The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill (2 page)

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Authors: Heather Brewer

BOOK: The Slayer Chronicles: First Kill
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Joss sighed. “Only if you stop calling me Jossie.”
It was a lie. He would have fixed it for her no matter what. He’d do anything for Cecile. But it was worth a try. Once he’d popped the poor doll’s head back into place, he said, “Want a piggyback ride?”
“Yes!” She’d no sooner said the word than she had leaped up onto Joss’s back. They bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. As Joss ran, jiggling her up and down on purpose, Cecile squealed with laughter.
The kitchen, decorated in clean, bright white and sunshine yellow, greeted the siblings with a warm, happy air. It had been home to them for five years, since three days before Cecile had celebrated her first birthday and eight days before Joss had celebrated his fifth. Joss loved this kitchen. He couldn’t ever imagine gathering with his family anywhere else to discuss the coming events of the day, or grabbing a snack with his sister in the afternoon once each had returned from school. The kitchen was more than just a room where they cooked their meals and ate their breakfast. It was the soul of their house. It was, more than any other room, home.
Joss turned around and leaned back, dropping his little sister into her chair by the counter. As she landed with a thump, she erupted in laughter once again. Then Joss took his seat beside her. Their mom was busy dipping slices of bread into a bowl filled with cinnamon-speckled eggs, then delivering them into a sizzling hot pan on the stove. As she flipped each piece, she hummed a happy tune. No one, Joss thought, was as happy as his mom. She always wore a sunny expression and a smile on her face. She was warm and outgoing and more friendly and kind than anyone he had ever met.
Cecile shifted impatiently in her seat. If there was anything more impossible for a young kid to wait for without at least a few complaints, it was French toast. Grabbing a pad of paper from the counter, Joss busied his sister with a quick game of Tic-tac-toe. She won the first one, but set her bottom lip in a pout. “You cheated, Jossie.”
Joss shook his head. “I didn’t cheat. How could I cheat? You won. Nobody cheats to lose, Cecile.”
Folding her arms in front of her, Cecile slanted her eyes at her big brother. “You let me win. Don’t let me win. I wanna do it myself.”
A smile settled on Joss’s lips. She was smarter than he’d given her credit for. The truth was, he had let her win. He hadn’t wanted her to feel the upset of losing, so he’d drawn an
X
next to where it would have been a winning move, and silently congratulated himself on being such a good big brother. But Cecile was right. It would be better to have her learn on her own. After all, it wasn’t winning that really counted, but the journey to that win. He nodded. “Okay, let’s play again. You
X
’s or
O
’s?”
“
O
’s! I love
O
’s!”
“Last game, you two. The French toast is almost done.” Mom went immediately back to humming her happy tune.
The second game lasted merely seconds and ended with Cecile pouting. “I hate losing.”
Joss tickled her ribs, instigating another fit of laughter. “But did you have fun?”
“Yes!” Cecile shrieked.
As Mom slid his plate in front of him, topped with a stack of French toast, covered in sweet, sticky syrup, Joss smiled at his sister and picked up his fork, ready to dive in. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Once Joss had finished cleaning his plate and was scooping up every drop of gooey syrup that he could manage with his fork, he glanced at his mother, who was leaning against the counter, sipping her coffee and flipping through the morning paper. “Did Henry call yet? He’s supposed to tell me what time they’re coming tomorrow night.”
She shook her head, looking up from the article she’d been immersed in. “Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll call this afternoon. Are you sure you want to spend the
whole
summer with your cousins, Joss? That’s a long time to be away from home. You might get homesick.”
“I’m sure. It’s Henry! We’re gonna go camping and build a fort and Greg’s even gonna teach us how to play baseball. It’s gonna be so much fun. I can’t wait to go.” As if in an afterthought, he muttered, “I wish school was already over.”
From behind him, his dad ruffled his hair. “You only have one more day there, sport. I’m sure you’ll survive.”
