Killer's Kiss by R.L. Stine

Author:R.L. Stine
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Simon Pulse

Chapter

14

“Nervous. Nervous. Nervous,” Delia mumbled to herself. She paced up and down outside the art room after school. “Nervous. Have to stop being nervous.”

She hurried halfway down the hall to her locker. She dialed the combination and yanked open the door. She checked her hair in the little mirror hanging inside.

She thought it looked good. With Britty’s help, she had braided it. The braid hung halfway down her back. Striking. Bold.

Very artsy.

In one ear, she wore a silver earring studded with round red beads and long, thin stones flecked with purple. Perfect for an art competition.

She reached for the spare tube of Midnight Wine she kept in her locker and touched up her lipstick. Most people wouldn’t wear the deep purple shade with the bright red jacket and long red skirt Delia had on. But she wasn’t most people.

She loved odd color combinations. And it would show the judging committee that she was an original.

I’m glad I decided to do another self-portrait, Delia thought. In the new drawing, she wore the same outfit she did today. She had the same hairstyle, same earring, same everything.

She figured it would help the judges remember her.

Delia slammed her locker shut and rushed back to the art room. “Nervous,” she mumbled again, glancing at the closed door.

A hand clamped down on Delia’s shoulder. She yelped and spun around.

Stewart stood there with an embarrassed expression on his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He followed her gaze to the classroom door. “You next?”

Delia nodded. “Karina is in there now,” she told him. “With the judges. Have you seen her stuff?”

“She’s good,” he said. “She does oil paintings of flowers and trees. Little teeny paintings. Nice miniatures. Beautiful.”

“Beautiful. It figures.” Delia knew she sounded jealous, but she couldn’t help it.

Maybe Stewart didn’t notice. He smiled. “I haven’t seen your artwork—but the artist looks great,” he said.

“Thanks,” Delia murmured. The way Stewart stared at her made her feel more nervous.

She shot a glance at her leather art portfolio. “My work is good too. My drawings aren’t fussy like Karina’s. And they’re not at all like yours. Yours have all that detail. At least the ones I’ve seen hanging in art class.”

I’m babbling, Delia realized. She forced herself to stop.

Stewart crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a locker. He looks so strange in a sports shirt and tie, Delia thought. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a tie.

His tie reminded Delia of a sunset. Soft colors. Muted shades. Poetry in silk.

He looks great, Delia thought. She loved his black, black hair and the cleft in his chin. But he’s still no Vincent, she added to herself.

“Let me guess,” Stewart said. “Your pictures are wild. Real outrageous. Like you.”

The door to the art room clicked open and Delia jumped. “If we had time, I’d show you.” She grabbed her portfolio and headed into the classroom with it. “Then you’d know what you’re up against,” she called over her shoulder.

Stewart caught her arm before she stepped through the doorway.

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