When I exit the lunchroom, Tessa’s at the far end of the hall, tapping her watch in anticipation of the period-ending bell. Though history is her worst subject, daydreaming about our teacher, Mr. Riley, happens to be her favorite pastime. No one, not even her very best friend, would be forgiven for making her late.
I’m nearly to Tessa when there’s a sudden and terrible eclipse. Gigi, flanked by Amber and Kiara, a particularly tough teammate of ours who we don’t usually hang out with, exits the girls’ bathroom and plants herself directly in my path.
Gigi and I haven’t actually spoken since the sleepover, despite the numerous pleading messages and apology texts I’ve sent. It’s through Tessa that I’ve heard she’s considering a restraining order and from my mother that I’ve learned of her parents’ threat to press charges. Yet here she is, seeking me out. I just want to make this better, to tell her I’m so sorry, that I never, ever meant to hurt her. Maybe Jamie is right. Maybe she’ll understand if only I can get her to listen. I push her bitchy gossip mongering out of my mind and smile.
“Hey, Gigi. Listen, I am so—” is all I manage to say before her right hand flies up and slaps me across the face.
I stand there, hand on cheek, mouth gaping in awkward disbelief.
Kiara glares at me, and Amber gasps.
Gigi grins. “You’re welcome,” she says.
Tessa rushes to my side. “Gigi, what the hell?”
“I’m just doing Sarah a favor, T,” she replies with put-on innocence. “It’s like that dog-training thing we learned about in Dr. Gordon’s class. Before Sarah opens her mouth to apologize to me again, she’ll remember that slap and think better of it.” Gigi screws up her face and leans into me. “Don’t you know karma’s a bitch? I never want to hear another BS thing out of your lying, freak mouth, so long as I live. And I plan to live a long time, despite your best efforts, if for no reason other than to make your miserable existence that much more—hey!” she cries as Amber knocks her off-balance. “Did you forget to take your meds?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Amber pleads, an incredulous terror scrunching her face. “That guy walked into me. Excuse me,” she calls after him. “Didn’t you see—”
Amber’s words stick in her throat.
A tall, lean, but substantial guy turns to her with a playful, crooked smile. His existence seems as effortless as his perfectly relaxed jeans and unbuttoned flannel, but there’s a definite hint of the Herculean straining against the fitted gray T-shirt he wears underneath.
Tessa raises her eyebrows as Gigi gives him the once-over.
While it’s true that my savior is crazy attractive, I’m less concerned with his Adonis rating than I am with the realization that I know him from somewhere else.
My body stiffens. I grab Tessa’s wrist. Though I’m sure she interprets this move as girlie excitement over the hot new guy, to me, his looks mean squat. Though I’ve technically never met him before, this boy has already made a cameo in the black comedy that is my current life. His green eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, I think he recognizes me too. But how can he, when the only other time I’ve seen him is the night I tried to kill Gigi—in my dream?
Before I can even begin to process how the half-naked dream-guy by the tree is standing before me in real life, Gigi pounces.
“Hey, new boy,” she purrs.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment more, and then he turns his attention to her. Gigi’s not naturally gorgeous, as she’d be the first to tell you. According to her, her eyes are too small and too close together, she’s got stringy, corn-husk hair that lies limp on her head, and her pale white skin borders on translucent. But what God didn’t gift her, she’s reclaimed through a preternatural ability to apply makeup and wield a curling iron. Gigi knows how to make the most of what she’s got, and when she’s finished working her magic, she’s striking. Though the guy doesn’t say a word as he looks her up and down, Gigi knows the kind of first impression she makes, and she’s banking on her ability to use it to take me out.
“Since you clearly don’t know better, I’ll give you a pass this time,” she says as she moves closer to him. “That girl behind me who you were just checking out? The one with the handprint on her face? You don’t want to get too close to her. She’s sick and highly contagious.”
My dream guy’s grin widens, and Amber giggles like a four-year-old. Tessa shoots her a you-and-me-behind-the-gym-at-recess look, and though I appreciate the effort, I know it’s fruitless. Jamie is wrong. This thing with Gigi isn’t going to blow over. I’m a marked woman, and even the new kid is going to fall in line.
“Contagious?” he asks. His smirking baritone transports me back to my dream, and I blush at the sense memory of his smooth, naked chest. “What’s she got?”
Gigi glances back at me triumphantly. “Social leprosy,” she snarks.
Amber and Kiara laugh. Tessa mouths at them to shut up.
The guy slides forward into Gigi’s personal space, and for a second, I’m utterly terrified that he’s going to kiss her. “So you’re saying I’d be better off sharing a petri dish with you?” he asks.
“Maybe,” Gigi says, sounding way less composed than she’d probably like. She tilts her face up to his, and I want to leap between them and claw both their eyes out.
He brings his mouth even closer to hers, and I’m paralyzed, imagining the heat of his breath against her lips.
Then, in a whisper, he says, “Unfortunately, I’ve already been inoculated against clichéd, high school mean girl. So I guess that makes us a no-go.”
Amber makes a choking sound, and Kiara covers her mouth with both hands.
Gigi flushes bloodred but doesn’t move an inch, caught in an unexpected standoff with a guy who, moments ago, she was sure was hers for the taking.
It takes all my strength not to smile and incur any more of her wrath.
As the period-ending bell finally rings, Gigi snaps back to reality and steps back, effectively ending the stalemate.