Joss wasn’t exactly convinced of that, but he smiled back at his dad before sliding off his stool and carrying his plate and fork to the sink, where he rinsed them clean before placing them in the dishwasher. As he retrieved his lunch sack from beside the microwave on the counter, his mom caught him in a hug, her worried mom eyes meeting his gaze. She smelled like tangerines. And French toast. “You behave for Aunt Matilda and Uncle Mike. And you call if you need anything, even if you just feel homesick, okay?”
Joss gave her a squeeze, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at how she was acting. He could take care of himself, and he was always nice to his aunt and uncle. But his mom was taking a weekend trip to see his ill grandmother this afternoon, so she’d be gone before Joss got home from school today, and couldn’t wait until then to say whatever she felt she needed to say. And she wouldn’t get back until Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow evening, Joss would be barreling down the road in his uncle’s car, playing the alphabet game with his favorite cousin. But right now, it was his job to make sure that his mom felt okay about letting him leave for almost three months.
He gave her another squeeze. “I’ll call you, Mom. I promise. Lots.”
Slipping from her arms, he picked up his backpack and flung it over his shoulder, planted a peck on Cecile’s head, and waved to his dad on his way out the door. The bus was already waiting for him at the stop, so Joss ran.
As he climbed aboard Bus Thirteen, a familiar tension settled into his stomach. Most of the seats were completely occupied, and the ones that weren’t were occupied by one person. As he made his way down the aisle, jostling slightly at the rough movement of the bus as it took off down his street, several lone-seat occupants slid their legs into the empty space beside them. One set his backpack in the space, indicating that it, too, was taken. The message was clear:
You’re not welcome.
“Sit down back there.” The bus driver’s voice was rough and raw, as if he’d been screaming at kids all morning.
The last thing Joss wanted was to be the subject of more screams, so he turned to a pale, freckled boy who was currently sitting in the middle of a green bench seat and said, “Hey, man, let me sit here, okay?”
The kid glanced around, as if seeking the approval of his peers. Then he sighed heavily and slid in toward the window. Joss thanked him and took his seat. The remainder of the bus ride was quiet and awkward. In other words, it was a typical day so far for Joss McMillan.
When the bus came to a stop in front of Summers Elementary, the boy he’d sat by pushed past him, as if eager to be free of Joss. Joss hung back. He was in no hurry to begin his school day, and had no one waiting for him to step off the bus. Joss was, for the most part, alone. And what’s more, he’d convinced himself over the last two years that he actually preferred being alone.
It was a lie that he told himself every day to cover up the pain of being completely friendless. If only his cousin Henry went to the same school he did. Henry was funny, inventive, and never once questioned the things that Joss did. If Joss ran faster than him, Henry gave chase. If Joss caught a ball, Henry slapped him on the back in approval. Henry was the best friend a guy could have.
But he didn’t go to Joss’s school.
By the time the bus had all but emptied, Joss had summoned up the courage to exit the bus and enter the school. No one really looked at him as he moved up the sidewalk or down the hall. In fact, if Joss hadn’t been able to feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders or the cool of the air-conditioned hallway, he might have thought that he was dreaming. Or a ghost. Either, he mused, would have been better than being the invisible boy.
He wasn’t certain when he’d become invisible, only knew that it had something to do with his ability to outrun everyone in the school, even the kids who were all about sports. Joss could catch a ball like nobody’s business, was an excellent thrower, and an amazingly fast runner. His reflexes and strength surpassed even the most gifted athlete his age at Summers Elementary, and for some reason, that made him a target for hatred. He’d tried making friends. But no one—not even the unpopular kids who got wedgies every day—wanted anything to do with Joss. So he floated through school, the invisible boy, getting good grades and waiting for someone to notice him.
He doubted that would ever happen.
The last day of school before summer break began was pretty much useless as far as anything regarding education went. Before Joss realized it the recess bell rang.
