Part 1 (2/2)

She blows out an impatient breath and rolls her eyes at me. ”I didn't really think to dissect Blake's expression in the chaos and p-panic of the fire evacuation.”

Blake laughs again, and I turn away, my cheeks burning. ”Right. Sorry.”

She gives me a sly grin. ”Want me to go ask him?”

I slump back against the wall with a sigh. ”How is it that I'm not the one who talks to boys? I'm the bridge jumper, the alarm puller-”

”The streaker,” Maggie adds.

”That was one time! And technically, I was in my undies, but yes. How is it that you, High Queen of the Honor Roll, are better at this than me?”

”The stutter makes me a wild card,” she says, winking. ”No one ever sees me coming. And you talk t-to plenty of guys.”

My gaze lingers on the stretch of Blake's polo across his shoulders, the ends of his hair curling over his collar. ”Yeah, well. Not that one.”

”I've got to g-get to cla.s.s,” Maggie says. ”Speaking of which, did you remember to pick up your GPA at the office this morning?”

I feign a big, carefree smile. ”Gosh, I must have completely forgotten. But I totally signed up for the SAT study group you told me about.”

”And somehow forgot t-to ask for your GPA?” she asks, clearly unconvinced.

”Oh, who cares about a GPA anyway?”

She blinks at me, arms crossed. ”Uh, every college you'll be applying to.”

”Right. Well, finals aren't until next week. I can fix it.”

Her eyes go dark. ”Fix it? How bad is it?”

”Um, I-” The warning bell rings, saving me from another lie. ”Gotta dash. Study hall and all. Yep, that's me. Study, study, study.”

I slip inside the door and hear her calling after me. ”You're running out of time, Chloe!”

She's got a point. I have exactly six days left of my junior year to turn my GPA into something that won't doom me to serving bad eggs at Trixie's Diner for the rest of my life. The urgency should inspire me to use every minute of my study hall period. It really should.

I pick up my biology notes, but it's all cellular this and genetic that, and my eyelids feel heavy after two lines. Why can't I get my act together?

Everyone around me is in full-force cram mode. Of course they are. Even Alexis, who spent the whole year reading Vogue behind her textbooks, is flipping through a stack of note cards. I'm officially the last slacker standing.

Maybe I could make a waitressing gig awesome. Except I don't want a waitressing gig. I only want one gig, and it doesn't involve rus.h.i.+ng baskets of fries to hungry truckers.

It involves a doctorate degree in psychology.

How am I going to get through twelve years of college if I can't even stay awake in study hall?

Too bad I can't make a career out of sleeping in cla.s.s undetected. I could tutor people in that. It's all about the posture. Chin in palm says bored. Chin on knuckles says deeply in thought.

And that sunbeam drifting through the window next to my desk? It says, Go to sleep, Chloe.

I tilt my head, watching the late May suns.h.i.+ne stroke my arms with soft, golden fingers. I do have all weekend to study. And I've got that stupid study group tonight, so I'm taking steps in the right direction. How much harm could one teeny little catnap do?

I give into the warmth and let my eyes slip closed. I'll worry about my lack of self-discipline after the bell rings.

But the bell doesn't ring.

There's no sound at all to wake me, just a cold sinking feeling in my middle. The hair on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kles, and my heart changes rhythm. Skips one beat. Then another.

And I know something is horribly wrong.

Chapter Two.

I'm afraid to open my eyes, but I do.

Darkness closes around me like a fist. Even still half-asleep, I know this isn't right. I blink blearily, but everything feels off. The room, the air...me.

Dreaming. I must still be dreaming.

Outside the window, everything is dark. Wait, that can't be right. It can't be that late.

Can it?

A slate-gray sky stretches beyond the gla.s.s. I see bits of white trailing through it, drifting down like glitter against velvet.

What is that? Flowers? Dust? No, it's just snow.

Snow?

I bolt out of my seat, the sc.r.a.pe of my chair legs shattering the silence. I'm alone. Goose b.u.mps rise on my arms as I stare at the emptiness.

The clock above the whiteboards reads 9:34 p.m. Mr. Brindell, who I've never seen anywhere but behind his desk, is gone. I look around, realizing that it's not just the teacher. Everyone is gone. Everything too. Books, papers, backpacks dangling from the corners of chairs. I'm in the belly of a skeleton, the remains of a cla.s.s long over.

Panic shoots through me like a shock from a bad plug, white hot and jangling every nerve.

No.

No, this can't be happening. It's a scary dream. A mistake.

I lean closer to the window, but the snow refuses to be anything other than what it is. It falls thickly on the brown gra.s.s, clinging to the spindly branches of barren trees.

<script>