The Crescent

Chapter 16

"Dad. Dad. Dad." She violently shook his shoulders. "Dad."

"Christ, Zacari, what?"

"I'm hungry."

"Oh. Right." He sleepily reached for his wallet and handed her a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. "Here. There's a pizza place on our floor."

"Have you eaten there or something? Is it good?" But he was already snoring.

The pizzeria had dainty two-seater tables and a small balcony facing the front of the hotel, the ideal view of the expansive parking lot and the miniscule crescent moon statue below. Stretches of cheese burned the roof of her mouth as Zacari devoured her second slice of pizza. It might have been delicious, or she might have been starving. Lela gave Zacari her best puppy eyes, both endearing and unsettling since she was remarkably wall-eyed, but Zacari loved her and fed her bits of crust anyway. She tapped the block of a camera sitting on the table and took a sip of orange juice. Every time she began to doubt the night before, the camera was a blunt reminder it had been real.

She searched the web for a good Hamilton meme to post on her Handleton Instagram page, which was working itself into a general Hamilton appreciation page. Not that she minded. How long could someone appreciate her painted hands lip syncing?

An unease suddenly prickled the back of her neck, like someone was boring holes into the back of her head. She froze. Had Baker come back to talk with her so soon? Even though she'd agreed to hear his story, she was still coming to terms with it. She looked up from her pizza, and the round face of a boy beamed at her from across the balcony.

"Hello!" he called, making his way to her table.

It took Zacari a second to respond. "Hi," she said finally.

"I know you."

"Oh – you must be a fan of Handleton!" She raised a hand and made it look at him. She really did have lovely hands. That was probably a part of the reason Handleton had taken off.

"Handle-what?"

Zacari looked closer at him. It was the boy who'd led the tour guide. He looked surprisingly normal out of his tour guide attire. He wore gray Nike shorts, a plain, pocketed, blue T-shirt, and faded Chuck Taylors. An irrational part of her assumed his outfits were strictly period themed.

She blushed and lowered her hand. "Um...nothing."

He laughed nervously. "You went to the ghost tour last night. And you ran out of there. Did you see something? Or was I doing that bad of a job?"

Oh, Christ, let me disappear. "No. It's just creepy down there."

"You're not wrong about that. I've never seen a ghost, but my mom says she has. She never gives me the details. But this entire place is pretty creepy."

"Yeah it is."

He eyed the chair next to Zacari. She gestured to the chair.

"Thanks," he grinned, taking a seat. "I like your dog."

Lela wagged her tail. There was a bit of sauce on her muzzle.

"Thanks."

"Can I pet it?"

"Sure," she said and scooted her chair a bit closer. His arm brushed Zacari as he reached to scratch under Lela's chin. Her heart skipped a beat. Which annoyed her.

"What's his name?"

"Her," Zacari corrected, not unkindly. "And, Lela."

"Cool. I'm Javier."