The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (8 page)

To: Lucas Castillo
{[email protected]
}
From: Zara Moss
{[email protected]
}
Subject: My savior. Really?

Reno is none of your business and I wouldn’t know. I have to do a report all by myself so I’ll probably miss out. My partner
sucks.

I’m not
yours,
Zara

. . . . . . .

To: Zara Moss
{[email protected]
}
From: Lucas Castillo
{[email protected]
}
Subject: Report

Ungrateful. Do you not remember that I practically wrote the entire thing already?

Yours (whether you like it or
not),
Lucas

. . . . . . .

To: Lucas Castillo
{[email protected]
}
From: Zara Moss
{[email protected]
}
Subject: NOT
YOURS!

How am I supposed to know if what you wrote are true facts? If you’re not going to help, quit e-mailing
me.

I left the e-mails at that. I didn’t care if she was upset with me, but I didn’t want to make her hate me. I cared too much about her for that to
happen.

The next day, while Zara met her friends inside the cafeteria to keep out of the cooling weather, I stayed with Gabriella and Dylan out at the cars. Gabriella’s braids kept the wind from flapping her hair as she yelled about why I was wrong to save Zara. I argued back, of course, but as I did, she turned to Zara and scowled at her as if she was going to kill her on the spot. My muscles tensed with anger. It was one thing for me to treat Zara coldly, but I would not tolerate Gabriella doing
so.

“Gabriella,
párate
!” I commanded.

She looked back with a cheap, satisfied grin. I ignored her and checked the cafeteria. By Zara’s startled expression, I knew she’d noticed the death threat. I glowered at Gabriella.

“What?” Gabriella snickered and smoothed a loose strand of black hair away from her eyes. “It’s only fair. She has no idea how miserable she is making me right now while we keep her safe. The good news is that the redhead caught the flu. Heard it in the TAs’ office today. Now I don’t have to go out with the girls until next weekend,” she said, sounding relieved.

When I saw Zara coming toward us, I turned toward the lake and began walking. “Nobody can make you miserable except for yourself, Gabriella,” I yelled
back.

Dylan straightened from his conspicuous boredom. “Where are you
going?”

“A walk. And honestly, Gabriella, you’re going to let a human get you all worked up like this? The poor girl has no idea, give her a break. By the way, don’t wait for me after school. I’m going to get meat for Niya and
Malik.”

After I returned from the lake, I walked aimlessly around campus, waiting for Zara to go home. When she did, I left for the
market.

When my family arrived in Tahoe, the first thing we did was find a butcher we could trust. We met Joe at the supermarket off Lake Tahoe Boulevard, a smuggler trying to make extra coin for his family. I usually went straight to the alley behind the store for special orders, but I didn’t need too much, so I went inside to pay civilly.

“Hey, Lucas, what can I get you?” Joe said, dropping his customers. The husband and wife waited for a second, confused, then walked away, muttering, when they realized Joe wasn’t going to help
them.

“I need twenty pounds of sirloin steak, two turkeys, and six racks of ribs,” I
said.

He smiled as he did every time. “Ever going to tell me what you do with all this
meat?”

“No.”

He laughed overdramatically and disappeared behind the thick hanging plastic doors. He returned with several packages wrapped in butcher paper, tied tightly with
twine.

“Your special order should be here by November,” he added under his breath as I handed him flaps of
cash.

“Great.” I didn’t
care.

Afterward I decided to go down the dairy aisle for a kick. When I passed the produce, I made a note to never buy avocados from there. They were pathetically small, not like the ones at home, which looked like large squash. I was still wandering the aisles, bored and thinking about how I missed eating like I used to, when I saw Jett staring at me and all the meat I carried. I turned away and left the store to avoid an unnecessary confrontation.

Niya and Malik were waiting for me outside the garage. They drooled as I laid all the meat on the ground and unwrapped each package one by one. When I was done, I threw each piece of meat far into the woods. Niya and Malik had disappeared hundreds of feet into the trees before I could tell them to go, so I sealed the bloody butcher paper tightly, discarded it in the trash, and went in through the garage, wondering if Zara had e-mailed me
back.

