Preface

We stood a few inches apart. He quickly touched his hand back to mine. The feeling of exhaustion faded instantly. What was happening to us? We couldn’t go for more than a few minutes without physically touching each other. And if we did, we’d both start to feel tired and weak—almost as if, the farther away we were, and the longer we went without touching, the weaker we became. It was like an illness—a disease. A disease that should have never come about in the first place. If we’d just done what we were supposed to do—if everything had gone as planned, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now, staring the unexplainable in the face.

“Emma, I’m sorry,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss me gently—in exasperation, it seemed. He was as confused as I was about this. And, even with the most delicate of kisses, it felt like I was physically being drawn to him. It was like, like…a magnet. We were two magnets that would be forever stuck within each other’s pulls. The farther apart we got, the weaker our force fields became. Just like when a magnet sticks to a refrigerator. The farther you pull the magnet away from the metal fridge, the weaker the pull—and, comparably, the magnet—becomes.

Was that what was happening to Ryan and me? Were we being pulled together like magnets, and then, when the magnetic forces were relinquished, subsequently dying? Were we dying? Honestly, literally dying? I wasn’t sure, but I hoped not. Then again, I honestly couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. It seemed like my hopes, my dreams, my realities, had all gone out the window a few months ago. I’d been thrown into this world of fantasy and had no idea what to do about it, except for go along with it. But now, I had a feeling that going with the flow wasn’t going to work anymore. There was obviously something very wrong with Ryan and me—something very abnormal and extremely dangerous.

He took his hand off my bare arm, once again. I felt drowsiness creep over me. He stepped about a foot away from me, watching me carefully as he did so. I could feel my heartbeat slowing. Ryan’s head drooped down and we waited. After about a minute, he stepped another foot back, slowly. I felt like I was slipping into a coma. Ryan sluggishly scooted back a few more inches, then collapsed on the floor. Worry coursed through me for about half a second before my eyes rolled back in my head and my knees gave out. I collapsed a few feet away from him. Everything went black.

1. DAY ONE

A searing pain coursed through me; it was as if I were on fire. Could this be a dream? I thought. The last thing I remembered doing was, well going to bed. I’d fallen asleep, right? I must have. I’d been so tired. And I’d had this strange dream about someone crawling through my window— someone unfamiliar and very beautiful. That couldn’t have happened in real life, so this must simply be another dream. But it hurt so much. Were dreams supposed to hurt? Maybe if I’d been thrashing while having a nightmare and had hit my hand on my bedside table, which did happen—more than it really should—pain would make more sense. But, A) I hadn’t been having a nightmare. I’d just had that odd, intruder dream. That was weird, but it wasn’t a nightmare. And, B) This pain wasn’t the dull ache that resulted from a whacked hand. No. This was a whole other kind of pain entirely. It was a pain I’d never felt before. It felt as if acid were trickling through my veins, slowly burning and eating away at my insides. I’d never before in my life felt anything more painful. In my “dream” (I refused to believe this was really happening) I was squirming and convulsing from the pain of the acid. It felt like I was screaming, too, but no sound was coming out. My mouth was open, my lungs were aching, and my throat was pulsing with the familiar tension of a shriek—but no sound was escaping my lips.

To accompany the fire, I now realized there was a strong, firm pressure on my face—over my mouth. Someone’s hand was clamped over my mouth silencing my screams. Who is this? What is happening? I thought. This person, whoever it was, not only had their hand clamping down on my jaw, but had their entire body pressed against me—restraining.

Then, despite the fiery pain, I shivered. The person on top of me was as cold as ice. I could feel their body—their arms, their legs—on every part of me trying to hold me down. They weren’t doing a very good job of it, either. I was thrashing so violently against the pain that—whoever obviously didn’t want me doing that—had a very difficult time restraining me.

Then I heard it. A sound that made even less sense than the rest of the dream. He—and I knew this person was a ‘he’ now, because of his voice—was singing.

