sitting in the backyard, leaning across a picnic table toward each other with a book between them, both in T-shirts and khakis and Teva sandals, one of them wearing thick black-framed glasses, the other one with a scraggly beard. They looked like two geeky college guys playing Dungeons and Dragons and sounded like it too when the one wearing glasses said, "That's not how it works. It says in the Book of Rules she can't see for herself, only for other people. You know, like genies with wishes, how they can't grant their own." Except they each had a large automatic rifle lying on the table next to them and Miranda could see shooting targets set up on the fence.

So what? There are armed geeks. Maybe they're Sibby's protection. Go home. Sibby doesn't need you. She's fine.

If she's fine, why isn't she out there trying to kiss the two boys?

Miranda strained to hear something from inside the house but it was definitely soundproofed. A couple came out of sliding doors onto the patio away from the Geek Guys, a woman smoking a cigarette in short, tense puffs and a man. Miranda almost fell out of the tree when she recognized the woman as the cult lady, only now without the glasses, skirt, or sweater and with her hair down.

Which doesn't mean anything.

The woman whispered, "We still need the girl to tell us the location, Byron."

"She will."

"She hasn't yet."

"I told you, even if I can't get her to talk, the Gardener can. He's good at that."

The woman again: "I don't like that he brought a partner. That wasn't part of the plan. Does she get a cut-"

The man called Byron cut her off. "Put that out and be quiet, we have company." He pointed to the Geek Guys scrambling over to join them.

The woman crushed her cigarette out under her foot and kicked it away.

"Is She all right?" Bearded Geek asked breathlessly, pronouncing She like it should be capitalized.

"Yes," the man assured him. "She's resting after her ordeal."

Oh, they could not be talking about Sibby. Ordeal? No way.

"Has She said anything?" Glasses Geek asked.

The man said, "Just expressed how very grateful She is to be here."

Miranda almost snorted.

Bearded Geek said, "Will we be able to see Her?"

"When the Transition happens."

The geeks wandered off in a blissful daze and Miranda decided this was the weirdest thing she'd ever seen.

But it proved that Sibby was in no danger. These people clearly worshipped Her. Which meant it was time-

"Why is he called the Gardener, anyway?" Fake Eyelash woman asked the man.

"I believe because he's good at pulling things out."

"Things?"

"Teeth, nails. Joints. That's how he gets people to talk."

— time to find Sibby.

Miranda dropped out of the tree into the neighbor's yard and found herself looking down the barrel of an automatic rifle.

Chapter Six

"Put them up," Glasses Geek said. "I mean your arms. Miranda did what he said because his hands were shaking so much she was afraid he'd shoot her by accident.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded in a voice that shook almost as much as his hands.

"I just wanted to get a glimpse of Her," she said, hoping she made it sound right.

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know She was here?"

"The Gardener told me, but I didn't know where She was being kept so I climbed up that tree to look."

"Which affiliate are you with?"

I knew this would end in tears. What now, smarty pants?

Miranda raised an eyebrow and said, "Which affiliate are you with?" Adding for good measure, "I mean, I would remember a guy like you if I'd seen you before."

It worked! She saw him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. She would never doubt How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy again! He said, "I'd remember you, too."

She hit him with a dose of Winsome Smile and saw the Adam's apple do some more moving. She said, "If I give you my hand to shake, will you shoot me?"

He chortled and put down the gun. "No," still chortling. Holding out his hand now. "I'm Craig."

"Hi, Craig, I'm Miranda," she said, taking it. Then flipped him onto his back and knocked him out cold in a single silent move.

She looked at her hand for a second in shock. She'd definitely never done that before. That had been very cool.

If you're going to be an idiot and risk everything, you might as well do what you came for. You know, instead of just staring at the guy you knocked out?

She bent to whisper, "Sorry. Take three aspirin for your head when you wake up and you'll feel better," in his ear, and moved around the edge of the safe house.

There must have been an open window because she could hear voices here, the man who had been outside before now saying to someone, "Are you comfortable?"

And Sibby answering, "No. I don't like this couch. I can't believe this is the nicest room in the house. It looks like a place for a grandma."

Heh!

Miranda followed the sound of Sibby's voice and found herself standing in front of one of the street-facing plate-glass windows, looking through a gap in dark blue drapes into a living room. There was a spindly-looking couch, chair, and coffee table. Sibby was in the chair, her profile to Miranda, with a plate of Oreos in front of her. She looked fine.

The man was perched on the couch, smiling at Sibby, saying, "So, where are we supposed to drop you?"

Sibby took the top cookie off the Oreo and ate it. "I'll tell you later."

The man kept smiling. "I'd like to know so I can plan the route. We can't be too careful."

"Oh my gods, there's like hours before we go. I want to watch some TV."

Miranda heard the man's heart speed up and saw his hand flex but he kept his tone light when he said, "Of course." Then added, "As soon as you tell me where we're taking you."

Sibby frowned at him. "Are you deaf or something? I said I'd tell you later."

"It's in your best interest to talk to me. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to bring in someone else. Someone a bit more… forceful."

"Fine. But while I'm waiting, can I please watch TV? Tell me you get cable. Oh gods, if you don't have MTV, I'm going to be really pissed."

The man stood up with an expression on his face like he wanted to break something, then abruptly turned to face the door. Miranda heard footsteps coming toward the room from the hallway, and with them a familiar cha-cha heartbeat. Two seconds later Deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds burst through the door.

See? Sibby's in no danger. The police are here. Scram.

Deputy Reynolds said to the man, "What's taking so long?"

"She won't talk."

"I'm sure she'll change her mind." His heartbeat picked up.

Sibby glanced at him. "Who are you?"

Caleb said, "I'm the Gardener."

This was extremely not good, Miranda decided.

"I wasn't very impressed with the front lawn," Sibby told him.

