It was rare that I had dreams, but if I did, if I fell asleep long enough to have them, they were always nightmares.

The feelings of the dreams lasted longer than the memory of them. Most of the time, I’d wake up with no recollection of what I’d dreamt, only with the haunting way they made me feel. Like I wasn’t alone. Like I wasn’t safe. Like impending doom was inching its way closer and closer to my life for a second round.

This time, though, I remembered my dream in full.

I’d been walking through the hospital as if in slow-motion, the walls around me fuzzy and faded, like my brain couldn’t recall the details perfectly. A man led me through the hallways, dressed in black with a word etched on the back of his jacket. police.

In my dream, I had no idea what was about to happen.

We’d turned a corner, and Mom was there, just standing in the middle of the hallway. Her pink scrubs matched the ones she wore to work. Her hair had been pulled out of its bun and hung in brown tatters around her face, tangled and gnarled. Tears were tracking down her cheeks, mascara running in black rivers against her fair skin.

I’d stopped in the middle of the hallway, just staring at her, trying to understand why she’d be so sad.

It wasn’t until she looked at me that I remembered. Dad. I was here for my dad. The police officer had picked me up from the house. He’d brought me here. And Mom—Mom was looking at me with a gaze so wild and so hysterical, as if she’d been moments from breaking down before she saw me. I thought I’d be her saving grace, something that’d keep her strong, but I was the opposite.

As soon as she saw me, she started to scream.

And I jerked awake as her sob of pain echoed into the real world, mixing with the blaring noise of my cell phone alarm. I kicked at my covers, the weight of them feeling crushing, suffocating, like they were trying to trap me to the bed and trap me to the memory. Breathe, I tried telling myself, but it was as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in my room. Just get the blankets off. Get them off.

In an effort to scramble upward, I cracked the back of my head on my headboard, the pain strong enough to shake the disorientation. The room suddenly spun back into focus, and I could hear beyond the ragged pace of my breathing or the rapid beat of my heart.

For several moments, I just sat there, trembling, listening to the beeping of my phone. I couldn’t bring myself to reach over and turn it off; I was trying too hard to stuff the residual panic down. It didn’t seem fair that I could dream a memory with such perfect clarity, especially since it was a moment I’d been fighting tooth and nail to forget.

All of a sudden, my bedroom door swung open, and Mom stood on the other side in her scrubs, her hair still wet from her shower. “Addy?” she asked, obviously taken aback by me sitting up in bed. “I thought you were sleeping through your alarm.”

“No, I’m awake,” I said, but I didn’t sound awake; I sounded half-dead. Maybe it was because trying to force those emotions down took so much focus, or maybe it was because I could still hear Mom’s scream in the back of my mind. I reached over and turned off the alarm, granting us blissful silence. “I was just thinking.”

“How you can think with that noise is beyond me,” Mom muttered to herself, and grabbed the door handle. “I’m going to blow-dry my hair and head to work. It doesn’t look like they plowed the roads that well on our street, so be careful going to school, okay?”

I reached up and scrubbed my fingers along my scalp, fingers catching on the knots and tangles from a night of tossing and turning. “Okay.”

Mom hesitated in the doorway like she wanted to say more, but ultimately turned on her heel and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving me alone in the dark bedroom.

The dream wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t so realistic. So much an echo of what had actually happened. Mom, crumbling to the floor of the hospital, screaming as if she had no idea what else to do.

And me, helpless, kneeling with my arms around her as if my sheer will would keep her from falling apart. In real life, it never worked. I was glad I never made it that far in my dream.

Pushing to my feet seemed like a chore, but it was one I had to do. I had to begin week two of being back to school, face the day. I didn’t want to dive under my covers, anyway—I didn’t want to risk dreaming again.

The air was cold as I drew my blankets all the way off, the floorboards colder as I placed my feet on the ground, but I already felt numb.

When I peeked through my bedroom curtains, I found a layer of beautiful, fresh white powder coating everything. After checking my phone for any texts, I sighed. Was a snow day too much to ask for?

But all through the morning, I couldn’t shake that feeling of dread. I just needed to get to school. I just needed to be around people who’d force me to concentrate on the moment at hand, because even though I tried to concentrate on brushing my teeth, on pulling on my tights, on tightening my tie, I still caught my mind wandering. Still caught myself remembering Mom’s scream.

I wondered if it would ever be a sound I could ever truly forget.

I’d timed my arrival perfectly, because I managed to snag a close-ish parking spot before the flood of student drivers pulled in. The roads weren’t terrible, but I’d definitely gone slow enough that leaving early had been a good idea. I cut the engine, and almost instantly, cold started creeping in.

The sky was beautiful as the sun started to rise over the horizon, with a mixture of deep reds that melted into orange. Winter in Greenville was usually gray and dull, and even though snow clouds might move in later and cover it, there was no eclipsing the sunrise now.

Too busy lost in the sky, I didn’t notice when I stepped on a patch of ice. My ballet flat lost purchase and my feet totally went out from underneath me. I slammed down on the pavement, landing on my butt, all of the air expelling from me with a sharp gasp.

For a long moment, I just sat there in shock, teeth vibrating.

This is just not my day.

“Jeez, are you okay?” A hand slipped against my back while another found its grip underneath my forearm, both in tandem guiding me to my feet.

“I’ll let you know when I can feel my butt again,” I answered shakily, looking up to where Jackson Mannerfield stood over at me. Way over me. He was almost freakishly tall. He could easily go on to play professional basketball with his height, and from what I’ve heard from Bryce, agents had their eyes on him. “That was so embarrassing.”