“Calm, my angel. Dream happy dreams and you’ll forget this pain. A pain all of our kind must feel. But soon it will be over. It doesn’t last forever. I know you won’t remember me, but I’ll remember you.”

And then, as his song came to an end, so did the pain. The pressure was gone, too. The pressure on my body, on my mouth. It was all gone, just like the pain, just like the stranger.

Then I heard a fierce scream. It was a male. It sounded far off in the distance, or maybe the distance recesses of my mind… “EMMA!! NOOOOO!!!!”

My eyes popped open. Or had they been open? I was flat on my back, a layer of sweat covering my skin, breathing hard. I laid there for a second more, wondering what just happened. I closed my eyes, beginning to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. But not before deciding that what had just happened definitely was a dream.

Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEE—

My hand came down hard on my annoyingly persistent alarm clock, stopping the incessant beeping noise. Didn’t alarm noises come in any other sound? I wondered, irritated. But maybe that was the marketing scam—horrific beeping noises to make you want to throw the clock against the wall. Hey, if you broke the clock you would have to buy a new one. Yep, I decided. A marketing scam.

Dismissing all thoughts of beeping noises, I very unwillingly rolled out of bed. I stumbled across my room and into the hallway, partially running into my door.

I hissed in pain as I stubbed my toe on my doorframe. Great. So far, a fantastic way to start the morning; compulsive beeping and a bruised toe. But, I really shouldn’t have been surprised. I was especially clumsy in the morning—even more than usual—and the usual was more than it should be.

I finally made it into the bathroom, surprisingly without any more accidents. I took a shower and used my favorite shampoo. It was this lavender stuff that smelled really good.

I always hated getting up in the morning. I hated feeling the water on my face, officially pulling me out of my drowsiness. But, it got me up and going whether I wanted it to or not.

After I finished my shower, I went back in my room to change and get ready for school.

Ugh. School. Well, actually, school wasn’t that bad. It’s not like I’m one of those kids who’s failing everything and getting in trouble all of the time; who say they hate school and they hate their teachers just so they can blame someone other than themselves for their pathetic lives. I’m actually a pretty good student. School just gets a bit tedious. I mean, you go to class, you go to lunch, you go to class again, you come home, and you do homework.

The only reason that I go to school, well, besides the fact that I want to have a future and a decent job, is my friends. Jessi, Laina, Kelley, and Jay are seriously the best friends I have ever had. They’re the kind that’ll always love you. I’d bet that if I went insane and started quacking like a duck, they’d learn “quack” and do it with me.

I flipped on the TV and turned to my favorite news station. Yes, I’m one of those teenagers who likes to watch the news. I like to know what’s going on. And plus, the whole weather forecast is pretty handy. I mean, I don’t want to be that person who, when it starts to rain in the middle of passing time, goes, “crap. I wish I’d brought my jacket”. That’s stupid.

Not that it would be raining anytime soon, but still. It’s the middle of January and the average high temperature for the lovely town of Gunnison, Colorado is a toasty minus six degrees Fahrenheit. So most of what falls from the sky is white and fluffy, or clear and icy. And it’s going to be that way for another two months.

The forecast was on now. Minus ten degrees at 9:00 AM, minus four degrees at noon, minus eight degrees at 6:00 PM, and—wait for it—minus eighteen degrees at 10:00 PM.

“The snow and ice will continue to fall throughout the day,” the weatherman droned.

Continue? Had it been snowing overnight? I pulled aside my royal blue drapes to look out my window. Sure enough, there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground. It added nicely to the thirty some inches that was already there. It looked like it had snowed a lot last night, though. The streets were covered—again. The snowplow obviously hadn’t made it down my street yet.

I turned back to the TV. The weatherman was saying we had gotten another six inches last night. That’s when I noticed the blue bar at the bottom of the screen flashing names of schools and cities. Aspen School District: Closed. Crested Butte Community School District: Closed. Delta County School District: Closed. Stop torturing me! Finally, Gunnison Community School District: Closed.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. Snow day!

BBRRRRNNNNGGGG! BBRRRRNNNNGGGG!