He liked recess. Not for the usual reasons, but because recess meant that he could seek out his favorite spot in the hollow of the old oak tree on the far corner of the playground and immerse himself in whatever nonfiction tome he’d discovered recently among the piles of books in his local library—his latest favorite being the study of assassin bugs. He’d begun gathering as many of the creatures as he could find, and placing them in his collection for display. Assassin bugs, it turned out, would lie in wait for other insects and then stab the prey with their beak and inject a toxin that would dissolve the prey’s tissue. Then they’d suck up the other bug’s insides, like a Slurpee. And sometimes, when other food wasn’t available, assassin bugs would even eat each other. The idea fascinated Joss.
The playground at Summers Elementary was small, but filled with everything that a kid could ask for: Three swing sets, a jungle gym, teeter-totters, monkey bars, a merry-go-round, and a giant slide occupied the grass-free area behind the school. Mostly, Joss would escape to his hiding place behind the tree, but every once in a while, like this day, he braved the far set of swings, the ones that were just small enough to make them appear boring to the rest of the kids. He sat on the swing on the end of the set, the one closest to his tree, and swung back and forth quietly, daydreaming about all the fun he and Henry were going to have this summer. Several yards in front of him, a group of kids was playing kick ball. Joss watched with an air of disinterest, despite the fact that he very much wanted to play with them. But he knew, from times past, that his efforts to interact would be met with denial. Still, when a boy he recognized from the lunchroom misjudged his kick, sending the ball flying in Joss’s direction, Joss’s instincts took over and he leaped from the swing, catching the ball in his hands before his feet had even touched the ground.
The boy who’d kicked the ball dropped his arms to his side, a look of annoyance on his face. Several heads turned Joss’s way to see what was causing his upset, and each of their expressions darkened as well. Joss’s jaw began to feel very tight.
Holly Whittaker stepped forward, hands on her hips. “Give us the ball back, Joss.”
She acted as if it hadn’t been kicked toward him, as if he’d invaded their game and had stolen away the ball on purpose. His jaw ached from the tension. “I didn’t mean to catch it. It just kind of happened.”
Tommy Hart snorted. “Yeah, just like it
kind of happened
that you beat Billy at that race last week, cheater.”
Joss turned the ball nervously over in his hands. The truth was, he hadn’t cheated. But he had forgotten to pull his speed back so that Billy could win and save Joss the embarrassment of being unusually quick. “I didn’t cheat. I’m just fast.”
Holly stepped closer, her voice filled with venom. “Everybody knows you’re a cheater, Joss. Now give the ball back,
cheater
.”
With a clenched jaw, Joss held the red ball up for all to see. “This ball?”
Then, before she could reach for it, Joss dropped the ball, raising his foot in a kick. The ball went flying. So high that it seemed to be enveloped by the sun. Then it came down, settling atop the roof of the school.
A feeling filled him quickly, then shrank away again, as if hiding in shame. It was joy for having taken revenge. Joss’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt. He wasn’t proud of his actions. In fact, he was sickened by them. But what was done was done. He blinked at Holly and the others, whose faces wore looks of surprise, anger, and hurt. “I’m sorry.”
They didn’t believe him. Who would? But Joss
was
sorry. He’d let his anger and desire for revenge get in the way.
Before anyone could give him a richly deserved punch in the eye, the bell rang, signifying the end of recess. Joss tried to apologize again, but each member of the kick ball group simply shook their heads, as if they hadn’t expected any better from the likes of him, and gravitated toward the school. Once the playground was empty, Joss followed, hanging his head in shame.
The rest of the day passed, blissfully, without incident.
Once at home again that afternoon, Joss lugged his backpack through the front door and flung it into the hall closet. He hurried into the kitchen and had to resist the urge to jump up and down when he saw the answering machine flashing that there was one message waiting. He pushed the button and held his breath hopefully. “Hey, Joss! Henry here. Dad said to tell you we’d be there at five o’clock tomorrow, so get packed and ready. Oh, and Mom said not to bring any bugs. They gross her out. See ya!”

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