"I'm not that kind of Gardener. It's a nickname. They call me that because-"

"Actually, I'm not even vaguely interested. I don't know what you're planning, Plant Boy-"

"Gardener," he corrected, going a touch red.

"— but if you need to know where I'm supposed to be picked up by the Overseer, then you have to keep me alive, right? So you can't exactly threaten me with death."

"Not death, no. But pain." He addressed the man. "Go get me my tools, Byron."

As the man left the room, Sibby said, "I'm not going to tell you anything."

Deputy Reynolds circled around so he was leaning over her chair, his back to the window.

"Listen to me-" he said, his heartbeat slowing down suddenly.

Miranda did a round-off, smashing through the window feet first, then knocked him unconscious with a side kick to the neck before he could turn around. She bent to whisper, "Sorry," in his ear, decided as punishment not to tell him about the aspirins, grabbed Sibby, sprinted to the car, and stepped on the gas.

Chapter Seven

"He didn't even know you were there," Sibby said. "He never even knew who hit him."

"That was the idea." They were parked next to an abandoned Amtrak maintenance building on an old part of the train tracks that was completely hidden from the street. It was the place Miranda had started coming seven months earlier to work out all her new crazy energy and try things she couldn't practice anywhere else-Roller Derby was great for speed, balance, gymnastics, and shoving moves, but you weren't supposed to use advanced judo. Or weapons.

She could make out marks from her last crossbow exercise on the side of the building, and the piece of railroad track she'd tied in a knot the day after Will rejected her was still lying on the ground. She'd never seen anyone else here, and she was sure she and Sibby would be pretty much invisible as long as they stayed parked.

"Where did you learn to knock people out like that?" Sibby asked, sprawled out over the backseat. "Can you teach me?"

"No."

"Why not? Just one move?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why did you say you were sorry after you hit him?"

Miranda swiveled to face her. "It's my turn to ask questions. Who wants to kill you and why?"

"Gods, I don't know. It could be a ton of people. It's not like that, how you think it is."

"What's it like then?"

"It's complicated. But if we can just hang out until four in the morning, there's a place I can go."

"That's six hours from now."

"That'll give me time for at least ten more kisses."

"Well, of course. What else would you do while someone is trying to kill you besides go out and tongue tango with as many strangers as possible?"

"They weren't trying to kill me, they were trying to abduct me. It's totally different. Come on, I want to do something fun. Something with boys."

"Or we could not do that."

"Look, just because you are a founding member of Down with Fun Inc. doesn't mean that the rest of us want to sign up."

"I am not a founding member of Down with Fun Inc. I like fun. But-"

"Funkiller."

"— somehow the idea of wandering around while 'a ton of people' are trying to kidnap you, doesn't sound fun to me. It sounds like a good way to get into the Guinness Book of World Records under 'Plan, comma, World's Most Stupid. Plus innocent bystanders could get caught in the middle when the ton of people find you."

"'If, not 'when. And they don't care about anyone but me."

Miranda rolled her eyes and turned back around. "That's why they're called innocent bystanders. Because they were standing by you and accidentally got hurt."

"Then you should definitely get away from me. Seriously, although there's nothing I'd rather do than sit parked in a homeless person's bathroom for six hours with only you for company, I think it would be safer for both of us if I take my chances elsewhere. Like at that ice cream place we passed on the way here. Did you see the lips on the guy behind the counter? They were mythic. Drop me there and I'll be all set."

"You're so not going anywhere."

"Really? Because that sound you hear? Is me reaching for the door handle."

"Really? Because that sound you hear? Is me engaging the child lock."

In the rearview mirror, Miranda saw Sibby's eyes blaze.

"You're really mean," Sibby said. "Something horrible must have happened to you to make you so mean."

"I'm not mean. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"Are you sure it's me you're thinking about? Not some skeleton in your closet? Like the time you-"

Miranda turned up the radio.

"Turn that down! I was talking and I'm the customer."

"Not anymore."

Sibby yelled really loud, "What happened to your sister?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Miranda yelled back.

"That's a lie."

Miranda didn't say anything.

"I asked you before if you had a sister and you got all teary," Sibby shouted in her ear. "Why won't you tell me?"

Miranda turned down the radio. "Can you give me three good reasons why I should?"

"It might make you feel better. It would give us something to talk about while we sit here. And if you don't tell me, I'm going to start guessing."

Miranda leaned her head back, checked her watch, and turned to stare out the window. "Be my guest."

"You bugged her so much she left? You bored her so much she left? Or did you drive her away with the huge stick you keep up your butt?"

"Stop being tender with my feelings. Go on, tell me what you really think."

From the backseat Sibby said, "That might have been too mean. Sorry."

Miranda didn't say anything.

"You don't really have a stick in your butt. You couldn't drive then, right? Ha-ha?"

Silence.

"But I mean, you started it. With the child-lock thing. I'm not a child. I'm fourteen."

More silence.

"I said I was sorry." In the backseat Sibby slumped, sighed. "Fine. Be that way."

Silence. Until, for no reason she could explain, Miranda said, "They died."

Sibby sat up quick now, leaning toward the front seat. "Who? Your sisters?"

"Everyone. My whole family."

"Was it because of something you did?"

"Yes. And because of something I didn't do. I think."

"Um, Grandma Grim, that doesn't make any sense. How can not doing something-wait, you think?. Don't you know what happened?"

"I can't really remember anything from that part of my life."

"You mean from that day?"

"No. From that year. And the year after. Anything pretty much from when I was ten until when I turned twelve. And there are a few other holes, too."

"You mean that stuff is just too painful to remember?"

"No, it's just… gone. All I have are impressions." And the dreams. Really really bad dreams.

"Like what?"

"Like that I wasn't where I should have been and something happened and I let everyone down…" She stopped, waved a hand in the air.

"Wait, you actually think you could have stopped whatever happened to them? By yourself? When you were four years younger than me?"