I practically danced over to my cell phone that was lying on my bedside table. I flipped it open. I had a new text. It was from Jay.

‘Hey girl!’ it said. Jay was too gay for his own good.

‘Snow day! R we gonna meet up with Laina, Jessi & Kelley & go sledding or something?’

I texted him back. ‘Sure. If you really must.’ Jay loved to sled. It was a little childish, but he loved it. It was something we had all done since we were little kids. Even though I had never really liked it all that much. I’m not a “snow person” like Jay is. Nevertheless, I had good-naturedly endured all the trips to the school hill to sled down it screaming my head off. I mean, the hill was huge.

Jay texted me back.

‘I must. I’ll talk 2 the rest of the girls & tell U when.’ I didn’t miss how he unintentionally lumped himself in with ‘the girls’.

‘Fine.’ I replied.

‘Hey, don’t be such a party pooper. It’ll be great!’ That’s exactly what Jay said every time we had this conversation.

I shut my phone, putting it back down on the table. I put on my favorite old sweats and my SAVE THE PEOPLE t-shirt that I had gotten from Laina last Christmas.

She had said, “Everyone always gets SAVE THE WHALES and SAVE THE SEALS t-shirts and I thought, ‘Why is there no SAVE THE PEOPLE shirt?’ I know how strongly opposed to the war and to violence you are, so I had this SAVE THE PEOPLE shirt made for you.”

Laina was cool that way. She always paid attention to things like that and had a creative, mildly twisted sense of humor.

I put on my fuzzy, squishy socks and decided to go downstairs. I sort of wanted to go back to bed, but the shower had pretty much gotten me up for the day.

That reminded me. I knew I’d had a weird dream last night, but I couldn’t remember what it had been about. I remembered it was some sort of nightmare. It felt so illusive, but for some reason—one I really didn’t want to think about— desperately important. I felt like I absolutely needed to recall this dream; but I couldn’t. It was right on the edge of my memory, too. It was like it was there, but hiding itself. It was like the dream was knocking on my door, but as much as I tried I could not get the door open to see what was behind it. I knew something was there; I just couldn’t remember what it was.

Finally deciding that it was no use, and secretly hoping that it would just come back to me, I decided to forget about the dream and focus on walking down the stairs.

I nearly stepped on the fourth step when I felt something under my foot.

“Mleep!”

My cat, Oscar, was lying on the step looking up at me.

I jumped, pulling my foot back and barely catching myself on the railing before I tumbled down the stairs.

“Damn,” I breathed. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Mleep! Meeeeuw!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re hungry.”

“Meeuw!”

“I’m working on it.”

I walked down the rest of the stairs, careful not to step on Oscar again, who was following me. Well, he was taking turns going behind me, beside me, and in front of me, actually, so it made the whole walking thing a little difficult.

When we stepped off the last step, he settled on being in front of me, and led me to the kitchen where he sat next to his food bowl, impatient as always, while I reached under the cabinet for his bag of food.

I scooped some into his bowl and he ate greedily while I got him some fresh water. I set his water dish down in front of him, next to the food bowl and went into the living room where I’d heard the TV on.

“Hey kiddo. No school today,” my dad announced from the couch. My dad was a second grade teacher at Gunnison Elementary, so he, of course, had the day off as well. How he stood that job, I didn’t know.

Personally, twenty-five whiney, messy, seven and eight year olds all-day everyday (well, five out of seven, at least) would drive me mad.

I don’t handle kids well. In fact, I don’t handle people, in general, well. I mean, I have my small, tight group of friends, but they’re basically the only people I can stand to be around for more than a few consecutive hours. People are just so confusing. Nobody can ever really relate to you the way you want them to. The only person I remember ever being able to relate to me right, in my life, was my mom. She always knew what to say and how to handle things the way I liked them handled. We were a perfect match. Now I have no one to relate to. So I tend to lean toward animals—cats especially. You can talk to them and they can make little noises, which can be taken as talking, back. You can pretend they understand you and that they’re answering you and not caring that what you’re saying is sometimes completely idiotic.

