Sirenz Back in Fashion by Charlotte Bennardo Page B

never liked me. As for Trey, we’d sat next to each other in this class since September and I was lucky if he would pass worksheets to me.
    Before I could stop myself, I looked over at him again, expecting to see the superior expression he usually wore when speaking to the unwashed masses. Maybe he’d be laughing that I actually believed he was serious. Instead, I found him grinning expectantly.
    The bell rang.
    Grabbing my bag and shoving books, papers, pencils and whatever into it, I wrangled my way to the front of the room, a clutch of guys straggling around like shy groupies after a rock star. They kept their distance, although they hung in the doorway. Was this Hades’ idea of diminished powers? Either that or I was totally working the neurotic mental patient look.
    â€œGentlemen, don’t you have somewhere to go?” Laz said to them—they were blocking the entrance, preventing the next class from coming in. When they didn’t budge, he went over to shoo them away and I seized my chance.
    I glided over to the desk where Laz kept his grade book and discreetly scanned the roster of names, written neatly in his block printing in alphabetical order. Harris, Hernandez, Jackson … Kwan? No Johnson, Sharisse. An uncomfortable tingling raced up my spine. I read it again. And again. She simply wasn’t there. We’d had two tests, five quizzes, and God knew how many homeworks so far for this quarter. I knew she’d done them—we studied for the last test together and she beat my score by three points, but now there was no record of it.
    â€œMargaret?” I jumped when Mr. Lazarus said my name.
    I looked up from the grade book and found him standing on the opposite side of the desk, smiling as he had when I broke my pencil during class. Hades and I would definitely have to have a chat.
    â€œDo you need something?”
    I mashed my lips together, somehow turned them into a smile, and shook my head. “Nope, I’m good.” Then before he could say anything further, I spun on my heel and headed out the door. Thankfully, my fan club had dispersed and gone to whatever class they had next. But I hadn’t escaped completely.
    â€œMeg!” a male voice shouted. Trey jogged up to me. “So, can you come?” he asked.
    This is ridiculous! Last week you wouldn’t give me the time of day! I put my face in my bag as if I were looking for something.
    â€œIt’s my treat,” he added.
    â€œI can’t,” I mumbled. “I’m meeting my boyfriend after school … and if I don’t leave now I’ll be late for French!” I ran for the stairwell, not looking back.
    Classes proved uneventful. In French I sat in the back of the room off Madame Cratier’s radar, fielded a question in Social Studies without consequences, and survived a lab—with two guys on my team—by not making any requests or issuing any orders. At lunch I sat alone, burying my face in my notes to discourage any conversation. In Lit, again, Shar’s seat was occupied by someone else, and she was MIA from Miss Winning’s grade book.
    When the final bell rang, I made my way down to Shar’s locker—there was one last thing I wanted to check. No one had asked me about her, and I hadn’t brought her up—yet. I wove my way through the milling students who chatted as they walked to their lockers, all the while searching for Alana Dean.
    I spotted her at her locker, Caroline and Kate close by. I approached the group with trepidation. They were talking and giggling, and when I heard Alana’s voice, it dredged up the memory of that last text, the one that Shar read to me before she was taken away: Going out with your vampire roomie again?
    They ignored me as I sidled up to them, and I stood there for several seconds, apparently invisible.
    â€œAlana,” I began. She didn’t turn around right away, but I could tell she heard me—or at