Miranda's throat felt like it was closing up. She'd never told anyone even that much of her real history before, never talked about it, not even with Kenzi. Ever. She swallowed hard. "I could have tried. I could have been there and tried."

"Oh my gods, now this is some kind of pity party. Yawn. Wake me when you're done."

Miranda gaped at her in the mirror. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it but you kept bugging me and now you turn into the mayor of TellItLikeItIsVille?" Swallowing again. "You little-"

"You don't even know what happened! How can you feel so bad about it? Plus, I don't see how that can be your fault. You weren't even there and you were only ten. I think you should stop obsessing about some mystery thing that is ancient history and live in the mo."

"I'm sorry, did you just tell me to 'live in the mo'?"

"Yes. You know, ditch the past and try focusing on what's going on in the present. Like that the song on the radio right now? Sucks. And that there is a whole city of cute boys out there I am not kissing." Miranda took a deep breath, but before she could say anything, Sibby went on. "I know, I know you say you're sorry to the people you knock out because you never got to say sorry to your family, and you have to keep me safe because you couldn't keep them safe. I get it now."

"That is not what's going on. I-"

"Blah blah blah, insert denials here. Anyway, why does 'safe' have to mean sitting in this car with you all night? Isn't there somewhere we could blend in? Instead of hiding? I'm good at blending. I'm like butter."

"Oh yeah, you're totally like butter. In fact, in your Madonna-called-and-she-wants-her-costume-from-the-'Borderline'-video-back outfit, you're practically invisible."

"Good one, Funkiller. Come on, let's go somewhere."

Miranda turned all the way around in her seat and said, "Let me sound it out for you. Someone. Is. Trying. To. Kill. You."

"No. They. Are. Not. You keep saying that, but I've told you. They can't kill me. You should really work on this obsession you have with people getting killed. And I have to be honest with you, I'm getting bored. What do you have the radio set to, K-CRAP? There is no way we are staying in this car for six hours."

Miranda had to agree with her. Because if they did, it was now clear she'd kill Sibby herself.

That's when she thought of the perfect place for them to go.

"You want to blend in?" she asked.

"Yes. With boys."

"Guys," Miranda said.

"What?"

"Normal American girls from this century call them guys, not boys. If you want to blend in."

For a second, Sibby looked shocked. Then she gave a little smile. "Oh. Yes. Guys."

"'Yeah, not 'yes. Unless you're talking to a grown-up."

"Yeah."

"And it's 'Oh my God' or 'God, not 'gods. "

"Did I-?"

"Yeah. And no one ever has or ever will say, 'live in the mo. "

"Just wait."

"No. Never. Oh, and no paying guys for kisses. You don't need to. They should feel lucky to kiss you."

Sibby frowned. "Why are you being so nice to me and helping me? You don't even like me."

"Because I know what it's like to be far from home, alone, trying to fit in. And to never be able to tell anyone the truth about who you are."

After they'd been driving in silence for a few minutes, Sibby said, "Have you ever killed someone with your bare hands?"

Miranda looked at her in the rearview. "Not yet."

"Ha-ha."

Chapter Eight

"You're crazy," Sibby said as they walked in. Her eyes were pancake-size. "You said this would suck. This doesn't suck. This is fantastic."

Miranda shuddered. They'd snuck into the Grand Hall of the Santa Barbara Historical Society by an emergency exit that had been propped open so prom attendees could slip out to get stoned, and glancing around, Miranda could see how getting stoned would be super-appealing. The walls of the room had been covered in blue satin with white stars embroidered on it, the four big columns in the middle were draped in red and white ribbons, the tables off to the side were covered in American flag-print cloths with fishbowl centerpieces in which the fish had been somehow dyed red and blue, and around the edges major American landmarks such as Mount Rushmore, the White House, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and the Old Faithful geyser had been reconstructed-out of sugar cubes. Courtesy of Ariel West's father. Ariel had announced the previous day at assembly that after the prom all the decorations would be donated to "the poor hungry people of Santa Barbara who need sugar."

Miranda didn't know if it was that, the balloons on rubber cords hanging from the ceiling that bounced lazily up and down as people passed under them, or foreboding, but she had a distinct queasy feeling.

Sibby was in heaven.

"Remember-most of the guys here came with dates, so try to be subtle with the Kissing Bandit stuff," Miranda said.

"Yeah, fine."

"And if you hear me call to you, you come."

"Do I look like a dog to you?" Miranda gave her a sharp glance. Sibby said, "Fine, okay, Funkiller."

"And if you feel like anything weird is going on at all, you-"

"— let you know. I've got it. Now you go and have some fun yourself. Oh, right, you probably don't know how. Well, when in doubt, ask yourself, 'What Would Sibby Do? "

"Can I unsubscribe from that list, please?"

Sibby was too busy scanning the room to respond.

"Whoa, who's that hot dinner in the corner over there?" she asked. "The guy in the glasses?"

Miranda looked around for a hot dinner but all she saw was Phil Emory. "His name is Phillip."

"Helllllo, Phillip," Sibby said, plotting a direct course for him.

Miranda stashed her skate bag underneath a table and stayed close to the wall, between the White House and Old Faithful, partially to keep Sibby in view and partially to avoid being noticed by any faculty members. She'd changed in the employee bathroom from her work suit into the only other thing she had with her, but although it was red, white, and blue, she didn't think that her Roller Derby uniform was really appropriate prom attire. There were two uniforms in her skate bag, a home uniform-white satin halter top and bottom with blue cape and red, white, and blue stripes on the skirt (if you could call something that was five inches long and required attached panties to be worn under it a skirt)-and an away uniform: the same thing, only in blue. She'd decided white was more formal, but she was pretty sure that wearing it with her black work flats was not helping the look.

She'd been standing there for a while, wondering how everyone but her was completely capable of being on a dance floor without debilitating anyone, when she heard a pair of heartbeats she recognized and saw Kenzi and Beth sliding through the crowd toward her.

