Part 1 (1/2)

Six Months Later.

Natalie D. Richards.

For my Dad and David.

Thank you for believing.

Chapter One.

I'm sitting next to the fire alarm, and my best friend is going down in flames. Irony or divine intervention? I can practically feel the metal handle under my fingers. It might as well be whispering my name.

Tempting. One strategic arm stretch and I could send this whole school into an evacuation frenzy.

I could end Maggie's nightmare right now.

At the front of the cla.s.sroom, she swallows hard. She is as pale and shaky as the paper in her hands.

”The social p-pressures and isolation encountered b-by male n-n-”

I can't let her suffer like this.

Maggie shakes her head and tries to shrug it off with a sheepish grin. ”S-sorry.”

”It's all right,” Mrs. Corwin says, playing with the cat pendant around her neck. ”There's no reason to be scared.”

She thinks stuttering is a fear problem? Aren't teachers supposed to know about speech issues and all that c.r.a.p? Then again, what can I expect from a woman who has professionally framed pictures of her beloved Siamese, Mr. Whiskers, on her desk?

Maggie takes a breath. ”The p-pressures and isolation encountered by male n-nurses in a predominantly f-female occupation is a compelling argument f-f-f-” She trails off, going crimson.

Someone snickers from the front.

”Go on, Maggie,” Mrs. Corwin says. Again.

I'm going to do it.

Beside me, Blake Tanner s.h.i.+fts in his chair. I know this partly because I have good peripheral vision, but mostly because I have freakishly sensitive Blake radar. I hesitate, breathing in the clean hint of his cologne, watching him softly drum a thumb on his desktop.

My face goes hot. I can't do this with him sitting here. I'm completely invisible to this guy. And now I'm finally going to get his attention by, what? By pulling a fire alarm? Yes, I'm sure that will send a great message. To the guy who's been on the student council since the eighth grade.

Maggie tosses her hair back, forging on. ”It's a compelling argument f-for s-s-s.e.xism against men. In most modern contexts, concerns about s-s-s-s-”

Maggie goes pink and then red. Tyler and Shannon laugh in the back, and my eyes start to well up. Screw it. I can't sit here for one more second of one more minute.

I sink down as far as I can in my chair and start sliding my arm back along the wall. I reach up, but I'm grasping blind. It kind of hurts. I touch something cool and metal. Bingo. Two seconds and this misery is over.

Blake clears his throat and I bite my lip. Is he watching me?

What's wrong with me? Of course he's not watching me. I'm invisible.

I turn my head because I'm sure I feel someone's eyes on me. I do.

Adam Reed. He's slouched low in his seat, his dark hair in desperate need of the business end of a pair of scissors.

Adam arches one of his brows at me. The half smile on his lips asks me what I'm waiting for. I don't really have an answer, so I curl my fingers over the alarm handle and pull hard. And then I kiss my detention-free junior year good-bye.

Maggie is waiting outside the princ.i.p.al's office. She's got a couple of notebooks clutched in her arms and a pencil securing her strawberry blond waves into a bun.

The office door is barely closed when she starts in on me. ”What were you thinking? You c-could have been expelled.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and offer our school secretary, Mrs. Love, a wave. Maggie takes the cue and follows me briskly back into the hallway. Students are slamming locker doors and texting madly in the few minutes between periods.

Someone whistles, and across the hall, Connor holds two thumbs up. ”Let's hear it for fire safety!”

The hallway bursts into a smattering of applause and wolf calls. I blush but give a little bow with a flourish of my hand.

We make our way to the stairs, climbing them two at a time.

”So what happened, Chloe? How b-bad is it?”

”I got a week of detention and a lecture about applying my interest in psychology to evaluating my episodes of acting out.”

Maggie looks away, and I can tell she's biting her tongue.

I know that look. It means she's working hard to say something in a way that won't offend the h.e.l.l out of me.

”Spit it out. You're obviously dying to insert commentary.”

She sighs. ”Look, I know you w-wanted to help me, but you've got to start thinking about yourself, Chloe. Sometimes it's like you're running away from everything you want.”

I try not to look as hurt as I feel. ”It's not like I'm afraid of being good, Mags.”

She just laughs and takes my arm. ”You jumped off the Third Street Bridge on a dare, which proves you're not afraid of anything. It also proves you're insane.”

”Watch it.”

I take a breath as we pa.s.s the drinking fountains, heading close to the last stretch of lockers in the hall. An otherwise unremarkable place in this building except for the fact that it's the Blake Zone.

As if on cue, he closes his locker door and appears, the tall, popular king of this lonely hallway. He laughs at a joke I don't hear. It's a perfect laugh that matches his perfect teeth and his perfect everything else.

I sigh. ”Did Blake seem...disappointed?”