A red flush creeps up Whitney’s neck, and she looks away. “Well ... he must be wrong. I mean—” She swallows, and the flush climbs up her cheeks. “I think I would know if I was at the hospital.”
“But he wassosure—”
“I saw them.” I don’t know what possesses me to speak, but both girls snap their gazes to mine—Miranda like she doesn’t know who I am, and Whitney with terror etched into her eyes. Maybe it’s the fear in Whitney’s expression. There’s something about the look that shakes me, the familiar anxiety at the possibility something too personal is about to be discovered. Or maybe I just hate the fucking drama. “Easton and Whitney,” I add nonchalantly, hiking my backpack over my shoulder. “I saw them together. Must have been someone else.”
Whitney’s lips part, but I don’t stick around to finish watching how the latest episode ofGossip Girlis going to play out.
On my way to the exit, I spot Easton chatting with his team’s quarterback. He’s mid-talking when our eyes connect, and I bite my lip. Whitney can have her fake Easton; I get to have the real thing. A smile pulls on his mouth, eyes darkening with something delicious, and I just want him to head home already. I want to be alone with him. In his room, behind a locked door.
The rest of the world can fuck off.
Except Alejandro, of course. But he will need his own room.
I step over a rock on the school lawn, almost tripping on a bigger one behind it. “Shit,” I mutter to myself, shaking a dizzy spell from my head as I approach the sidewalk.
That was weird.
Between Easton, homework, and my usual paranoia, I haven’t been sleeping much. In The Pitts, I used to go weeks on little sleep, and it rarely affected me. I guess I can officially welcome myself to the life of the privileged. Poor girl can’t get any sleep in her luxurious room with her full tummy.
The more I walk, the more the sidewalk blends into the street. I shake my head again, but this time, it does nothing to clear my vision.
“Watch it,” a voice snaps when I stumble into someone.
Catching my footing before I fall, a face blurs into view. Angry brows tower over his eyes, and it looks like they’re ... talking. What the fuck is going on with me?
I stumble around him and mumble, “Sorry.” The word is an echo that follows me down the sidewalk.
I slap my cheek and blink hard.
Get it together.
This feeling doesn’t remind me of sleep deprivation anymore.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too tight to force anything down. Panic should be rising to the surface, but even that’s broken. My legs turn leaden, disconnecting further from my body with each step I take. An odd shape comes into view in the distance.
Black, blue, black, grey.
The colors swirl together like a painting drunk on water. My body tingles with numbness while I try to focus on just one color.Black.Hair?Black and grey hair.
Images stir in my brain.
Black and grey, salt and pepper.
The next color brightens, and it’sblue.
Ice, ice blue.
Snake eyes stare at me.
Panic, panic, panic,I command myself.
Scream.
I don’t.
Nothing works, not my voice or my limbs. All I can feel is a coating of cold sweat on my skin.
A familiar face appears, asafeface, and I think I smile.
