“Okay, time for some improv,” I said.

“Improv?”

“Yes, it’s an acting term. We need to make up some stories.”

Donavan nodded, then wandered once around the perimeter of the room. He stopped at a small closet and bent down to pick up something. It was a paper of sorts. He wiped it on his jeans, then studied it close.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a picture.”

“Of what?” I dropped from the bed and inched closer.

He was still for a long, quiet moment before he said, “My grandfather. I thought he died suddenly, from a heart attack. At least that’s what my parents said. But they sent him here?”

“What?” I slid next to Donavan, my mouth right at his shoulder level, and looked at the picture. Only it wasn’t a picture at all, it was a faded old receipt. “That’s not . . .”

“I thought you said we were making up stories. Don’t the rules say that you’re supposed to go along with mine?”

“Yes . . . actually. I was supposed to. You caught me off guard.”

“You literally just said we were doing improv.”

“I know. I just didn’t expect . . .”

“You thought you were the only one who would be able to do it?”

That’s exactly what I had thought. “Sorry. That was really good. Have you acted before?”

“No, but it’s not rocket science.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you said exactly what you meant.” So much for starting on a new foot. Of course that’s what he thought. He was Dad Number Two, after all. Why was I letting this hurt my feelings? I didn’t care what Choir Boy thought. The only thing that would impress him, I was sure, was if I were genius-level smart. Literally, a rocket scientist. “I’m going to check out the rest of the building.”

Nine

Donavan and I had separated (I obviously hadn’t talked myself out of being irritated with him), and I was on the third floor, wandering through the dark halls, my phone light shining the way. I ran right into a spiderweb strung across the hall. I blew air through my lips and wiped it off my face. Grime coated my hands so I was sure all I had managed to do was make my face even scarier.

At the end of the corridor, an open door cast a strip of light on the dark ground. I clicked off my phone and tried to get in the mind-set of my character. If I were Scarlett, wandering through this abandoned building, sick with a disease that made me hunt humans, how would I walk, think, feel? I slowed my step, like I was creeping. My body was being ravaged by a disease, I must’ve been in some sort of pain. I began to limp a little and hold one arm against my chest. I easily fell into character, which didn’t surprise me. Channeling Scarlett wasn’t hard for me. It was channeling her feelings for Benjamin that was the problem.

I let myself think of Grant’s eyes. That’s what would keep me going. His eyes for sure.

“You have to come see this room,” Donavan said from behind me.

I stopped but didn’t turn. I continued my hissing breath. Then I turned slowly, jerkily, until I faced him, looking up from under my lashes with a hungry stare.

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s creepy. You obviously have that down well. Come on.”

Right, I had this part down. I needed to change something. But how could I show I was still a zombie while also showing I was still in love?

I followed him—still in character—slowly, and dragging one foot. He led me down one flight of stairs, then disappeared behind an open door. When I got inside the room, I didn’t look around, I just focused on Donavan. His back was to me. I limped all the way to him. I ran a slow finger up his spine. Then I grabbed him by the head and pretended to snap his neck.

“I honestly don’t think you’d be strong enough to snap my neck. You should’ve found something to knock me out with.”

I tried to hide my smile, because he was facing me now. Instead of speaking, I lunged for his neck with an open mouth.

He laughed and backed away, grabbing my arms to hold me at bay. “You’re not a vampire!” he said, while struggling to hold me off. He twisted me around so I was facing the opposite direction, then pulled me up against him, wrapping his arms around me and trapping mine in his hold. I let myself relax against him. I was Scarlett; he was Benjamin. His arms were strong, so was his chest, which pressed all along my back.

“If I let you go,” he said by my ear, “will you stop trying to bite me?”

The skin on the back of my neck tingled to life. That was new. It was working. Being in this building, away from cameras, interacting with someone as Scarlett was stirring up some feelings that I could draw from.

He tightened his hold slightly. “Deal?”

A shiver went through me. I leaned down and bit his arm. Not hard, but enough to make him feel it.

He released me. “Lacey Barnes, you are so weird. Seriously.”

I finally dropped the act and laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s fun. You have to admit it.” It was surprisingly fun to goof around with Donavan. Maybe because he was usually so serious. I decided it was now my mission to help this boy act like a seventeen-year-old. At least some of the time. “Wait, are you seventeen?”

“What? Yes,” he said, registering my question.

“And are you opposed to having fun?” I asked. “Does fun mean that you are not learning something new?”

“I am not opposed to having fun.”

“Good.” I looked around the room we were standing in. It was cleaner than the other rooms. Almost lived in. There was a metal bedframe with an old stained mattress in one corner. A night table with broken drawers sat next to the bed. A picture frame with a real picture inside was on the night table. I walked over to it. A man and woman and three kids smiled at the camera while standing in knee-high yellowing grass.

“Did they forget to clean out this room?” I asked. The rest of the room was cluttered with an array of other things—a hanging rack of clothes like I had in my dressing room (only men’s), a stack of dusty books, a lantern.

“I don’t know, but check it out. I don’t think this old man liked his nurses much.” He went to the nightstand and opened the top drawer. It scraped along its track as he did. He shined his phone on the contents.

I peered inside to see a serious knife. “Wow. That knife is not messing around.” It was huge, with a serrated edge. It looked like the kind I’d see on the set of a movie about a drug lord. I thought about it for thirty seconds too long. It was like my brain was trying to fit the knife into the nursing home script I’d given when we climbed through the window. But as I slowly assessed the evidence I was coming to a realization.

“And what’s in drawer number two?” Donavan tugged open the next drawer and revealed plastic bags full of white powder.

I gasped, then said aloud what I had realized. “Someone is living here now.”

He paused, his eyes darting upward like he was thinking, then he cursed. It sounded funny coming out of his mouth, like it was the first time he’d ever done it in his life. He slammed the drawer shut, grabbed a dingy towel off the corner of the bed, and wiped the handles as if he thought his fingerprints would immediately appear in some sort of database.