"You came!" Kenzi said, giving her a big hug. One of the things Miranda loved about Kenzi was that she acted like she was on Ecstasy even when she wasn't, telling people that she loved them, hugging them, never embarrassed about it. "I'm so glad you're here. It didn't feel right without you. So, are you ready to unshackle yourself from the insecurities of your youth? Ready to own your future?"

Kenzi and Beth were dressed to own anything, Miranda thought. Kenzi was wearing a skin-tight blue backless dress and had gotten a black panther with a blue sapphire eye painted on her back. Beth was in a red satin minidress and had a gold snake bracelet with two ruby eyes wrapped around her upper arm (or at least Miranda assumed they were rubies since Beth's parents were two of the biggest movie stars in Bollywood). On them, adulthood looked like a totally cool and exciting party with an excellent DJ that you could only get into if you were on the VIP list.

Miranda glanced at her skating uniform. "I guess I should have known that when the time came to own my future I'd be dressed like a member of the Ice Capades B-squad."

"No way, you look fantastic," Beth said, and Miranda would have assumed she was being sarcastic except that Beth was one of those people who was born without sarcasm.

"Truly," Kenzi confirmed. "You're deep in H2T territory." H2T stood for Hot to Trot. "I see great things for your adulthood."

"And I see a visit to the eye doctor for you," Miranda prophesied. In the distance Miranda saw Sibby pull Phillip Emory onto the dance floor.

Miranda turned back to Kenzi. "Do you think I'm a fun person? Am I a Grandma Grim? A funkiller?"

"Grandma Grim? Funkiller?" Kenzi repeated. "What are you talking about? Did you hit your head at derby practice again?"

"No, I'm serious. Am I fun?"

"Yes," Kenzi said solemnly.

"Yes," Beth agreed.

"Except when you get all MLAS," Kenzi modified. "And when you have your period. And around your birthday. Oh, there was that one time-"

"Forget it." Miranda's eyes drifted to Sibby, who now appeared to be leading a conga line.

"I'm kidding," Kenzi said, turning Miranda's face from the dance floor to hers. "Yes, I think you are really fun. I mean, who else would dress up as Magnum P.I. for Halloween?"

"Or think of entertaining the kids on the cancer ward by reenacting Dawson's Creek with Precious Moments figurines?" Beth added.

Kenzi nodded. "That's right. Even children battling cancer think you're fun. And they're not the only ones."

Something about Kenzi's tone when she said the last part made Miranda worried. "What did you do?"

"She was brilliant," Beth said.

Now Miranda was even more scared. "Tell me."

"It was nothing, just some research," Kenzi said.

"What kind of research?" For the first time Miranda noticed that there was writing up the length of Kenzi's arm.

Kenzi said, "About Will and Ariel. They're totally not going out."

"You asked him?"

"It's called an interview," Kenzi said.

"No. Oh no. Tell me you're kidding." Sometimes having a roommate who wanted to be a journalist was dangerous.

"Relax, he didn't suspect a thing. I made it seem like I was making small talk," Kenzi said.

"She was great," Beth confirmed.

Miranda started wishing for trapdoors again.

"Anyway, I asked him why he thought Ariel asked him to the prom and he said"-here Kenzi consulted her arm-"'To make someone else jealous. So of course I asked who and he went, 'Anyone. That's what Ariel thrives on, other people's jealousy. Isn't that perceptive? Especially for a guy?"

"He's smart," Beth put in. "And nice."

Miranda nodded absently, looking for Sibby on the dance floor. At first she didn't see her but then she spotted her in a dark corner with Phillip. Talking, not kissing. For some reason that made her smile.

"Look, we made her happy!" Kenzi said, and she sounded so genuinely pleased that Miranda didn't want to tell her the truth.

"Thanks for finding all that out," Miranda said. "It's-"

"You haven't even heard the best part," Kenzi said. "I asked why he agreed to go to prom with Ariel if they're not a couple and he said"-glancing at her arm-"'Because no one made me a better offer. "

Beth reminded her, "With that cute smile."

"Right, with cute smile. And he looked directly at me when he said it and he was so clearly talking about you!"

"Clearly." Miranda loved her friends even if they were delusional.

"Stop gazing at me like I've been one-stop shopping at the Lobotomy Store, Miranda," Kenzi said. "I'm completely right. He likes you and he's not taken. Stop thinking and grab him. Go live ITM."

"ITM?"

"In the Mo," Beth elaborated.

Miranda gaped. "No. Way."

"What?" Kenzi asked.

"Nothing." Miranda shook her head. "Even if he's single, what makes you think Will wants to go out with me?"

Kenzi squinted at her. "Um, breezing past all the sappy stuff about how you're nice and smart I have to say because I'm your best friend, have you looked in the mirror recently?"

"Ha-ha. Trust me-"

"Bye!" Beth said, interrupting her and dragging Kenzi away. "See you later!"

"Don't forget! ITM!" Kenzi added over her shoulder. "Drink a can of man!"

"Where are you-" Miranda started to say, then heard a heartbeat close behind her and swung around.

Nearly banging her shoulder against Will's chest.

Chapter Nine

He said, "Hi."

And she said, "Ho." God. GOD. Could she just say one normal thing? Thanks Crazy Mouth.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I didn't know you were coming to prom."

"I-changed my mind at the last minute."

"You look nice."

"You too." Which was an understatement. He looked like a double stack of cinnamon apple pancakes with a side order of bacon and hash browns (extra crispy). Like the best thing Miranda had ever laid eyes on.

She felt herself staring at him, then looked away, blushing. There was a moment of silence. Another one. Don't let it go beyond four seconds, she reminded herself. It had to have been one second already; that left three, now two, say something! Say-

"Are you wearing space pants?" Miranda asked him.

"What?"

How did it end? Oh, right. She said, "Because your butt is fine."

