Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) by Emily Kazmierski (ereader iphone txt) 📕

nearest tree, unearthing an urge I haven’t felt in three months. Taking out my new phone, I peel the protective film off so I can take a couple quick photos. Squatting gets the composition I want. When I’m satisfied, I straighten to find my would-be assassin watching intently.

“You a photographer?” he asks. “Can I see?”

I hesitate, but hold out my phone.

“It’s pretty. You’re good. You should talk to Mr. Baugh, the art teacher, about getting into his advanced art class. I’m in there, too.”

Embarrassed by his easy compliment, I tuck the phone away, murmuring a quiet thanks.

Noah’s focus moves to my face. I wait for him to zero in on the ugly line marring my skin, but he doesn’t. Good, because despite what I told Aunt Karen, I have no idea what to say about it. Something like relief flutters in my stomach.

“Here’s your schedule,” Noah says, leading me along one of the walkways. “Mr. Tobin, fifth period. He keeps his room freezing cold, so you might want to bring a blanket to keep in your locker. A ton of people do. Last year there was even a competition to see who could find the ugliest one. And don’t ever be late to Ms. Parker’s class or she’ll make you wear a sombrero for the rest of the period.” He laughs, running a hand over his black wavy hair. “Hat hair is no joke, is all I’m saying.”

His smile pulls a ghost of one out of me in return. The expression feels foreign on my face. I can’t remember the last time I smiled.

Posters line the windows of the classrooms we pass advertising football, a club for future farmers, and cheerleading. I stifle a wince, hoping my tour guide didn’t notice.

He doesn’t miss much, unfortunately. “You have something against the great sport of cheerleading?”

“Not really,” I say with a noncommittal headshake.

“Okay… So, here’s your first period class. If you want, I can come back after and walk you to your next class. Make sure you don’t get lost?”

“Sure. Thanks,” I add as an afterthought.

“See you then, Megan.” He ducks his head before moving off.

When I step inside the portable classroom, no one is here yet.

A janitor is standing behind the teacher’s desk with a wastebasket in hand. “Morning,” he grunts, setting down the empty receptacle and leaving quickly, glancing back once. Probably to get a better look at my scar.

Settling in a desk in the back row, I take out my phone and look at the photo of the leaves. It is pretty good. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I debate for a second before opening my social media app and posting it. It’s the first one I’ve shared since Before.

Almost immediately a couple of people I used to chat with leave comments. Maybe I haven’t been completely forgotten.

It would be nice to start posting photos again. As long as Aunt Karen doesn’t find out.

Before class starts, I unzip the front of my backpack under the desk to check the small device she gave me. It’s still recording.

Chapter 2

Day 95, Thursday

Noah is waiting for me when I leave my English class, and I fall into step beside him. He’s been super nice since my first day of school, helping me find all of my classes, tipping me off so I could avoid the worst foods in the cafeteria, and telling me which bathroom to avoid since it’s the school’s unofficial smoking room. I’m pretty sure he was only supposed to show me the ropes my first day, but he’s still around. We’re accidentally becoming friends.

“Four days down.” Noah meets my eyes, turning to walk backward without breaking contact. His hair hangs down over his forehead, but he pushes it back with one of his spindly brown hands.

“One hundred seventy six to go.”

He barks a surprised laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“I miss home. That’s all.”

Noah hesitates. Licks his lips. I can sense it coming. The question he’s avoided asking for the past three days. “What do you miss most?”

My body relaxes. This I can answer truthfully. “The beach.”

“We have beaches. They’re probably not the same, but…”

I give a noncommittal head bob. He doesn’t press. I like that about him.

The gates in front of the school are open wide as everyone hurries off campus. Done with one more day of high school. A bottle-neck forms in the open gaps between the tall, blue metal boundaries. It reminds me of a documentary I saw about toll booths in India and the constant beeping of their horns. Here the constant is the grumblings of impatient jerks.

When an idea hits, I halt in my tracks and am rewarded by an elbow to the back.

“Watch it,” some guy growls as he pushes past me toward freedom.

Noah, when he glances over his shoulder and sees that I’m no longer following, pushes gainfully upstream toward me. “Forget something?”

Making up my mind, I meet his watchful eyes. “Can you show me where the drama club meets?” I’d try to find it myself, but I’m still getting my bearings and I don’t want to be late for the first meeting of the semester.

“So you’re a thespian, huh?” Noah perks up. His brown eyes shine as if I’ve given him insight into my very soul.

“Something like that.” Very like that, actually. I’d just started going on auditions. Had actually landed a small part on a popular police procedural. But then…

A custodian exits the bathroom abruptly, making me skirt around him as I backpedal through the crowd.

The drama club meets in the school’s theater behind the gym. It’s a large, black box with platforms centered around a lowered stage. The group does all of their plays in the round. I’ve never experienced that before. Anticipation filters through me. It’ll provide a unique challenge.

Noah says his goodbye and goes, leaving me standing in the theater doorway alone. The interior of the dark, cavernous space is cool, a reprieve from the punishing heat outside. Metal frameworks run along the ceiling, holding the