Free Beautiful Creatures by Kami García, Margaret Stohl Page A

there for a minute.
    “You know what’s stupid? I have books under my bed.” I just said it, like it was something I said all the time.
    “What?”
    “Novels. Tolstoy. Salinger. Vonnegut. And I read them. You know, because I want to.”
    She rolled over, propping her head on her elbow. “Yeah? What do your jock buddies think of that?”
    “Let’s just say I keep it to myself and stick to my jump shot.”
    “Yeah, well. At school, I noticed you stick to comics.” She tried to sound casual. “
Silver Surfer
. I saw you reading it. Right before everything happened.”
    You noticed?
    I might have noticed.
    I didn’t know if we were speaking, or if I was just imagining the whole thing, except I wasn’t that crazy—yet.
    She changed the subject, or more accurately, she changed it back. “I read, too. Poetry mostly.”
    I could imagine her stretched out on her bed reading a poem, although I had trouble imagining that bed in Ravenwood Manor.
     “Yeah? I’ve read that guy, Bukowski.” Which was true, if two poems counted.
    “I have all his books.”
    I knew she didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know. “Are you going to tell
     me?”
    “Tell you what?”
    “What happened back there?”
    There was a long silence. She sat up and pulled at the grass around her. She flopped around on her stomach and looked me in
     the eye. She was only a few inches away from my face. I lay there, frozen, trying to focus on what she was saying. “I really
     don’t know. Things like that just happen to me, sometimes. I can’t control it.”
    “Like the dreams.” I watched her face, looking for even a flicker of recognition.
    “Like the dreams.” She said it without thinking, then flinched and looked at me, stricken. I had been right all along.
    “You remember the dreams.”
    She hid her face in her hands.
    I sat up. “I knew it was you, and you knew it was me. You knew what I was talking about the whole time.” I pulled her hands
     away from her face, and the current buzzed up my arm.
    You’re the girl.
    “Why didn’t you say something last night?”
    I didn’t want you to know.
    She wouldn’t look at me.
    “Why?” The word sounded loud, in the quiet of the garden. And when she looked at me, her face was pale, and she looked different.
     Frightened. Her eyes were like the sea before a storm on the Carolina coast.
    “I didn’t expect you to be here, Ethan. I thought they were just dreams. I didn’t know you were a real person.”
    “But once you knew it was me, why didn’t you say anything?”
    “My life is complicated. And I didn’t want you—I don’t want anyone to get mixed up in it.” I had no idea what she was talking
     about. I was still touching her hand; I was so aware of it. I could feel the rough stone beneath us, and I grabbed for the
     edge of it, supporting myself. Only my hand closed around something small and round, stuck to the edge of the stone. A beetle,
     or maybe a rock. It came off from the stone into my hand.
    Then the shock hit. I felt Lena’s hand tighten around mine.
    What’s happening, Ethan?
    I don’t know.
    Everything around me changed, and it was like I was somewhere else. I was in the garden, but not in the garden. And the smell
     of lemons changed, into the smell of smoke—
    It was midnight, but the sky was on fire. The flames reached into the sky, pushing forth massive fists of smoke, swallowing
     everything in their path. Even the moon. The ground had turned to swamp. Burned ashen ground that had been drenched by the
     rains that preceded the fire. If only it had rained today. Genevieve choked back the smoke that burned her throat so badly
     it hurt to breathe. Mud clung to the bottom of her skirts, causing her to stumble every few feet on the voluminous folds of
     fabric, but she forced herself to keep moving.
    It was the end of the world. Of her world.
    And she could hear the screams, mixed with gunshots and the