Weird Girl and What's His Name by Meagan Brothers Page A

the parking lot, I heard someone call my name from far off, and for a weird second, I thought it was Lula. But it wasn’t even a girl. It was Sexy Seth.
    â€œHey,” I called back. He was walking toward the school from his pickup truck, big headphones hanging around his neck, a raggedy one-subject notebook in his hand. The notebook had the word STUDY! written on the bright yellow cover in heavy black marker. He had on a black T-shirt with another random saying. This one announced, in big white letters: B OSTON S PACESHIPS I S R EAL!
    â€œYou in for this SAT Prep thing?”
    â€œMe? No, I was just . . . rewriting a midterm essay. For Mrs. Lidell.”
    â€œOh, shit, man. I’m supposed to have her next year. I heard she’s impossible.”
    â€œNah, she’s possible. I just goofed it up, is all.”
    â€œDude!” Seth slapped me on the arm with his notebook. “I heard you’re on the team! Right on , man!”
    â€œYeah, I—” My voice hung up. It was the weirdest thing. The way Seth said “Right on, man,” drawing out the “on.” Lula used to say that all the time. Probably imitating Trey the Burnout Yard Guy, but I thought of it as a Lula Saying. It took me a second to remember what Seth was talking about. Oh yeah, football. “I guess I am. On the team.”
    â€œCoach Morris was freaking out. He says you’re a football progeny. He couldn’t believe you never played before.”
    Progeny? I started to ask, but there was a weird lump in my throat.
    â€œMan, it’s gonna be righteous,” Seth went on. “Friday nights, five thousand people all going apeshit in the bleachers. Talk about a rush. We are gonna have a serious GT, I promise.” Seth gave me his sexiest of Sexy Seth grins.
    â€œA GT?”
    â€œA good time,” he drawled happily. “Hey, listen, though. Seriously, uh. I wanted to say sorry. About your girl Lula. I heard about her. Going missing and all. I know what that’s like, man. I lost my brother. He passed on, a few years ago. I know it’s tough.”
    â€œLula didn’t pass on,” I said. “She’s just missing. She’ll be back.”
    â€œI hope she will, brother.” Seth gave me one of his squinty, serious smiles. Like he’s George Clooney or Sawyer from Lost or some shit. Like he’s Mr. Charm and he feels so sorry for the rest of us because we aren’t him. “I truly hope she will.”
    â€œSeth.” I threw open the driver’s side door to the Beast, which gave a horrific rusty metal squeal. “I’m not your brother. The word you’re looking for is prodigy, not progeny. And your T-shirt is grammatically incorrect.”
    I got in the car, slammed the door, and drove away. In the rearview mirror, I could see Seth, just standing there in the parking lot with his stupid notebook that said STUDY! One hand in his pocket, his floppy hair in the breeze. I didn’t have to be so mean. Seth was trying to be nice. At least he remembered Lula’s name. But I didn’t want to be nice. I wanted somebody to blame. I didn’t care who. If this really was The X-Files, this would be the part where I turned into Action Mulder, and I put on my bulletproof vest and went after Duane Barry or Krycek or the Cigarette-Smoking Man. But I wasn’t Mulder, and there was nobody I could beat up and threaten to bring Lula back. Putting a masking-tape X on my window wasn’t going to lure any secret operatives to my house to give me clues in the middle of the night. I didn’t have any Lone Gunmen to help me uncover any secrets. Maybe there weren’t any secrets to uncover. Lula was gone. Just gone. And whoever had taken her was gone, too. Or she was gone by herself. Because she didn’t want to be around anymore. And if that was the case, I was useless. I had been useless from the start. Or, worse than useless, I was the monster