Zara

CHAPTER SIX

Best Interest

Lucas was insane. Why didn’t he e-mail me back? That arrogant jerk. What, did he think that I was
really
going to pull this off on my
own?

When Ashley caught the flu and canceled our Reno trip, I was tempted to do the rest of the paper myself, but I bit my lip and set the project aside, assuming that he would e-mail me back. But Sunday night came, and he never
did.

After dinner I went to my room, crossed my legs on my bed, and flipped open the thin, glossy pages of my history book to chapter 1, “The New World.” In history class sophomore year, we’d brushed briefly on the subject of the New World; unfortunately, it had not advanced my knowledge of the subject. I vaguely remembered Spain, explorers, and Pocahontas, who I was sure was not a real person. Or was
she?

As I skimmed for ideas on what to write about, a black-and-white painting of a stele caught my eye. It was a large, flat stone with a warrior carved in its center, facing sideways, holding a club or a head. It was strange, but what stood out to me was the tree standing next to it. I thought its spiraling roots looked familiar.

The next image showed Hernan Cortez, the famous Spanish explorer, in a metal breastplate. The caption read, “The Aztecs and Mayans survived amidst bloody battles between each other until the arrival of Spanish explorer Hernan Cortez, who set in motion the fall of their primitive empires.”

I was yawning, already bored, when my phone buzzed against my pillow. It was a text from
Bri:

Everyone is meeting at the slaughter house Wednesday morning to catch some rays before it gets too
cold.

The slaughter house was the spot we went to all summer. It was a foreclosed house Bri’d found along the lake earlier that summer. The balcony was right over the water, so we bought cheap folding chairs and left them there for when we decided to go back. I yawned again and rubbed my eyes as I set the history book on the
floor.

You should invite that boy from Lucky
Pin.

What was Bri on? Lately she seemed like a hippie at Woodstock—too much of this free
love.

Funny. I was just thinking how much I couldn’t stand
him.

Why are you always so upset lately?
And just do it . . . he’s
HAWT.

No
.

I put my phone on silent and rolled over, then an idea came to me. I sprang to my desk and shook the mouse to take the computer out of sleep
mode.

To: Lucas Castillo
{[email protected]
}
From: Zara Moss
{[email protected]
}
Subject: Lake House

Some friends of mine are meeting at Lake Tahoe tomorrow, at a vacant house on Baldwin Beach. You can’t miss it. Why don’t you meet me there and we can finish the
report.

Zara

I didn’t expect him to e-mail me back, so I was shocked when I heard the new-mail alert whistling on my computer a minute
later.

To: Zara Moss
{[email protected]
}
From: Lucas Castillo
{[email protected]
}
Subject: Doesn’t sound fun . . .

And I hate the
water.

Ew. Ew. Ew! I clenched my fists and screamed into the pillow. When I’d caught my breath, though, it took minutes to fall
asleep.

A rainstorm swept in that night. The wind scraped the branches against my window so loudly that I woke up. The whistling gusts prevented me from falling asleep again, so I lay on my back and let the wind play its song, wondering what Lucas would be like if he were bearable to be
around.

When I woke up the next morning, the sky was black. I could hear thunderstorms coming in. Jett called to cancel the lake party and instead came over with Bri and Tommy to watch a movie (in a friend sort of way). On Tuesday, despite the gloom, the girls resumed planning for Reno, hoping the skies would clear by Friday—so they could wear their slutty clothes, of course. But the odd, omnipresent storm stuck around until Wednesday, and it didn’t look like it’d leave us any time soon. Tahoe’s weather forecasters had no idea where it came from or why it hovered, unmoving, over Lake
Tahoe.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s getting any worse, so we’re all still going to meet at the slaughter house today in one hour.” Bri had called bright and early. Wednesdays were our off
days.

I glanced out my window. It was gray and drizzly. “To do what? Nobody is going to get in the water, and we’ll all get
soaked.”

“Why do you always have to be the party pooper? Who cares what we’re doing? Everyone is going to be there, so it’ll be
fun.”

