Eternal Spring A Young Adult Short Story Collection (8 page)

Unless that was mine. My heart
was
beating pretty fast. Maybe Analisa
was right. We should have stayed back at the hotel. I had this really
unfortunate habit of trouble following me wherever I went. You couldn’t take me
anywhere.

Although, with Amber Alexander out of the picture…

Analisa swatted my hand like a fly. “Here, let me see.”

And that’s when I spotted it. Two small round punctures in
the side of her neck. Apparently her shoes weren’t the reason for her fall.

I jumped. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod vampires!”

“Someone call 911!”

My friends all started talking at once, a melee of
confusion, excitement, and fear as they gathered around the unconscious
actress. I kneeled next to her and tried to remember the CPR I’d learned in my babysitting
certification course a couple of years ago but my hands were so shaky that I
couldn’t perform the chest compressions. I leaned over and felt a faint hot
puff of air on my cheek. Thank goodness.

“She’s breathing!”

“Are those fang bites?” Maya asked.

Bev shrugged. “I told you. It’s not like that. She must have
provoked him if he bit her.”

Analisa shook her head in exasperation. “She wasn’t bitten
by a vampire.”

Was she for real? I pointed at the wounds. “Look.” How could
she ignore the evidence?

“She’s making a movie about vampires,” Analisa insisted.
“That’s just makeup.”

An itching sensation spread all over my body, and I
scratched my elbow trying to get rid of it. Could fear manifest itself in
hives? I had no idea, but I had a feeling it was just my imagination. “No, it
can’t be makeup. Jackson never bites Robyn’s neck in the book, so unless they
changed it for the screenplay, that bite is not for the movie.”

“It looks pretty real to me,” Maya agreed.

Bev shoved a chunk of dyed black hair behind her row of
piercings. “That’s because vampires are real. Why do you think Bethany set her
book here in Sedona?”

“
Cualquiera que sera
.” Analisa pulled her phone out of her pocket.
“What matters is that we get her medical attention. Now.”

While Analisa dialed, the rest of us heave-hoed Amber off
the ground and started to carry her back to the street, struggling despite her
light frame. She was all dead weight. Okay, bad word choice.

Analisa ran up to us. “The EMTs are coming. They’ll meet us
out in that parking lot we passed on the way in and take her to the hospital.”

We’d been hiking for what, ten minutes before we found her?
So hopefully we could get her to the ambulance while she was still breathing.

Not exactly how I’d planned to spend my last night as a fourteen-year-old.
So much for finding Craig.

“She’s too heavy,” Bev said. “I gotta rest.”

Bev’s breathing suddenly sounded like a three-pack-a-day
smoker. No, wait. That wasn’t Bev. That was Amber.

“What’s wrong her?” Maya asked. “Why’s she breathing like
that?”

Analisa’s normally calm voice morphed into a Minnie Mouse
squeak. “Is she having a heart attack?”

I shook my head frantically. “She’s wheezing. Does anyone
have an inhaler?” My friends signaled ‘no.’ “We have to put her down and prop
open her air passage.”

As we lowered her limp, convulsing body to the ground, I
heard a sickening pop as a searing burn ripped through my left leg. No. No. No!
This could not be happening.

A string of words that a nice Two-Day-Catholic girl should
never repeat in public spewed forth from my mouth like ash from a volcano.
Speaking of which, my knee felt like it was made of molten lava – warm
and squishy to the touch.

Visions of physical therapy danced in my head as I tried to
bear weight and instead winced in pain. If it was what I thought, then I was
currently living my worst nightmare. Potentially career-ending devastation.

But I didn’t have time to think about that right now if we
were going to help Amber.

Bev grasped Amber’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t tell me we
have two invalids now.”

“I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t. Not really. The pain was debilitating, but I
didn’t really have a choice. We had to get the starlet to the hospital.

“Let’s go.” My fingertips grazed Analisa’s shoulder as I
steadied myself. I would not let myself cry. At least I was still conscious.