“Interesting choice,” she says, then turns to leave. She bodychecks me as she struts past, her two stooges scurrying behind.
I’ve been issued a reprieve, but I know it’s only temporary.
By the time I regain my composure, my dream guy has taken off and is at the far end of the hall. Without breaking his stride, he glances over his shoulder and throws me a smile. Then he turns his back on the scene of his social suicide and carries on. I watch him until he disappears around a corner and wonder if he feels my eyes on him just like I felt his in the cafeteria.
“Um, what was that?” Tessa asks.
I shake my head, having forgotten for a moment that I’m not alone. “Well, Gigi slapped me, and we almost got into a girl fight—”
“Yeah, I caught that,” she says impatiently. “I’m talking about him, Little Boy Lost on the Way to Homeroom. Yum. Order me one of those.” She gives me a sly smile. “Unless, of course, you’ve already called dibs.”
“What? No,” I reply quickly, hoping my face isn’t too red. “Do you seriously want to talk about some guy smiling at me? Because I’m still sort of thinking about getting slapped.”
“Move on!” Tessa says. “That dude had your back just now. And unless you’ve been holding out on me, it doesn’t seem like you know him.”
I frown. I’ve already pushed the limits of best friendship with my wacky sleep disorder. How can I expect her to understand that I recognize this guy from my dream when it’s completely inexplicable to me? “I don’t,” I say as I head down the hall toward class. At least not in any remotely sane way, I silently add.
Tessa claps her hands excitedly. “Well, maybe I can help with that. His name is Wes Nolan. Just transferred from some boarding school up north. Today’s his first day.”
Wes Nolan. I’m already scribbling his name across a thousand imagined notebooks, replacing the a with a bubbly heart. No. Too much, too fast. I refocus my attention on Tessa’s detective work. “I suppose it’s pointless to question your superior snooping?” I ask.
She cocks an eyebrow. “You know my sources are solid. I overheard Principal Hatch talking to Mrs. Linkler about a new transfer student this morning. Seems your boyfriend’s been in and out of a few boarding schools.”
“Really?” I ask. I remind myself I don’t actually know Wes and have no real reason to be surprised by this information.
“Don’t judge,” Tessa chides. She leans her head on my shoulder and grins up at me. “Bad boys can be fun. Maybe you should reach out to him. You make a great welcoming committee.”
I playfully shove her away and continue toward class.
“Come on,” she says, matching my stride. “There are worse things than having a tall, dark stranger come to your rescue.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Like having one of your oldest friends make it her personal mission to destroy your life.”
Tessa scoops up my hand in hers and squeezes it tight as we walk down the corridor. Having been my best friend since we bonded over hating naptime in nursery school, Tessa has never once wavered in her loyalty. We know everything about each other, like that Tessa’s an excellent lock picker and has been reading her older sister’s steamy diary for years, and that, when I hit double digits, I started having violent outbursts when I slept. While my other close friends, like Gigi, know the basic facts of my parasomnia, it’s only Tessa who’s bothered to learn how to secure the straps that keep me tied to my bed at night.
She shoulder-checks me. “Buck up, bub,” she says brightly. “Things aren’t all that bad.”
I raise my eyebrows, curious how she’s going to spin this one.
“If a kid who just started school has fallen under your spell enough to make an enemy of Gigi MacDonald on his first day, then you really have made an impact. I mean it, Sarah. This is way better than a sex tape!”
As Tessa prattles on, planning our high school domination, my mind wanders back to Wes. I can either freak out over the baffling coincidence that I imagined this kid the day before I met him in real, waking life, or I can focus on what’s really important: adding that Puck-like smirk to the mental picture of him shirtless in the woods.
“He is kind of hot, isn’t he?” I say.
“Who? Transfer boy?” Tessa laughs, thrilled to return to the subject. “Yeah. He looks as tasty as a banana fudge sundae with whipped cream and cherries on top. The question is, beyond the looks, is he anything to write a song about?”
“I don’t know,” I say coyly. “Maybe you should do some research, since you keep talking about how delicious he is.”
“Uh-uh,” Tessa replies, shaking her head. “That boy’s only got eyes for you. Besides, I’m busy playing the naughty Lolita to Mr. Riley’s Humbert Humbert.”
“In your dreams,” I snort.
She grins seductively. “Just a few more extra credit assignments and he’s all mine.”
We enter Mr. Riley’s History III class and take our seats at the front of the room. As the rest of the students file in, Tessa turns to me, her lips pursed together. “I do hope he’s not a total freak,” she says.
“Who? Wes?”
She nods. “I hate it when hotness is wasted on the weird.” She perks up as our teacher takes his place at the front desk, her concern for the ratio of attractive to odd forgotten. “Hi, Mr. Riley. Nice jacket. Is that tweed?”
As Tessa flutters her lashes, I contemplate her assessment of Wes. Yes, the guy is gorgeous, but his good looks can only distract me for so long. Not only has this total stranger appeared in my most recent violent dream, but then he shows up in the flesh, wandering the halls of my high school. Did I see him on the street or stand behind him at Starbucks? I wrack my brain, trying to rationalize this most recent irrational event. But I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something different about Wes Nolan. And no matter how attractive he is, in my personal experience, rarely does different equal good. The thought makes me twitch, and I have to put down my pencil before someone notices. Though I’d have thought it impossible this morning, Gigi’s vendetta against me may have just slipped to the number two spot on my OMFG list.