“I might stop by. I have to deposit my last check from Lucky Pin and work on my history report that’s due tomorrow.”

I could hear Bri yelling at her little brothers on the other end. “One hour,” she said before hanging
up.

I checked my e-mail, curious if Lucas had happened to e-mail me back. Zip. Now I’d have to stop by the library too.
That lazy piece of  . . . 

I cursed under my breath as I dressed. With the storm, everything had cooled off a ton. The leaves were changing colors quickly and falling in flurries that left the branches bare. I slipped into a light sweater, not understanding why anyone would want to go to the lake to hang out. The water would be freezing. But I hopped in the Subaru anyways, turned up the heat, and headed to my bank at the edge of
town.

It was a small building surrounded by towering pine trees, just off the 89. Thunder had gradually become constant, and the underbrush rattled as I stepped out into the empty parking lot. I ran inside, out of the drizzle, deposited my check, and went back into the grayness. Then I heard a suddenness of soft whispers carrying on the
wind.

I froze in my tracks and checked around for other people, holding my breath. But there was no one. As I looked back at my car, a shower of simultaneous lightning bolts struck the mountainside just past the bank. It was unnatural and terrifying, but amazing—I counted at least fifteen bolts at one time. I stepped out from under the bank’s awning, watching in astonishment as the barrage continued for seconds, then minutes. And then, before I knew it, my ears were listening to musical rain tapping on the asphalt, the lightning had stopped, and the whispers were
gone.

I hustled to my car, slammed the door shut, and fumbled for the locks. It was a false sense of safety, but I did it anyway. I revved the wagon and took off toward the lake, not wanting to be alone anymore. When I hit Baldwin Beach and found the gravel-covered driveway along Route 89, I turned
in.

My stomach immediately twisted into knots. Poppy’s red sedan was parked next to Jett’s black truck. Bri’s car was there too, and many others I didn’t know. I shifted into reverse quickly, backed out, and headed for the pier. Why was Poppy there? It was midday. High school didn’t let out for a few more
hours.

I drove to the pier, furious, feeling blindsided by Jett. The windshield wipers were working double time, but the rain poured down in sheets, and their tiny blades couldn’t work fast enough. The parking lot was empty when I pulled in. I parked by the staircase that led down to the dock between the library and the coffee shop, where I intended to go
first.

As I stepped underneath the eaves and out of the rain, I heard my name spoken in a way that gave me shivers. I stopped and turned. The sexiness in it excited me, but I felt an uncontrolled rage coming when I saw Lucas walking toward
me.

I was about to give him a mouthful for pulling the no-show on me when suddenly a pounding rose in my chest, rhythmic and
hard.

“Were you always like this?” Lucas asked as I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. He clearly realized he was done for, even though I’d grabbed my chest to stop the
pain.

“Like what?” I snarled, out of
breath.

“Angry. You are angry a
lot.”

The pounding spiked, and it was too hard to stand. I bent over and braced myself, clutching my fingers over my knees. “No. It started after the accident.” I hated that I was telling him
this.

“What started after the accident?” Lucas leaned in and put his hand on my
back.

I focused on his blue eyes through short breaths. They were blurry, so I squinted as I wheezed, “The moodiness, the obsessive compulsiveness, the migraines, the heart
pain.”

The worry that consumed his face sharpened. “Zara, are you
okay?”

“I’m fine, Lucas,” I snapped. As luck would have it, the pressure lifted and I could breathe. I straightened up and breathed in deeply. “What were you doing all week? Our report is due tomorrow. How can you not
care?”

His eyes flickered to the coffee shop doors behind me, and he laughed coldly. “I’ll save you some trouble.” My heart nearly stopped again when he reached past me. The scruff on his face shadowed the dimple in his chin so handsomely, but I wondered if he ever shaved. He noticed and smiled softly as he opened the chiming door. “I do
care.”

My mouth flew open as he backed away. I improvised by pausing in the middle of the doorjamb to buy more
time.

“How?” I grunted.

My body blocked his way, and we remained wedged together between the smell of hot coffee and the chilly rain outside. His face was only inches from mine when his grin widened.

