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    Babylove: BABYLOVE, #1
    Babylove: BABYLOVE, #1
    Babylove: BABYLOVE, #1
    Ebook102 pages1 hour

    Babylove: BABYLOVE, #1

    By I.S. Belle

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    About this ebook

    "Even with the blood, rituals, and resurrections, the most surprising thing about the summer of 2003 was Ivy Wexler."


    When offered a chance to avoid summer school, goth girl Frankie Tanner reluctantly agrees to help Ivy Wexler, a cheerleader who has just resurrected her cat in preparation for bigger and better (dead) things.

    Perfect for people who wanted The Craft to be sapphic.

    BABYLOVE is a spooky sapphic romance YA novella, and takes place in the ZOMBABE universe. You don't have to read any other series to understand this one.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherI.S. Belle
    Release dateDec 7, 2023
    ISBN9798215205150
    Babylove: BABYLOVE, #1

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      Book preview

      Babylove - I.S. Belle

      chapter

      one

      Even with the blood, rituals and resurrections, the most surprising thing about the summer of 2003 was Ivy Wexler.

      Frankie Tanner was in her usual lunchtime haze when Ivy marched up. It took a second to realize Ivy was, in fact, looking at her, and not just leaning her hip against Frankie’s table for a place to rest.

      Frankie blinked up at her through clumpy mascara. The pleasant blur from smoking up in the bathrooms faded into the background, the real world coming into sharp, irritating focus. Meatloaf stench from the tray in front of her. Low hum of Bulldeen High, all whispers and unkind laughs.

      Ivy motioned for Frankie to remove her headphones.

      With a scowl, Frankie did. What do you want, princess?

      Ivy gave a short and surprised chuckle. They’d talked before—in a small town like Bulldeen, it was impossible for them not to—but this was the first time they’d spoken directly since first grade, when Ivy found her crying behind the swings. Frankie had a faint, improbable memory of Ivy’s arm around her shoulders, her soft voice in Frankie’s ear. Everything’s going to be alright. Sometimes Frankie thought it was a dream. It was difficult to reconcile that gentle version with the girl who stood in front of her now, shiny and intimidating, the first freshman they let onto the cheerleading team in decades.

      Ivy beamed, flicking her straightened hair away from her heart-shaped face. Your sister says you’re going to have to do summer school if you don’t pass a make-up test for Mr. Clack.

      Frankie looked across the cafeteria to where April Tanner sat. April tipped her head back to laugh at what Frankie assumed was a bad joke, since that was definitely her sister’s fake laugh.

      April wasn’t looking their way. She never looked at her little sister while they were at school. Why would she? They were in entirely different social circles. As in, April Tanner had a social circle. She hung with the other cheerleaders and, on occasion, Bulldeen Bulls footballers.

      Frankie was a one-woman band. She preferred it that way, and if anyone tried poking holes in this theory, she just said it louder.

      Well? Ivy cocked her head expectantly. More pale hair fell into her face. Are you failing or aren’t you?

      Frankie reached for her headphones. Go mess with somebody else, Ivy. I promise I’m very unsatisfying to taunt.

      "I’m not taunting you. God. Ivy rolled her eyes. I’m asking if you want help."

      Help, Frankie repeated, unable to stop the incredulous smile. "You want to help me."

      For a favor, of course.

      Oh! Here I thought you were doing this out of the goodness of your heart.

      Ivy’s next laugh cut off abruptly. She rubbed the corner of her mouth, slim fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to cover it. That would be a shame, Frankie thought, and then squashed that thought into a manageable size to store away and never look at again.

      Frankie rested her chin on her hands, rings digging into her jaw. So what is it? Drug deal? Oooh, do you need me to kneecap someone? I don’t hurt kids. Well, maybe for the right price.

      Good to know, Ivy said, bright and only a little mocking. Look. I’m a good tutor. Do you want to help, or do you want to be stuck listening to Mr. Clack talk about Moby Dick for the rest of the summer?

      You still haven’t told me what it is I’m helping with, princess.

      Ivy’s mouth pulled under her twitching fingers. She was still rubbing, red gloss glinting at the corner of her pinkie where she’d swiped her lips by accident.

      I need—

      An arm looped around Ivy’s shoulder, cutting her off. Marvin Martin, mediocre footballer and perpetual polo shirt wearer, grinned at his girlfriend’s shocked gasp.

      Whoa, hey! Something got your tongue? He pinched her chin.

      Ivy smiled, so wide and so fake Frankie didn’t bother hiding her scoff.

      But the smile didn’t even falter. Just fulfilling my end of a bargain. Is there a seat over there for me?

      He frowned. Yeah, babe, always.

      Yeah babe, Frankie mouthed mockingly, rotating her fork in her meatloaf. Always!

      Ivy twisted to look behind him at the cheerleader table. Mine looks a little cold. Mind warming it for me?

      She lay a hand on his skinny chest. His confused expression softened.

      Alright, he said, obviously not fooled, but not prying. He lingered by the table long enough that Frankie shot him a dangerous look. Why didn’t the black lipstick, piercings and knife tricks in the parking lot make people leave her the hell alone? It made them ignore her, sure. But it didn’t protect her from this shit.

      Marvin’s annoying grin slid back into place. Hey, Loser Tanner. Coming to the party next weekend?

      You know me, Frankie deadpanned. I am the party queen.

      I bet. Marvin’s squinty dishwater eyes got even squintier. You totally should. It’ll be fun.

      Marvin, Ivy said. My chair.

      Right, yeah. He didn’t look at her. Come on, don’t be like that. We’re inviting everybody. We’re inviting, uh— He looked around for more undesirables, gaze landing on the dead freaks—so named due to a certain bully always leaving them with a menacing you’re dead, freaks—clustered around their usual table.

      Marvin cupped his hands around the yell. HEY DEAD FREAKS! WANNA COME TO MY GIRLFRIEND’S PARTY NEXT WEEKEND? HER PARENTS ARE OUT OF TOWN!

      The dead freaks jumped. There were four of them, all seniors on track to graduate next month: big, outgoing (and in Frankie’s opinion, weirdly fashionable) city kid Jules Havelock the only one Frankie found interesting. Then they had haughty, smart Anna Higgins who could have been interesting if only she was haughtier; polite, quiet Babe Simmons who was probably a little interesting behind closed doors; and, of course aloof, burly Dude Marsh, who might be interesting if he was faking all that aloofness, but somehow Frankie bet he wasn’t.

      Anna’s smile was tight as she replied, Thanks, Marvin. We’ll see how the night goes.

      Everybody’s coming, Marvin repeated. Shit, even loser Tanner is coming! Right, Tanner?

      Frankie weighed up her options. Option one: say nothing. Chance being seen as pathetic instead of distant and cool. Option two: come up with something snarky, which was harder with the weed fuzzing everything up. Chance sounding pathetic. Option three: walk away. Chance looking cowardly. No matter what Frankie did, she was still Loser Tanner: stark opposite of her older, cooler, athletic bitch of a sister, who in that moment was examining a nonexistent chip in her nail.

      Frankie decided to sneak dye into April’s shampoo later. She opened her mouth to go with a snarky comment—always the most dramatic option—but Ivy talked over

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