He gazed at her in that way he had like he was measuring her for a straitjacket. "I think-" he started, then stopped and seemed to be having trouble talking. Cleared his throat three times before finally saying, "I think the line is 'because your butt is out of this world. "

"Oh. That makes a lot more sense. I can see that. See, I read it in this book about how to get guys to like you and they said it was a line that never failed but I got interrupted in the middle and the line before it was about china-not the country, the kind you eat off of-and that is where the fine part was but I must have gotten them confused." He just kept staring at her. She remembered the other advice from the book, "when in doubt, make an offer," reached out, grabbed the first thing she could put her hand on, held it up to his chin, and said, "Nuts?"

He looked like he was about to choke. He cleared his throat a few times, took the nuts from her, put the bowl back on the table, stepped toward her so that their noses were almost touching, and said, "You read a book about this?"

Miranda couldn't even hear his heartbeat over the sound of her own. "Yes, I did. Because clearly I wasn't doing it right. I mean, if you kiss a guy and he pulls away from you and looks at you like your skin just turned to purple slime, clearly you need to spend some time at the self-help section of-"

"You talk more when you're nervous," he said, still standing close to her.

"No I don't. That's absurd. I'm just trying to explain to you-"

"Do I make you nervous?"

"No. I'm not nervous."

"You're trembling."

"I'm cold. I'm wearing practically zero clothes."

His glance went to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I noticed."

Miranda gulped. "Look, I should-"

He caught her wrist before she could take off. "That kiss you gave me was the hottest kiss I've ever had. I pulled away because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself from ripping off your clothes. And that didn't seem like the right way to end a first date. I didn't want you to think that was all I was interested in."

She stared at him. There was silence again, but this time she didn't worry about how long it went on.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said finally.

"I tried to, but every time I saw you afterward you disappeared. I got the feeling you were avoiding me."

"I didn't want things to be awkward."

"Yeah, there was nothing awkward about you hiding behind a plant when I came into the dining hall at lunch on Wednesday."

"I wasn't hiding. I was, um, breathing. You know, oxygen. From the plant. Very oxygenated, that air is."

Insert head in oven now.

"Of course. I should have thought of that."

"It's a health thing. Not many people know about it."

Leave until no longer HALF BAKED.

"No, I'm sure they-"

Miranda blurted. "Did you really mean that? About liking it when I kissed you?"

"I really did. A lot."

Her hands were shaking. She reached up and pulled him toward her.

Just as the music went off, the emergency-exit lighting went on and a tinny voice announced over a loudspeaker, "Please make your way to the nearest exit and leave the building immediately."

She and Will were pushed in different directions by the crowd surging to the door, being guided by four men in full body armor. The message kept repeating, but Miranda wasn't hearing it or Ariel West screaming that someone was going to PAY for RUINING her NIGHT or the person saying that dude, this was the sweetest way to end a prom ever, man, he was so high. She was hearing again the one-two-three cha-cha heartbeat of Deputy Reynolds, slightly muffled by body armor. This was no drill.

"It's us, isn't it?" Sibby said, rushing over to stand next to Miranda. "That's why those storm-trooper guys are here. For us."

"Yeah."

"You were right. I should have stayed hidden. This is my fault. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I'll just turn myself over to these people, and they'll have to let-"

Miranda interrupted her. "After all that? With only three hours left to go? And you, blend-it-like-butter girl? No way. It's not over. We can totally get out of this."

She tried to sound confident, but she was terrified. Just what do you think you're doing? U-Suck channel demanded.

I have no idea.

Sibby looked at her, eyes blazing with hope. "Do you mean it? You have a way out?"

Miranda swallowed, took a deep breath, and said to Sibby, "Follow me." To herself: Please don't fail.

Chapter Ten

It worked perfectly.

Almost. There were six guards blocking the exits and another four at the door, checking everyone as they left. Ten total. All in body armor and masks, explaining patiently that there had been a bomb threat and it was important to evacuate as quickly as possible. No one questioned why they were armed with the automatic weapons they kept using to push the crowd along.

No one except Dr. Trope, who went up to one of them and said, "Young man, I ask you to keep your weapons away from my students," distracting him just long enough for Miranda and Sibby to get swallowed into the middle of the crowd.

They'd navigated by the first two storm troopers, with only two left when Ariel yelled, "Dr. Trope? Dr. Trope? Look, there she is, Miranda Kiss. I told you she crashed the prom. She's right there in the middle. You have to-"

Four men with automatic weapons suddenly swiveled and waded into the mass of students. Miranda whispered, "Duck," to Sibby and the two of them bobbed beneath the surface of the crowd, crawling back into the Great Hall.

Behind her she heard Dr. Trope saying, "Where is she? Where did she go? I'm not leaving one of my pupils in there." And the storm trooper saying, "Please, sir, you need to evacuate. We'll find her. Rest assured."

Miranda decided that if she got out of this alive, she'd be a lot nicer to Dr. Trope. If.

She dragged Sibby over to Old Faithful and said, "In there. Now."

"Why can't I hide in the White House? Why does it have to be in the volcano?"

"I might need part of the White House. Please, just do it. They won't be able to make you out if they have night goggles."

"What about you? You're wearing white."

"I match the decorations."

"Wow, you're really good at this. This planning stuff. How'd you learn how to-"

Miranda was wondering the same thing. Wondering why as soon as she'd heard the announcement some part of her brain had started measuring her distance to the exits, looking around for weapons, watching the door. Her senses going into overdrive was a relief; it meant some of her powers were cooperating. But did she have the strength to take on ten armed men? The most she'd ever taken on at one time before was three, and they hadn't been toting machine guns. She'd have to be crafty rather than direct. She said to Sibby, "Give me your boots."

"For what?"

"To get rid of some of our competition so we can get out of here."

"But I really like these-"

"Give them to me. And also a rubber bracelet."