“I only care when it’s in my best interests.” His mystical voice urged me to move closer, but his strong hand pushed the hollow of my back, forcing me into the coffee
shop.

I huffed and spun back to Lucas, laughing incredulously. “In your best interests?”

“You ask too many questions.” He closed the door with a teasing smile, delighting in my confusion. “See you
later.”

“You’re not getting coffee?” I lashed
out.

His perfect smile melted me into giddy goo, and I could tell he knew it from the soft laugh that escaped his kissable lips. “No,
muñeca
.”

I stared at him as he walked away, hating that arrogant smirk of his. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I waited for my
coffee.

The rain was settling as I walked to Tahoe Pier Library at the end of the strip mall. Mae sat at the circulation desk reading a book as I walked in. Though she was old, there was nothing about her that reminded me of my own grandmother. Her white hair was short and stuck out straight at the back of her head. She hated perms. And her frail body looked lost in the large, chunky sweater she
wore.

“Well, hello there, Zara,” Mae said, setting her book
down.

The library was small, the size of two of my bedrooms. It was dark inside; today the large windows only brought in the outside gloom, but the marigold walls made it feel cheery anyway. The place was old, with the original sixties sparkling popcorn on the ceiling, and the stagnant air smelled of old pages and dust, but I loved to come here. Near the window sat two high-backed chairs, a place I used to sit in summer and read books with
Mae.

“Hi, Mae. It’s been too long,” I said as thunder boomed outside.

“I heard about your accident. Are you
okay?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” I answered. I didn’t want to talk about anything that reminded me of Lucas. “Hey, listen, I need your help with a report on Aztecs, and I know that you like to read books about that sort of
stuff.”

She giggled lightly to herself.

“What?” I
asked.

“
Stuff
. You say it like you are completely
lost.”

“You’re right. I am. But can you help me? My partner began writing some things down. I have it right here so you can see what we have so far.” I pulled the sheet of paper out of my purse and unfolded it. I had to admit, his all-caps handwriting was
sleek.

Mae grabbed the paper and took a moment to read. Her head started to
shake.

“What? Is it bad?” I pressed nervously.

“This is very interesting.”

“Good interesting?”

“This”—she held up the page—“is not freshman-level reading.”

“What do you mean?” I snatched the paper from her hands quickly and searched it for answers.

“Have you read it yet?” she
asked.

“Not line for
line.”

She pointed to the paper and picked up her book again. “I’ll give you a moment, honey. You need to read
that.”

I brought the paper over to the window and sat down to read. Hairs rose on my arms as I finished the disturbing contents. Kidnapping women and children to be slaughtered didn’t sit well with me. I shoved the paper back into my purse to distract myself from the slime stirring in my
gut.

“Did you know all of this?” I
asked.

“Some of it, not
all.”

Mae disappeared among the bookshelves. She came back with an old book, twined together by thin thread. “Here. This will help with your
report.”

As she set the burgundy book down on the counter, I worried it would fall to shreds on contact with my fingertips.

“What is it?” I asked, afraid to touch
it.

“A book on the New
World.”

I continued to stare at it. The old paper was a burnt-yellow color on the edges, and rips marred the sides of the
volume.

“Where did you get it?” I
asked.

“My great-grandfather was a geologist who studied Mesoamerica.” Mae chuckled. “This was just one of the many crazy things he had that he didn’t want the government taking. So he passed it on to me when I was a girl. It looks like it’s made of skin or something—it’s always given me the jibbers.”

“Mae, I can’t take this,” I said, scooting it closer to
her.

She shoved the book back quickly. “No. This is an emergency.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll just do my research on the Internet,” I insisted, taking a step toward the
door.

“You will do no such thing. Listen, right before my grandfather died, he told me that a Maya Indian gave it to him when he was in Guatemala during the Depression. He never told me why it meant so much to him, only that it was very important. Maybe you can find out why it’s so special. I’ve tried to find books similar to this, but I can’t find anything in print. As far as I know, this is the only book of its
kind.”