The Mary Shelley Club, Goldy Moldavsky [e ink ebook reader txt] 📗

The man from outside was standing across the room, dressed all in black. Even his hands were gloved. As Rachel stared at his face, she realized now why it had looked so pale before. What she’d thought was flesh was actually a white mask.

Then Rachel caught sight of the other man. He stood by the TV, dressed just like the first. They stared back at her, their faces scarred and rubbery.

The brain does curious things when suddenly presented with something it cannot comprehend. Rachel’s very first thought—a flash—was to offer the men a glass of water, like she’d been taught to do for all guests. And then, just as quickly, she understood. These men were not guests.

Rachel’s first impulse was to call for help, but anything that wanted to come spilling out of her got jammed in her throat, frozen along with the rest of her. She felt like she was suddenly sinking in quicksand and any movement would only thrust her deeper into the muck.

Two things happened very quickly and all at once.

One of the men charged out the door, blasting through it like he was swept up by the wind. The second man moved too, but not for the door. He lunged toward Rachel, and just like that she broke free of her paralysis and ran. She thought only of the back door in the kitchen, picturing herself opening it, breaking through to the crisp backyard air, and escaping. In a moment, she didn’t have to picture it. She was in the kitchen, she was reaching for the door, fingertips an inch from the knob.

But then his hand was a vice around her arm. She was caught.

 1

ONE YEAR LATER

I OPENED THE door and Saundra was there, her smile and outfit sparkling.

“Get dressed, Rachel, we’re going to a party.”

I’d only known the girl three weeks but here she was, showing up unannounced at my apartment like she’d been doing this for years.

“Sorry, can’t.” I was in my sweats and getting ready to relax with my favorite comfort movie of all time, Night of the Living Dead. Also, I hated parties. “My mom doesn’t want me going out on a school night.”

Like an apparition in a bathroom mirror, my mom appeared behind me. “Sunday’s not technically a school night, is it, Jamonada?”

Jamonada was a pet name my grandmother had given me because I was such a chubby baby. I’d tried to give it back but there were apparently no refunds, and anyway, my mom loved it. It was Spanish for “ham.” Not like “That girl is so funny and precocious—she’s such a ham!” Like literal lunch meat. And now Saundra had heard it, so there was that.

“Hi, Ms. Chavez!” Saundra said.

“There’s school tomorrow,” I muttered. “So, yeah, definitely considered a school night.”

“But you didn’t have school today,” my mom countered. “I’d say the jury’s still out.”

Saundra nodded emphatically while I stared at my mom like she hadn’t raised me for sixteen years. At first, I honestly could not figure out her angle. And then it hit me: My own mother was worried about my friendless-loner-patheticness.

“But you want me rested and refreshed for school tomorrow, right, Mom?” I did that clenched-teeth thing people do when they want someone to take a hint.

My mom did that bright-smile thing people do when they ignore hints. “You had the whole weekend to rest and refresh, honey.”

We were at an impasse. I wanted to spend the night with the living dead, and my mom wanted me to spend time with the actual living. Time to bring out the big guns.

“Saundra, tell my mom where the party is.” It was a risk. For all I knew Saundra wanted to take me to Gracie Mansion to hang out with the mayor, and with the circles she ran in, that wasn’t entirely implausible. But chances were good that the setting for this party would suck.

Saundra hesitated, but I pressed on. “Go on, tell her.”

“An abandoned house in Williamsburg,” Saundra said.

I swiveled back to my mom, glinting with triumph like a freshly polished trophy. “An abandoned house in Williamsburg. Hear that, Mom?”

It was a game of chicken now. My mom and I stared each other down, waiting to see who would give in first.

“Have fun!” Mom said.

Thwarted by my own mother. She’d had only two rules for me when we moved to New York City: 1) Keep my grades up, and 2) make friends. The fact that Saundra had shown up here should have been enough proof that I’d made friends. Well, one friend. Either way, I’d accomplished the impossible task of making a new friend as a junior at a new school. But to my mom, a party meant more possible friendships, so that meant I was being dragged to Williamsburg.

I got changed (I refused to take off my tie-dye pajama shirt, despite Saundra’s protests, but I dressed it up with cut-off Dickies and a jacket) and we left.

“We could walk,” I suggested. We were in Greenpoint, just one neighborhood over, and the weather was nice.

Saundra snorted. “What, and get murdered?”

“It’s pretty safe around here.”

Saundra dismissed me and the borough of Brooklyn with a laugh and took out her phone. “Yeah. Sure.”

The Lyft arrived in less than three minutes.

We sat in the backseat, Saundra multitasking by taking a dozen selfies, updating all her social, and telling me who’d be at the party. This also happened to be our lunch routine, where she told me all the gossip about people I still barely recognized in the hallways.

Saundra had decided we would be friends as soon as I walked into Mr. Inzlo’s history class at Manchester Prep. When I sat down, Saundra had leaned over and asked if she could borrow a pencil—a total front, I knew, since I’d spied a pencil in the open front pocket of her lavender Herschel.

At first, I’d wondered why Saundra wanted to be my friend, but I quickly realized that Saundra had started talking to me