Miranda set her trap, then held her breath as a guard approached. She heard him say into the walkie-talkie, "Southwest pillar. I've got one," and saw the ribbons stir as he used the butt of his gun to push them aside.

Heard him say, "What the-"

And fired George Washington's sugar nose at him with the slingshot she'd made out of Sibby's rubber bracelet and a fork. All her target work paid off because it hit him at exactly the right point to send him plunging forward. He went down headfirst just hard enough to be disoriented and docile while she tied his hands and feet with the ribbons from the pillar. "I'm really sorry," she said, flipping him over to gag him with a piece of dinner roll, then smiled. "Oh, hi, Craig. Not your day, is it? I hope your head's feeling better. What? It's not? It will. Try rubbing some insta-hot on your wrists and ankles when they untie you. Bye."

She'd just grabbed the boots she'd used at the base of the column as a decoy when she heard another guard coming fast from her left. She threw a boot at him Frisbee style and heard a satisfying swack as he fell down, too.

Two down, eight to go.

She was apologizing to the one she'd hit with the shoe, who was out cold-it was nice to know ankle boots were good for something-when the walkie-talkie on his belt came to life. "Leon, this is the Gardener. Where are you? State your position. Copy?"

Miranda picked up the unconscious guard's walkie-talkie and said into it, "I thought your name was Caleb Reynolds, Deputy. Why the Gardener stuff? Or, as my friend likes to call you, Plant Boy."

A crackle. Then Deputy Reynolds's voice through the walkie-talkie. "Miranda? Is that you? Where are you? Miranda?"

"Right here," she whispered in his ear. She'd snuck up behind him, and now as he turned, her arm came around his neck with the heel of the boot pointed at his throat.

"What are you stabbing me with?" he asked.

"All you need to know is that it's going to cause you a lot of pain and probably a bad infection if you don't start telling me how many people there are here and what their plan is."

"There are ten in here, five more watching the exits outside. But I'm on your side."

"Really, Gardener? That's not how it looked at the house."

"You didn't give me a chance to talk to the girl."

"You're going to have to do better than that. I'm not a mix tape, you can't play me."

"Do you have any idea what she is?"

" What she is? Not really."

His heart rate sped up now. "She's a real-life flesh-and-blood prophet. The Cumean Sibyl. She's one of ten people who between them supposedly know and can control the whole future of the world."

"Wow. I thought she was just an annoying fourteen-year-old with wild hormones."

"The Sibyl operates through different bodies. Or that's what they think. These people I'm working with. Wack jobs. They pretend they want to protect her, keep her prophecies from being exploited by the unscrupulous, but I think they're actually into extortion. I heard one of them say they could ransom the girl for eight figures." His heart rate slowed as he talked. "My job was to find out where she was supposed to be picked up, so they could send someone there with some trinket of hers to show we had her, and get the Overseer to pay up."

Miranda didn't like the sound of the word trinket at all. "But you weren't going to?"

"They're just using this religion stuff as a cover for their greed. It's disgusting. I'm all set to stop them, and then you"-getting agitated, his heartbeat spiking-"you come along in the middle and mess it up."

Miranda knew he was genuinely angry. "Stop them how?"

"I was supposed to be getting the location of her pickup place from her, right? When you crashed in, I was going to tell her what to say, a place I'd picked out with the task force, then when the wackos went there, they'd be picked up by the police. Meanwhile I'd get the Sibyl safely to the real rendezvous. But you come in and blow it. Months of police work down the tubes." His heartbeat was slow and even again.

Miranda let him go. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He turned to scowl at her, changing it to a half smile when he saw what she was wearing. "Nice look on you." He paused for a second, then said, "You know, there's a way we could still make this work. Do you have another outfit like that?"

"My skating uniform? Yeah. But it's not the same color. It's more blue."

"That doesn't matter as long as it's close. With you two dressed as twins we'll be able to fool them into thinking that you're the Sibyl, use you as a decoy while we sneak her out to safety."

Talking quickly, he outlined the rest of his plan. Miranda said, "It would be better if we wore the wigs and masks, too. To complete the disguise."

"That's right. Perfect. Go toward the employee entrance, the one you used to sneak in. There's someone guarding the outer door but there's a door on the left that is clear. It goes to an office. I'll deal with these guys and then come-"

He stopped talking, lifted his gun, and fired behind her. Turning, Miranda saw he'd shot one of the guards.

"He saw us together," he told her. "I couldn't let one of those bastards get you or tell the others. I'll distract them, keep them over here. You get the Sibyl, change, and wait for me in the office."

She was already moving away when she paused and said, "How did you find us?"

His heartbeat slowed. "Put out a bulletin on your car."

"I should have thought of that," Miranda said, then took off as he radioed, "Man down-man down."

Sibby was frantic when Miranda got back to her. "What happened? Did you get shot?"

"No. I got us a ride out of here."

"How?"

Miranda explained as they changed, then skirted the edges of the Great Hall toward the director's office. As they moved, she heard Deputy Reynolds barking orders to the guards, keeping them busy in other parts of the room, saying at one point, "No, don't turn on the lights-that will give them an advantage!" At another, heard a grunt of pain that sounded like someone being knocked out. She was impressed.

They reached the director's office without running into anyone. Sibby sat in the desk chair. Miranda was pacing, walking back and forth to the ticktock of the big clock on the director's mantelpiece, picking up and putting down objects, a crystal bowl, a box of stationery, weighing them in her hand. A family picture of a man, woman, two small boys, a dog sitting together at the edge of a pier with the sun setting behind them. The dog was wearing someone's hat, a real full member of the family.

A hand came down in front of the picture. "Hello, Miranda? I was asking you something?"

Miranda put the picture down. "Sorry. What?"

"How do you know you're right about him?"

"I just do. Trust me."

"But if you're wrong-"

"I'm not."

The clock ticked. Miranda paced. Sibby said, "I hate that clock."

Tick. Pace. Sibby: "I'm not sure I can do this."