I looked down at Amber’s now nearly listless form, covered
in red welts. Wait a second. Did she have those before? Her skin was swelling
right in front of my eyes. Heck, in front of her eyes, too. Closed they were mere
slits, like the knife indentations pinching into the rising dough of a baguette
as it baked.

“I don’t think vampires cause that kind of reaction, do
they?” Maya had obviously noticed it, too.

That’s when I remembered I was wearing flip-flops. How did I
know? Because I felt a tickle on my toe, followed by a brushing sensation, but
was able to jump out of the way despite my hurt knee.

I bent over and took a closer look at Amber’s neck. I’d been
so focused on the punctures that I totally missed the tiny little red bumps at
the sting site earlier. I slung my off my backpack and dug around inside until
I found what I was looking for, then wound up and jammed it into her as hard as
I possibly could.

No, not a wooden stake to the heart. Total cliché. Besides,
even though she was my rival for Craig’s attention, we’d been trying to save
Amber, not kill her. Anyway, duh, everyone knows vampires aren’t real.

Analisa yanked the curtains closed after the doctor left. “I
still can’t believe how fast you reacted, Dani.”

“No kidding,” Bev said as she leaned against the exam table.
“I’ve been stung by a scorpion before but it was nothing like that.”

Maya tossed me my shorts. (I couldn’t wait to get out of
this ugly hospital gown.) “Amber’s lucky you were there.”

Oh, I forgot to tell you. We never did make it to the road.
The EMTs, who had to hike into the wilderness to find us, confirmed my
suspicion. Amber Alexander had a rare anaphylactic reaction to a scorpion bite.
Like all kids with peanut allergy, my EpiPen is more precious than an American
Express card – I never leave home without it.

Analisa smiled. “You saved her life.”

Yeah, I guess I did.

So she could go right back to kissing Craig.

Using crutches to take my weight off of the injury, I limped
away from the ER behind my friends. Yay me. The scorpion bite wasn’t all I was
right about tonight. Forget
barre
exercises at the prestigious Manhattan Ballet Conservatory
summer intensive program. Or even yoga exercises at one of the little New Age
shops lining the streets of Sedona. The next few months would be spent doing PT
exercises on the long road to recovery.

If I was lucky.

I didn’t even know how I hurt it, but the doctor diagnosed
it as chondromalacia, which is basically just a fancy name for when the knee
cap rubs up against the thigh bone instead of gliding smoothly against it,
roughening the cartilage underneath in the process. Freak accident? Repetitive
stress injury? Who knows? Not that it mattered. Serious dance careers have been
over before they even began for much, much less.

Shit.

“Dani!”

For the second time today, a guy blocked my path as Craig’s
unmistakable voice crashed my pity party.

Er, make that the first time today. If the clock above the
registration desk was to be believed, it was nearly three AM.

Tomorrow already. My birthday.

“Uh, hi.” Wow, when did I become such a sparkling
conversationalist?

He rushed over and enveloped his arms around me. “Are you
okay?”

The wrap on my knee and crutches under my armpits should
have been his first clue. But even though I’m fluent in sarcasm, I decided to
play it straight this once. “It hurts,” I said with a shrug.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to coordinate my tux to your
crutches,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess I never got
around to asking you, did I?” He shot me a sheepish grin. “Will you go to prom
with me?”

Good thing I had the crutches to prop me up, because I
nearly fell over from the shock. “But what about Amber Alexander?”

“The doctors said she’ll be okay. We’re just going to film
some scenes without her for the next few days, and then she’ll be back at it
next week, so you don’t need to worry about her.” He smiled. “You saved her
life.”

“Yeah.”

No wonder painkiller abuse was so rampant. I must have only
imagined he’d asked me to prom. It was nice while it lasted.

“So, you never answered,” he said. “Will you go with me?”

The Vicodin was definitely causing hallucinations. “To
prom?”

Craig nodded, his bright blue eyes silently pleading with me
to answer. I felt a hot flush in my cheeks.

“But I thought you liked Amber.”

“As a friend.”

“You kissed her.”

He laughed. “It’s called acting.”

“That’s not what the
L.A. Informer
said.”