People aren’t like that. Especially little second graders. But my father says that children are the building blocks of our future. He says he’s a teacher because he wants to inspire and encourage kids to be the best they can be. He wants them taught right—as if he’s the only one who knows what’s right. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t thing my dad is conceited or anything. He’s just very set in his ways. He has his view on the world and everyone else has a different one—but his is the right one. He’s not arrogant though. He’s kind of like that old, stubborn grandpa that goes around saying things like, “What’s this world coming to?” and, “Back in my day kids didn’t behave like that.” Etc., etc., etc.

But the chubby, sandy-blond, slightly-balding man lying all spread out on the couch reading the paper and watching the news wasn’t my grandfather. He was my dad, and he was confusing. Just like everyone else.

“So what’re you going to do on your day off?” he asked, unnecessarily. He knew what I did on snow days.

“I guess I’m, going sledding with the girls.” And, no, I did not forget Jay. Jay has always purposefully, or accidentally (depending on who you’re talking to) been lumped in with “the girls”. He’s so gay he doesn’t care. And it’s easier that way; to just say, “The girls” as opposed to “the girls and Jay.” Jay thinks it kind of funny. How he looks like a guy, sounds like a guy, but hangs out with four girls. Sometimes he says he wishes he were a “testosterone fueled straight man” so he could appreciate his situation a little better. But, knowing Jay, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Oh, well.

“Well, have fun.” Despite the fact that he was a teacher, my dad was not particularly verbose. Sure, he’d make small talk, just so things didn’t get too weird, but that was about it. And, admittedly, I liked it that way.

I left the living room and my dad’s incessant chatter and went into the kitchen to find something for breakfast. Oscar was still in there eating, scarfing down every last morsel as if he hadn’t been fed in days.

I went to the cupboard to grab some cereal. It wasn’t until I’d poured myself some Lucky Charms that I realized I really didn’t want them. I felt hungry, but the cereal just wasn’t appealing to me. I thought maybe I could have a Pop Tart or some fruit, but neither of those sounded particularly appetizing either.

Abandoning the whole breakfast option, I wandered around the kitchen trying to think of something to do. I wasn’t at all enthusiastic at going back upstairs to check my phone to see if Jay had left a message telling me when the super-fun sledding would be; And knowing Jay, he already had.

I ended up in front of the refrigerator, staring at the pictures and paper there and the magnets holding them up.

My eyes eventually rested on a picture of me and my brother, Sam. Sam and I looked a lot alike; dark hair, pale skin, green eyes. A lot like our mom. We could almost be mistaken as twins if you didn’t know us and know that he was two years older than me. The picture had been taken last year when Sam had first gone to college. Everyone thought Sam would get into college on an athletic scholarship. He did track throughout middle and high school. And he was really good. He broke district records and even a state record for hurdles. So everyone was shocked when he was accepted to Yale Law School. Sam took government and law classes in high school, but no one ever thought an athlete like him would want to go to a school like Yale. It’s because they only saw him as “The Track Star.” Sam is so much more than that. He’s smart, caring, fair, determined, and resourceful. He cares more about helping people and making things right than he does about 500 meter dashes, hurdles, and long jumps. He’s a really good athlete, sure. But he’s an extraordinary person.

In the picture, Sam had his arm over my shoulder and we were laughing and smiling. It had been the day before he had officially started law school, but Sam had been calm, cool, and collected, just like he always was. It was just in his nature to be that way; and I envied him for it. I remembered the day that picture had been taken because I had been nervous. Sam, the then soon-to-be college student was all relaxed as ever, and I was freaking out for him! Freaking out was in my nature.

Sam always said, “Emma, chill out, will you! Geesh!”

That’s one thing I liked about Sam. He cared about me. I mean—don’t get me wrong—I have other people (my dad, my friends) who care about me too—but brothers aren’t supposed to care. When most siblings would be down each other’s throats, Sam and I would be laughing with each other. When most older brothers would be ditching their younger sisters to hang out with their friends, Sam would reserve time to hang out with me. We were each other’s true best friends.