Even worse was that Jackson had been the one to scrape me off the ground. “Nah, I think only I saw,” he said cheerfully, watching as I dusted myself off.

I thought about Vesta teasing Mollie about him. I could see what she meant, of course. If a guy as pretty as Jackson paid attention to me, I was sure I’d be making up excuses to go on a date with him too. But looks weren’t everything.

“Beautiful sunrise, huh?” Jackson said as he walked beside me, hooking his thumbs through his backpack straps. “I miss summer.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, trying to figure out why he hadn’t walked ahead already. “I think the snow is pretty.”

Jackson shrugged at that, still walking alongside me as we got closer to the school. “Can I ask you a question?”

“No, I’m not doing your homework.”

“Ah, you’re funny,” he said in a voice that sounded like he believed the opposite, but he still gave a genuine smile. “Does Mollie really have a no-dating rule?”

I felt an immediate surge of protectiveness, so strong that it made me feel almost angry. “She’s not like everyone else you hang around with. Mollie’s a good person.”

Jackson looked amused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought it was clear. Play any games with her, and you’ll regret it.” Not sure how I’d make him regret it, but I could figure out something.

“What makes you think I want to play games?” he asked, still with that annoying, self-satisfied smile. “I’m just asking if she was telling the truth or trying to let me down gently.”

By that point, we’d made it to the building’s entrance, but I turned and faced him. “The fact that you have to ask just makes it clear that you don’t know her. So do her a favor and find someone else for a rebound.”

With that, I hauled the door open and walked inside, not bothering to prop it open for him. I gritted my teeth, anxious he might try to catch up with me, but this time, he wisely let me pull ahead.

I’d meant what I’d said to Jackson—Mollie was a good person and deserved better than a guy who changed girlfriends every other month. She deserved someone who loved her and cherished her, and if I had to go Mama Bear to protect her, I would.

He might’ve actually liked her, maybe thought she was cute and funny, which she totally was. But guys like Jackson tended to like things because they couldn’t have them—once they got them, poof. They bailed.

I didn’t linger at my locker. As soon as I got my coat off and gathered my things, I headed to psychology. Only two people were already in the room, and Mr. Walker wasn’t one of them, which was strange. He never left his classroom unsupervised.

It took a little bit of time for Vesta to slide into her usual seat in front of me, leaning her elbow on my desk. “I think the world hates me,” she announced. “When I went to my locker, Larissa was asking Jordan—the sophomore Jordan—to the Snowflake Dance. She got a coffee and a sign that read, ‘I would like it a latte if you were my date.’”

“Aw, that’s cute.” When I pictured it, I couldn’t help but smile. “Why would the world hate you?”

“They were doing it in front of my locker. It’s just wrong.”

Talking about the Snowflake Dance made me think about Bryce. I’d become more and more sure of the fact that he wasn’t going to ask me. He supposedly still wanted to meet up and talk, but I couldn’t imagine he was going to talk about the Snowflake Dance, given how awkward our interactions had been lately. We’d been talking so little lately as it was.

“You’ve got a grumpy look on your face,” Vesta said. “Is your singleness getting to you too?”

“I just don’t feel good,” I grumbled, scraping my fingers through my hair. “And I fell in the parking lot, so that didn’t help my mood.”

A woman walked through the door, carrying a piece of paper. “Hello everyone,” she greeted, even though the bell hadn’t rung yet. “I’m Ms. Sharp, and I’ll be your substitute for the day. Your teacher left this note that we’ll be working on your group assignments with your partner today.”

No. No.

This was it. This was the doom that had been barreling toward me.

Vesta raised an eyebrow at me. “So you’re going to work alone, huh? Want to join Kyle and I’s group for the day?”

I’d told Vesta I switched partners. I’d told her I wasn’t working with Vincent anymore. Vincent wasn’t in the room yet—maybe I’d get lucky and he’d be out sick this morning.

I could’ve come clean with Vesta now, told her the truth. But then I thought about her showing up on my doorstep with Bryce, and her in the photo that Bryce had posted, thought about the secret fight between her and Mollie.

All of that combined made me not want to be honest with her made me almost sick at the thought.

And if I told her about Vincent, Vesta would no doubt say something about the accident. I couldn’t think about that today. Not after that nightmare.

Maybe Vincent won’t show. I clung to the thought like a life raft. One minute before the bell rings.

Ten seconds before the school officially day started, I was proven wrong.

Vincent sauntered through the door with his textbook casually tucked under his arm, his dark hair pushed back out of his face. He didn’t glance my way as he headed toward his seat, and I definitely didn’t linger on him long.

Instead, I gathered my things with shaking hands and rose to my feet. “Where are you going?” Vesta asked as the bell rang, eyes following me. “Addy?”

I walked up to the substitute teacher, forcing my expression to sag, grimacing as if in pain. My heart was pounding, because even though my brain knew there was no other option, lying to an adult made me want to throw up. “I’m not feeling well,” I told her in a soft voice, hoping it sounded believable. “Can I go to the office?”

“Of course,” she said, sympathy melting into her gaze. “Try getting something from a vending machine—sometimes nibbling on food can help.”

“I’ll try that,” I assured her, struggling to keep my sick façade up even as relief swept through me. I’d dodged a bullet this time, but what if Mr. Walker was gone again tomorrow and the same sub was here? What if he pulled another “work with your partner” day?

Even with my free pass to go to the office for this period, the relief was short-lived. Once that dissipated, that dread returned in full force. No matter what I did the rest of the day, I couldn’t shake it.