He laid his hands on my shoulder and held me an arm’s length
apart. “Do you really believe everything you read in the tabloids?”

“But Hadley said--”

“Oh, come on,” Maya said. (I didn’t even realize she was
standing right there.) “Just answer him already!”

Before I could respond, Craig’s mouth was on mine. Kissing
me. Slowly at first, then with more urgency. Tingles danced throughout my body
as I kissed him back.

Finally he pulled away. “
That
wasn’t acting,” he whispered. “Happy
birthday, Dani.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The adventures continue in the Dani Spevak Mystery Series
–
Codename:
Dancer, Pointe of No Return
(June 2012), and
Pas De Death
(2013). This short story
stands alone and can be read in any order, although chronologically it is #2.5.
J

***

After writing her first manuscript (which she now realizes
was blatant Nancy Drew fanfic) at the ripe old age of nine, Amanda Brice took a
nearly twenty-year hiatus before returning to the craft. She is a two-time
finalist for the Golden Heart® award, and is president of Washington Romance
Writers. An attorney by day, Amanda is also a popular speaker on the writing
conference circuit with her copyright law workshops. For more information,
please visit
www.amandabrice.net.

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The Vanishing Spring

By

Carey Corp

The first time Tyler Diaz heard the Legend of the Vanishing
Spring, he was sitting on an intricately carved bench overlooking the tiny pond
next to the “Members Only” clubhouse, wishing he could disappear.

Face tipped skyward, he let the sun’s first powerful rays of
spring banish the chill from his veins. Letting his eyes drift shut, he
indulged in a moment of homesickness. The more the earth warmed, the more he
would miss
La
Villita
: the heavenly aroma of the
taquerías
wafting on the breeze, the swirling
rainbow of festive colors adorning both shops and shoppers, the soothing
cadences of
español
rolling off a thousand tongues in heated conversation.

Here, no one spoke Spanish, not even in school. Kids studied
only the most pretentious romance languages, plus Japanese, and—
ugh
—Latin.
Even everyday conversation was a crazy Stepford blend of stuck-up English,
ghetto teen, and French.

“We’re going to
La Petite Mais
’ for lattes. Wanna come?"

Tyler shook back his dark curls and blinked at the blonde
Barbie flanked by her silicone regime. No matter how long he lived among them,
he’d never get the kids of Quimby Acres—especially the girls. They seemed
to have an endless supply of money to waste on crap—clothes, electronics,
and the other various, over-priced
accoutrements
that accompanied a life
of privilege. Often when he stared at their expensive haircuts and European
wardrobes, he wondered how they would fare if their families ever fell from
grace.

Not that he knew what it was like to be poor. He wasn’t from
el barrio
,
didn’t have cousins with gang affiliation doing time for drive-bys. He came
from an average, middle class Mexican-American family. His great grandparents
had emigrated from Mexico City before his
abuelo
had been born. Since then, three
generations of Diazes had grown up less than a block apart in Little Village on
Chicago’s West Side. Well, almost grown up.

That was all B.C.

Before
his
papi
met
Carmen
.

Carmen was an overpriced accoutrement, herself. Totally
absurd. Ty still couldn’t comprehend how an honorable, hardworking family man
like Hector Diaz had fallen under Carmen’s evil spell. She wore eight hundred
dollar, bubblegum pink warm-up up suits, worked out like a prison inmate, and
treated her ridiculous little chorkie like she’d given birth to him.
It
—the
freakin’ dog—had gone to the Bahamas with Carmen and his dad, riding in
the luxury of a handbag that cost more than most people make in a year!

The first thing Carmen had done, as soon as she’d gotten the
obscenely large engagement ring onto her French manicured, anorexic finger was
to get his
papi
to sell the lucrative property he owned. Her second nefarious act was moving
them out of
La
Villita
to the gated community in Wilmette. The third and most unforgiveable
feat was to convince Hector Diaz he owed it to himself to see the world, while
his only son—a minor at that—deserved a first rate, private
education under the custodial eye of their housekeeper, Helga.