My eyes started to bud with tears as I thought about how much I really missed Sam. So I directed my eyes away from the picture so the tears wouldn’t spill over. I really did not feel like crying right now. I wasn’t sure why—I just didn’t.

Maybe it was because when I’d woken up this morning, my face had been slightly damp as If I’d been crying in my sleep. About what, I hadn’t a clue.

I sighed in annoyance. If I could only remember that dream!

Trying to forget about the dream and Sam, my eyes strayed to another picture. It was of me and all my friends huddled together in a big group, just smiling and having a good time. When the picture had been taken, it’d been the middle of summer, one year ago. We had our bare arms draped around each other’s shoulders, laughing. I couldn’t remember what we’d been laughing about, but it had probably been something really stupid—just like pretty much everything we laughed about was stupid. I looked over the faces of my friends—Jay with his short, curly, blonde hair and freckles. Laina with her olive skin and red highlighted, dark hair, looking more beautiful than I ever would. Kelley, her blue eyes twinkling below her light blonde bangs, looking jubilant even in still-frame. Jessi, the tallest of the group, with her light brown layers framing her face, smiling reluctantly, not wanting to be on film. And me. Just Emma—nothing hidden, nothing beautiful, and nothing special about me.

I shook off the uneasy feeling I was getting, then, knowing I would regret it, I trudged up the stairs and into my room to check my phone. Sure enough, Jay had left a message that simply read, ‘12:30. HSH.’

And it was kind of pathetic that I didn’t need any more information than that. We always met at the same place, the high school hill, at about the same time—every time. And that definitely was pathetic.

I set my phone down and thought about what I could do for the next five hours. It was only about 7:30 and I didn’t have school, I didn’t have homework, I didn’t have chores, and I didn’t have a life. Seriously, what was I supposed to do?

I didn’t really feel like going back downstairs to talk to my dad. Maybe I could call Jessi, or Laina or Kelley. But I didn’t feel in a very sociable mood. Plus, Jessi would probably have gone back to sleep already. Laina would be doing her homework that she forgot about last night, all the while thankful for a snow day, and Kelley would probably be talking to her boyfriend, Josh. Those two were insanely attached at the hip.

So that left me with five hours of me, myself, and I; all by ourselves.

What do I usually do on snow days? I thought to myself. Hmmm. And, frankly, I couldn’t remember. That’s when I smelled the coffee. And that made up my mind.

Personally, I’m not too fond of coffee. My dad, on the other had, loves it. I am more of a tea person. And there’s this great little tea house that I go to every day before school.

The whole snow-day thing had messed up my routine, so I hadn’t gone yet this morning. I decided that’s where I was going now.

I pulled on some jeans—even though I desperately wanted to leave on my sweats—and put on a hoodie over my SAVE THE PEOPLE shirt. The hoodie was red with little pictures—robots, peace signs, animals, all kinds of symbols—on the front pocket and inside of the hood. It was my favorite. I grabbed my purse—which was really a grey messenger bag that was too small to be a school bag—and headed to the bathroom. I was lucky. I got the hall bathroom to myself because my dad had a bathroom in his room. I looked myself over in the mirror. My always-pale skin looked unusually pale. My wavy dark brown hair unusually dark—probably in contrast to my pale cheeks. My green eyes seemed even greener than usual—a lighter shade of green, but they also looked like they had little golden-brown flecks in them now. I knew that was pretty much impossible, since my eyes had been green for the last seventeen years, so I dismissed the thought.

I put on the only makeup I usually ever wore—a little silvery shadow, mascara, and a teeny bit of lip gloss. I decided, today, to put on a touch of light pink blush as well.

I went to the hall closet to dig out my snow boots. Unfortunately, I really didn’t need to dig very much—at all really, since I had used them so much already this year.

I sat on the top step to put them on, then clumped down the stairs.

“Where ya headin’ kiddo?”