Miranda stopped and looked at her. "Of course you can."

"I'm not brave like you."

"Excuse me? The girl who got-how many guys is it now? Twenty-three?"

"Twenty-four."

"Twenty-four guys to kiss her? You're brave." Miranda hesitated. "Know how many guys I've kissed?"

"How many?"

"Three."

Sibby gaped at her, burst out laughing. "Gods, no wonder you're so repressed. This had better work or you'll have had one seriously sad life."

"Thanks."

Chapter Eleven

Eighteen minutes later, deputy Sergeant Caleb Reynolds stood outside the door of the director's office, watching them through a crack. It had taken him slightly longer than expected to get everything in place, but he felt good, confident, about how it was all going to play out. Especially now seeing the two girls in the Bee's Roller Derby outfits, tight little skirts and tops, even had the wigs and masks on. They were identical except one of them was in blue, the other in white. Like little dolls, yeah, he liked to think of them that way. His little dolls.

Expensive dolls.

The blue doll saying, "Are you sure the fact that you want to kiss him isn't getting in the way of your judgment, Miranda?"

And the white doll saying, "Who says I want to kiss him? You're the Kissing Bandit."

"Who says I want to kiss him?" the blue doll mimicked. "Please. You should really learn to have some fun. Live in the mo."

"Maybe I will as soon as I get rid of you, Sibby."

The blue doll stuck out her tongue, almost making him laugh. They were cute together, these two. Blue doll said, "I'm serious. How do you know we can trust him?"

"He has his own agenda," the white doll explained, "and it works with ours."

Then he really did have to stifle a laugh. She had no idea how correct she was. About that first part.

And how wrong about the second.

He pushed the door open and saw them both turn to him with you-are-my-hero expressions in their eyes.

"Are you ready, Miss Cumean?"

Blue doll nodded.

His little white doll saying now, "Take good care of her. You know how important she is."

"I will. I'll get her settled and come back for the second part of the operation. Don't open the door for anyone but me."

"Right."

He was back less than a minute later.

"Was everything okay? Is Sibby safe?"

"It went perfectly. My men were exactly in position. It could not have gone smoother."

"Okay, so how long do we wait before I run out?"

He walked toward her, backing her against the wall. He said, "There's been a change of plans."

"What, you've added a part where you kiss me? Before the part where I pretend to be Sibby and lead the guards into the SWAT-team trap?"

He liked the way she smiled when she said it. He reached up to caress her cheek and said, "Not exactly, Miranda." His hands slid from her face to her neck.

"What are you tal-"

Before she could finish, she was pressed against the wall, hanging a foot above the ground, his hands around her throat. He tightened them slightly as he said, "It's just you and me now. I know all about you. Who you are. What you can do."

"Really?" she choked out.

"Yes, really. Princess!" He saw her eyes get wide and felt her swallow hard. "I knew that would get your attention."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know about the bounty on your head. Miranda Kiss wanted, alive or dead. My original plan had been to leave you alive for a while, bring you in after a few weeks, but unfortunately you just had to interfere. Should have minded your own business instead of mine, Princess. Now I can't run the risk of your getting in the way."

"You mean in the way of what you're doing with Sibby? So you were the one who wanted the money. You betrayed those others and made them think you were part of their cause, just like you betrayed us."

"Such a smart girl."

"You kill me, kidnap her, and collect money? Is that it?"

"Yep. Just like Monopoly, Princess. Pass go, collect two hundred dollars. Only in this case it's more like fifty million. For the girl."

"Wow." She looked genuinely impressed. "And how much do you get for me?"

"Dead? Five million. You're worth more alive; apparently some people think you're some teen Wonder Woman, have superpowers. But I can't take the chance."

"You already said that," she rasped.

"What, are you bored, Miranda?" He tightened his grip a little. "Sorry this wasn't more of a storybook ending," he said, smiling at her, holding her eyes with his own as he choked her.

He could tell she was struggling to breathe now. "If you're going to kill me, can't you just get on with it? This is kind of uncomfortable."

"What, my hands? Or the feeling that you're a failure-"

"I'm not a failure."

"— again."

She spit in his face.

"Still got some fire. I really admire that about you. I think you and I could have gotten along nicely. Unfortunately, there just isn't time."

She gave one last fight, clawing at him with all her remaining strength. It was inspiring how hard she worked. Finally her little fists fell hopelessly to her sides.

He leaned in close to her face. "Any last words?"

"Three: Listerine breath strips. You really need them."

He laughed, then tightened the hands around her neck until they overlapped. "Good-bye."

For a second, his eyes burned into hers. Then there was a sharp crack and something heavy came down on his head from behind. He staggered forward, his hands letting go of the girl as he fell to the ground unconscious.

He never knew what hit him, the blue doll thought, still gripping the clock she'd used to knock him out. Or who.

Chapter Twelve

Miranda, dressed in the blue uniform, pushed aside the man she'd just hit over the head with the clock to reach Sibby. She still had handcuff bracelets around her wrists, each dangling a piece of chain. Her wrists, her hands, were shaking.

She lifted the unconscious girl gently. "Sibby, come on, open your eyes."

It wasn't supposed to have taken so long. The plan had been simple: She and Sibby would switch identities by switching outfits. When Deputy Reynolds double-crossed them, like Miranda knew he would, it would be Miranda disguised as Sibby he'd hand over to his crew, and she'd deal with them, then come back and rescue Sibby.

At least, that's how it should have gone.

"Okay, Sib, time to wake up," Miranda said, carrying the girl now, cradling her pressed against her chest as she moved as quickly as possible. She could hear Sibby's heartbeat, but it was faint, and slow. Getting fainter. This is not happening.

"Rise and shine, Sibby," she said, her voice cracking. "Up and at 'em."

