Of Starlight by Dan Rix Page A

continued to wriggle around the cage, its movements swift and frantic.
    “That’s creepy,” I said.
    “I told you she’s been acting weird.”
    “Yeah, like slithering into my bed.” I let out a shudder.
    “I hope she’s okay,” said Megan.
    “Wait,” I leaned forward, “you said it’s not eating?”
    “That makes sense if she was shedding. Snakes don’t eat when they’re shedding.”
    “Huh,” I said, hugging my knees to my chest.
    Megan glanced at me. “Why?”
    “Ashley’s not eating.”
    I was slow to reach my locker after lunch on Wednesday, and by the time I got it open, the halls were mostly empty. Just a few stragglers. I preferred being late, so I wouldn’t have to talk to anybody before class. I dug around unhurriedly for my history textbook, deep in troubled thought.
    Dark matter.
    Was that what happened to Ashley?
    A paperclip skittered loose at the back of my locker. When I picked it up, my hand came away trailing a long blonde hair, partly stained by blood. I flinched and scraped it off in a moment of panic, then watched as it drifted down on my books and vanished, heart pounding.
    Her hair.
    The hair I’d found in my trunk a few weeks ago, which I’d stuffed in my jeans pocket to avoid my dad’s suspicion and inevitably ended up taking to school with me—since Major Connor had only left me with one pair of jeans after decontaminating my bedroom. When I’d discovered it again the next day, I’d freaked out and slammed it inside my locker before anyone saw.
    Time to get rid of the evidence for good.
    I reached for the hair, but hesitated. The hair had come from my trunk, which meant it came from the girl whose corpse had rotted for three months in Rattlesnake Canyon—the girl we’d believed was Ashley Lacroix until four days ago. It had her blood on it.
    If I could get one of Ashley’s hairs and compare them . . .
    I glanced behind me and quickly wound the hair around the paperclip, fingers trembling. Footsteps sounded up the corridor. I flinched and dropped the paperclip, and it tumbled into the cracks between my books.
    The scuff of shoes on pavement came closer.
    They would know. They would ask, What are you doing with a dead girl’s hair?
    I shoved books aside and pincered it between my fingernails, then extracted it, barely dangling—
    My hand gave a violent shake, and the paperclip fell to the ground and bounced away. Frantic, I chased after it, and nearly collided with a girl’s legs. The paperclip skittered to rest between her white Converses.
    I stood up slowly.
    And came face to face with Ashley Lacroix.
    Without a word, she picked up the paperclip, still wrapped in the blonde strand, and turned it over in her fingers. The end stained with brown blood wafted up from her breath.
    My mouth was suddenly dry.
    This can’t be happening.
    Finally she handed it to me and pushed her own hair back over one shoulder. I took the paperclip and slid it into my pocket, trying to banish from my mind the image of her lifeless body in my trunk. I swallowed hard and managed to croak, “You . . . you came to school today?”
    “I know I don’t know you,” she said, “but could you stay away from my brother?”
    I couldn’t look away from those icy blue eyes. “You’re . . . you’re Ashley? You’re really Ashley?”
    “Yeah,” she said, her voice biting. “I’m really Ashley.”
    “We’re just friends,” I said. “It’s nothing.”
    “I don’t care what you are,” she said. “ Bye .” She rolled her eyes and turned to leave.
    “Wait, wait, wait—” I hurried to catch up, fumbling for words. “Can we . . . can we talk for a minute? I mean, this is amazing, you being . . .” I looked her up and down, “. . .  alive . You’re alive. You’re alive, right?”
    How the fuck are you alive?
    She glared at me, and up close I noticed the dark patches under her eyes, the way her lids drooped and her cheeks sagged. She looked exhausted.
    “I mean,