I decided not to dwell on the fact that I hated it when my dad called me kiddo (something my mom had never done) and just answered, “NACS”. The name of the teahouse was totally lame, but totally cool at the same time. Not Another Coffee Shop. NACS, for short.

“Well, be careful. And don’t be too long. Another storm is supposed to pass through this afternoon,” warned my dad.

“Okay.” And I walked out the door. I was greeted by a gust of flakes—clumps actually—of snow that stuck in my hair and bit at my nose and cheeks. Greeaat weather we’re having, I thought sarcastically.

I trudged through the six inches of snow that, unfortunately, had appeared on the driveway. Of course, my dad hadn’t been out to shovel it yet.

‘Who’s going anywhere?’ he would’ve thought.

Hello! Me!

Oh well. What’s another six inches? I thought dryly.

I finally got to my car parked in the street amidst the snow. It was a black 1992 used Honda Accord. It ran pretty good and I liked it because, despite the year, in comparison, it didn’t use too much gas. Plus, I got it real cheap, so I didn’t think of myself as too unfortunate.

I went around to the driver’s side, hopped in and started—well, tried to start— it up. Of course, it wouldn’t start. Just my luck. The one day it decides to act up, I’m in total need of it.

I tried again but the engine just turned over, stuttered, and then went silent again.

“Dang it.” I said aloud to myself. I really wanted some tea.

I supposed I could walk. That was really my only option now, other than turning around and heading back up the driveway. I didn’t want to take my dad’s car, because, well, I hated it—it drove terribly, and NACS was technically just around the corner, anyway. I’d do my part for the environment and save some gas…and some green.

It wasn’t snowing that hard so I decided to leave my heavy winter jacket in my car and just wear my hoodie. But the snow still pelted my face.

I turned the corner and with wet hair, wet pants, and shivering, (all the while internally cursing myself for not wearing my jacket) I stumbled into NACS.

Okay, I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, I’ll admit.

I stomped the snow off my boots on the welcome mat and then walked up to the counter. No line. Considering the weather, it wasn’t surprising. That was good though. People are frustrating. And I needed some alone time.

“Hey, Emma. What’ll it be today?” asked Meg, the salesgirl, tucking a piece of short red hair behind her abundantly-pierced ear. Meg had the morning shift on the weekdays, so she knew me pretty well.

“A chamomile, please. Honey and lemon.”

She turned around and started making my tea.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here today—with the weather and all,” said Meg conversationally.

“Yeah, well, you know me. Tea-aholic,” I replied.

She chuckled.

“I guess that’s right,” she said as she set my mug in front of me.

After paying I asked, “so, have you had any other business on this fine morning?”

“Just one guy,” Meg said, narrowing her hazel eyes almost suspiciously.

“I haven’t seen him in here before. He ordered a cup, but I haven’t seen him drink any of it. He’s just been staring off into space,” she added.

Me, my nosy self, and I, had to ask, “How long has he been here for?”

“About half an hour,” replied Meg. “He’s right over there.”

She nodded in the direction of the couches where people sat and drank their tea and would read a book or write, usually, or just chill.

There was a bamboo wall perpendicular to the counter separating it from the couch area, causing me to have to crane my neck over the register to get a look at the mysterious customer.

And boy, did I get a good look! I could’ve easily recited every physical detail about him that day. Because not only did I get a good look at him, I couldn’t look away.

This Mysterious Customer was the absolute most gorgeous human being I’d ever seen in my life.

He was sitting in the center of the armchair, leaning forward with his left elbow resting on his knee and his right hand grasping his left bicep, while the left hand cupped his chin.

A Greek God perched atop his tower. And did he look the part!

He looked to be about 18. He had perfect, flowing muscles that stretched over every part of his body, noticeable even through his crimson v-neck sweater and light blue jeans.

As I looked him up and down, I noticed he was wearing black Converse. As if I needed another reason to love him.

His hair was a very dark brown—almost a really dark mahogany—and it flowed straight and sleek, but kind of tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it, down to his jaw where it tapered off.

His skin was the exact opposite of his hair color. It was ivory pale, but similar to his hair, it was sleek and flawless. The contrast between his rich dark hair and light skin was astoundingly beautiful.