Miranda hadn't expected to find all five of Deputy Reynolds's goons waiting for her-shouldn't someone have been in the getaway car? — and especially hadn't anticipated the woman he'd picked up from the airport having rhinestone-studded brass knuckles. The blow to the head had given them time to cuff Miranda to a pipe and made her a little weak, so it had taken her longer than it should have to knock them off with a series of roundhouse kicks and one side scissor, then break the chain on the cuffs and free herself. Giving Deputy Reynolds more time with Sibby's esophagus than she'd planned.

A lot more.

The heartbeat was getting softer, harder to hear.

"I'm so sorry, Sibby. I should have gotten here sooner. I tried my best, but I couldn't get the handcuffs off and I was too weak and I failed and-" Miranda was having trouble seeing and realized she was crying. She stumbled but kept running. "Sibby, you've got to be okay. You can't go. If you don't come back, I swear I'll never have fun again. Not once." The heartbeat was just a whisper now, the girl in her arms a pale ghost. Miranda choked back a sob. "God, Sibby, please-"

Sibby's eyes flickered. Color surged into her cheeks and her heart picked up. "Did it work?" she whispered.

Miranda swallowed the huge lump in her throat and resisted the urge to crush her. "It worked."

"Did you-"

"Clocked him with the clock, as requested."

Sibby smiled, reached her hand up to Miranda's cheek, then closed her eyes again. They didn't reopen until they were in the car with the historical society behind them. She sat up and looked around. "I'm in the front seat."

"Special occasion," Miranda explained. "Don't get used to it."

"Right." Sibby worked her neck back and forth. "That was a good plan. Trading outfits so they'd think you were me and not worry so much about restraints."

"They still went all out." Miranda pushed the cape back. "I broke the chain, but I can't get the bracelets off." Thinking for some reason of Kenzi at the prom saying, Are you ready to unshackle yourself from the insecurities of your youth? Are you ready to own your future?

"What happened to Plant Boy?"

"I called in an anonymous tip telling them where to find him and the bodies of the guards he shot. He should be on his way to jail."

"How did you know you were right? That he was trying to trick us?"

"I can tell when people are lying."

"How?"

"Different things. Little gestures. Mostly by listening to their heartbeats."

"Like if they speed up, they're lying?"

"Everyone is different. You need to know how they react when they're telling the truth to know how they react when they're lying. His heartbeat gets slower, more even when he lies, like he's trying to be extra careful."

Sibby looked at her more closely. "You can hear people's heartbeats?"

"I hear a lot of things."

Sibby took that in. "When Plant Boy was strangling me because he thought I was you? He called me Princess. And said some people thought you had superpowers like a teen Wonder Woman or something."

Miranda felt her chest get tight. "He did?"

"And he said there was a bounty on your head. Alive or dead. Although I'm sorry to say that I'm worth ten times as much as you are."

"It's not nice to brag."

"Is it true? That you're Wonder Woman?"

"Maybe the lack of oxygen went to your head but Wonder Woman is a comic-book character. Made up. I'm a real, normal person."

Sibby snorted. "You are definitely not normal. You're totally neurotic." A pause. "That wasn't an answer. Are you really a princess with superpowers?"

"Are you really a sacred prophet who knows everything that is going to happen?"

Their eyes met. Neither of them said anything.

Sibby stretched, sprawling out over the front seat, and Miranda turned up the radio and they drove on in silence, both of them smiling.

After a few miles Sibby said, "I'm starving. Could we stop for a burger?"

"Yeah, but we're on a schedule, so no kissing strange guys."

"I knew you were going to say that."

Chapter Thirteen

Miranda sat in the car watching the power boat disappear on the horizon, taking Sibby wherever she was going. You have no time to relax, she reminded herself. Deputy Reynolds might be headed for prison, but he can still talk, and you know he lied about how he found you, which means someone at Chatsworth knows something, and then there's the question of who put the bounty on your head and-

Her cell phone rang. She reached across the seat to grab her suit jacket and tried to jam her hand into the pocket to get the phone, but the handcuff bracelet kept getting caught. She turned the jacket over and dumped everything onto her lap.

She caught it on the last ring. "Hello."

"Miranda? It's Will."

Her heart stopped. "Hi." Suddenly feeling shy. "Did you, um, have fun at prom?"

"Parts of it. You?"

"Me too. Parts of it."

"I looked for you after the bomb threat, but I didn't see you."

"Yeah, it got kind of hectic."

There was a pause and they both started talking at once. He said, "You first," and she said, "No, you," and they both cracked up and he started, "Listen, I don't know if you were planning to come to Sean's place for the after-party. Everyone is here. It's fun and all. But-"

"But?"

"I was wondering if maybe you'd want to get breakfast instead. At the Waffle House? Just the two of us?"

Miranda forgot to breathe. She said, "That would be completely fantastic." And remembering she wasn't supposed to be too eager, added, "I mean, that would be okay, I guess."

Will laughed, his warm-butter-melting-on-break-fast-treats laugh, and said, "I think it would be completely fantastic, too."

She hung up and saw that her hands were shaking. She was having breakfast with a guy. Not just a guy. With Will. A guy who wore space pants. And thought she was hot.

And possibly crazy. Which, p.s., accessorizing with handcuffs is not exactly going to help.

She tried again to snap the bracelets with her hand but she couldn't. Either these weren't normal cuffs or knocking out ten people in one night-actually eight, since she'd done two of them twice-was the limit of her strength. Which was interesting, her strength having limits. She had a lot to learn about her powers. Later.

Right now, she had half an hour to find some other way to get the cuffs off. She started shoving things from her lap back into the pocket of her suit jacket so she could drive, then stopped when she saw an unfamiliar box.

It was the one Sibby had given her when they met-could it seriously be only eight hours ago? What had she said, something odd. Miranda remembered it now, Sibby handing her the name sign and the box and saying, "This must be yours." But with the emphasis different. "This must be yours."

Miranda opened the box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a handcuff key.

Are you ready to own your future?

It was worth a try.