The Dead Boyfriend by R. L. Stine

the darkness, forcing my breathing to return to normal.
    Caitlyn, you’re not handling this well. Caitlyn, get a grip.
    Where was I?
    I squinted across a narrow lawn to a square brick house with a single light on over the front stoop. A small one-car garage at the top of the driveway had its door open.
    It took me a few seconds to realize I had parked in front of Blade’s house. I stared at the yellow light over the stoop until the house blurred behind it.
    I knew I didn’t deliberately drive here. At least, I didn’t know I was going to park in front of his house. “I should go home,” I murmured out loud.
    I reached for the button to start the engine. But then I lowered my hand to my lap. I needed to talk to him. No. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to sit here for hours, till the middle of the night, waiting for him to return from his date. And then rush him, run at him, confront him crying and screaming.
    No. I didn’t want that.
    So … why couldn’t I start the car? Why couldn’t I move? Why was I sitting here, every muscle in my body tense, my stomach rumbling and growling, wave after wave of nausea making me hold my breath and clench my jaw?
    I don’t know how much time passed. I glanced at the car clock when the red Mustang finally turned into the driveway. It was nearly one o’clock.
    I watched the car stop in front of the garage. I watched the red taillights die. I watched the driver’s door swing open. Now it all seemed to be in slow motion, like some kind of slowed-down dream.
    Blade stretched his arms over his head. Then he closed the car door quietly. Quietly so he wouldn’t wake his parents, I guessed.
    I sat and watched, hands clasped tightly in my lap. When he started loping toward the kitchen door, I finally moved. I moved fast.
    I shoved open the car door, grabbed my bag, and leaped out. I didn’t bother to close it. I ran around the trunk to the driveway and began to run, gripping my bag in one hand, waving my other hand above me head. “Blade! Blade!” I shouted his name in a shrill voice I didn’t recognize.
    It was a warm April night, almost balmy, but the air felt cool against my burning cheeks. “Blade! Stop! Blade!”
    Why did I drag my bag with me? I can’t answer that question. Was I thinking clearly? Not at all.
    Blade turned and I saw the surprise on his face. I kept waving my hand above my head as I ran, some kind of desperate signal.
    I stopped a few feet in front of him, breathing hard, my chest heaving up and down.
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “Caitlyn? What are you doing here?” No warmth in his voice. His eyes cold. Wary.
    â€œI-I-I” I stammered. I searched for something good in his face, just a tiny sign that he was glad to see me. No. Not even that. A sign that he liked me? No.
    â€œIt’s late,” he said, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie.
    â€œI … I … Didn’t you say you loved me?” I blurted out, my voice trembling as if underwater.
    He blinked. He lowered his gaze to the ground. “We had fun,” he murmured.
    â€œFun?” I cried. “Fun? You said you loved me. You know you did.”
    He raised his eyes. His mouth formed a sneer. “You didn’t really think I was serious—did you?”
    â€œHuh?” My mouth dropped open. I kept my eyes locked on him. I was straining to see the Blade I knew, the Blade I loved.
    â€œWe had fun, that’s all,” he said. He yawned.
    I think it was the yawn that set me off. The loud, open-mouthed yawn put me over the edge.
    I felt something in my brain snap. At that moment, at that second, something inside me cracked apart. I guess it was my whole life.
    I really can’t describe it. Something in my brain just exploded.
    I saw the surprise on Blade’s face. Or was it fear?
    And then everything went crazy.

 
    14.
    â€œFun?” I screamed.