He had a square jaw, high cheekbones, a perfectly angled nose, and perfect, full lips.

His eyebrows, which matched his hair in color exactly, were furrowed in concentration over his eyes.

And right then, as I was examining his brow, his eyes turned my way.

They were extraordinary. They were so vibrant I could see every speck of color clearly, even from the counter. A rim of brown surrounded the jade green irises that were flecked with copper and gold.

One of the reasons I got a good look at his eyes was from the fact that they nearly popped out of his head when he looked at me.

Don’t ask me why. But in that split second when his eyes locked with mine, the look of concentration vanished and was replaced with a look of shock, almost horror. I wanted to look away, but his eyes held me. I felt like I was physically being drawn toward him from invisible ropes connected to his irises.

I couldn’t look away. And he didn’t.

I leaned forward a bit more and was about ready to climb over the counter when Meg suddenly clapped her hands in front of my face and broke the trance. But in the last look I got of his eyes, they looked—not hostile—but almost sympathetic. That was weird.

“Geez,” said Meg. “It looked like you were being hypnotized or something.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. I slumped against the counter; I suddenly felt drained—exhausted.

“If I had known you’d have started hyperventilating I wouldn’t have pointed him out to you,” Meg informed me. The wave of misery that rushed through me at that thought was stifling. What if I had never seen his face? I wondered, panicky.
“I guess I just wasn’t expecting—I mean, the way I—he’s very handsome,” I noted, stating the obvious.

“Yeah!” exclaimed Meg. “I don’t mind having him around. He’s definitely not an eye sore—just strange, you know.”

“Strange,” I murmured, more to myself than to Meg. Then we were both silent.

“Actually,” I said, breaking the silence and nodding towards the ceramic mug in Meg’s hand, “can I get this to-go, please?”

“Sure,” she responded, and then turned around to grab a foam cup and a lid.

With Meg’s back turned, I snuck another peak back over the counter at the armchair, but it was no longer occupied.

I thanked Meg, then took my cup and headed back out the door. Entering the parking lot, I couldn’t help but look around to see if he’d be there. I actually went as far as walking around the back of the building, searching for him.

There was only one car in the lot. Being that I had walked, it was obviously Meg’s. Plus, it was parked in the employee-parking section, so it definitely wasn’t his car.

Accepting the fact that he wasn’t there, I started walking home. When I turned the first corner, I heard a scratch in a bush. Squirrel, I thought. But I listened closely anyway.

The wind and snow had stopped. And I honestly didn’t mind. It wasn’t as cold without the wind blowing. There was no sound besides my own breathing.

I stopped and waited for the noise to sound again. It didn’t.

All of a sudden, a chill ran down my spine and I shivered. I didn’t know why.

Crack. The sound of a breaking twig from the bush.
I turned around to face the bush. I watched it intently for the cause of the noises to reveal itself. It didn’t.

I was so obsessed with discovering the culprit of the noise. And I didn’t have a clue why.

Deciding I was simply paranoid, I turned back around and headed for home once again. The whole way home, I continued to feel the chill in my spine, accompanied by another new feeling that began after turning away from the bush—the reason, I decided, I was so intent on finding out where the noise was coming from. The feeling I was being watched.

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful. After I got home from my ‘outing’, I spent some time being bored, then went sledding. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, but my dad and his parental ways made me choke down some instant vegetable soup. It tasted like they switched out the vegetables for the dirt.

When I was lying in my bed that night, I couldn’t help but think about my morning, and the person who clouded my memories of it. Who had the mysterious customer been, and why had I been so drawn to him? Why had he looked at me the way he did—with shock, then horror, then sympathy? It can’t mean anything, I argued with myself. He was, after all, just a customer—a beautiful, strange, mysterious customer that fascinated me to no end. I tossed and turned for a while, thinking about the mahogany-haired boy. But, I eventually was able to fall asleep, because for the first time that day since the feeling had arisen, I no longer felt like I was being watched.