I knew the moment he walked through the door he wouldn't leave unless I gave him my soul. His ice cold, blue eyes watched me intently, as he took note of our surroundings. His smug grin showed he had me right where he wanted me. He clenched his hands at his sides, proving himself a natural predator who'd found his prey. For a brief moment, my natural instincts to react took hold of me. Should I freeze and pray he didn’t spot me? Should I run and hope to get away before he could catch me? Or should I stay and fight, proving to him and myself that I was much stronger than he was?
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to get away, I gave in and decided to fight. Let’s face it, this wouldn’t be my first fight with a dead guy, so what would I have to lose? Standing in line at Coffee Times Coffee House, my favorite local coffee shop and now employer, I rolled my eyes and sighed as I realized my morning was about to take a turn for the worse. I glared daggers at the dead guy waiting impatiently by the exit as I took a step away from the counter, on which perched the precious coffee I so needed on this, the first day of my senior year of high school.
On most days, being a mediator to the dead was kind of a cool job. However, today my role was seriously interfering with my need for caffeine and to get to school on time–both equally important factors.
“Seriously?” I said, agitated as I brushed past him and walked straight to my cherry red Eclipse parked next to the curb, outside the coffee shop. The smell of sweet coffee lingered, even outside the small coffee shop, taunting me with its alluring fragrance.
Following close behind, the guy in the baby pink polo shirt with the collar turned up sauntered into my car. “I don’t know what you are so upset about,” he began as he inspected the inside of my car. “I'm the one dead here.” His cocky attitude and obvious annoyance with me were not helping the situation any.
I glanced over at him and rolled my eyes. I had heard that same line dozens of times. Sure, every dead teenager expected me to jump when they asked me to help, and with a perky smile plastered across my face, of course. Unfortunately for them, I was not perky but laced with more attitude than this kid could probably endure, especially since I'd missed my morning caffeine intake.
I noticed his eyes taking in my outfit, and by the almost disgusted look on his face, I could tell he didn't approve. One look and I could tell, Lucas preferred girls in cheerleader uniforms, or clothes that revealed way more than I was willing to share. He was the type of guy I had purposely avoided my entire high school career. Go figure, my senior year would be the time I had to deal with a guy like him. I glanced down at my dark skinny jeans, cuffed at the ankle, and my flowing, plum-purple t-shirt, and didn’t understand what was so wrong with my outfit.
He was really starting to make me mad, and he definitely didn’t want to mess with me when I was angry and without caffeine.