"Frosty?"

"My ex."

"I got that, but his name is..."

"A nickname, yes. He accidentally locked himself out of his house one winter. By the time he was found he was covered in ice and completely frostbitten. They nearly amputated all of his limbs. True story."

"Really?" Because I hadn't noticed anything missing, and if they'd nearly amputated all of his limbs, surely they would have taken a few of his fingers, the most vulnerable part of the hand.

"Fine, he only lost a toe, but frostbite is treacherous. Anyway, the only girls who get to hang with them on their private little adventures are Mackenzie Love-Cole's ex-and Trina, who you had the misfortune to meet earlier."

Cole still hung out with his ex? That had bad news written all over it. Not that I cared. Or wanted to, I don't know, go on a date with him, marry him and have his babies. I just wanted answers. Really.

What had happened in that hallway-or rather, what had not happened-was freaking me out. I mean, I'd always had a strong imagination, as evidenced by the monster in the wedding dress I was convinced I'd seen, but this little mind-vacay of making out in the hall with a strange boy I hadn't officially met far surpassed anything else I'd ever thought up.

"Just a warning," Kat said. "If you hang with them, Mackenzie will corner you and threaten your very existence. Oh, and your friends will drop you and you'll be known as trouble."

I could handle the name Trouble. Again, not that I was considering doing anything with Cole. "Were you dropped when you dated Frosty?"

For a moment, only a moment, she radiated sadness. Then she flipped her hair over one shoulder, grinned and said, "I've always been known as big-time trouble, and though no one has yet realized, I'm more trouble now that Frosty and I- Or is it Frosty and me? I can't ever remember. Whatevs. I'm more trouble now that we've spilt, but you'll learn to appreciate that part of me, I'm sure."

"Already do," I said, and I meant it.

We reached a red door, and she stopped. She hitched her thumb at it and said, "This is you."

I peeked into the classroom through the small window on the door and wanted to run. Or vomit. No, both. Kids were everywhere, and there were no empty seats. The teacher was at the front, already lecturing. The moment I walked inside, silence would take over and every eye would find me.

Maybe I'd turned green or shuddered, because Kat said, "Nervous?"

"Yes, but only a little...lot." I'd always had difficulty lying. "Want to ditch?" I asked hopefully. We could start fresh for block two.

"No, I don't want to ditch, and I'm not even going to attempt to figure out what a little lot is. I want to make an entrance in my own class. After all, the center of attention is the best place to be."

Uh, no, no it wasn't. I backed up a step. "I'll wait for you outside, then."

"You'll be fine," she said, merciless. "They'll love you. And if they don't, well, let me know who I need to punish. That's a specialty of mine, just FYI. So is tough love." She patted me on the butt. "Now go get 'em, baby cub."

"Kat, wait. I-"

"You heard the part about tough love, right? And P.S. In a few months, you might graduate to a full-on tigress, but until then..." She opened the door and gave me a push inside the room. "You'll have to endure the growing pains."

I survived first block with only a splash of humiliation. The "teacher," and I use the term lightly, made me stand at the front of the class and tell the students a little about myself and why I was late. Apparently there were to be no breaks for anyone. Not on the first day, and certainly not for first timers who should know how to read a map.

My thinking on the matter: Mr. Buttle-whom I would forever call Mr. Butthole-was on a power trip, but whatever. I got through without any internal scarring because a very cute boy with puppy dog brown eyes smiled encouragingly at me, then made the universal jerk-off sign the moment Mr. Butthole turned his back, sending everyone into peals of laughter, thereby taking the attention away from me.

Second block took place in the same hall but third was in another building. Still, I made it on time and the class proved to be a breeze. No one tried to talk to me except the short, rotund Ms. Meyers. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun. Her glasses were too big for her face and continually slid down her nose, but she wasn't unpleasant to look at.

"I'm so excited to begin a brand-new year with you," she said, clapping, "and I know you will be too when you hear what I've got planned! By the way, this is Creative Writing, in case anyone accidentally wandered into the wrong room. Anyone? No? Great. On with our stories!"

I propped my head on one hand, and I meant to pay attention, I really did, but my mind drifted. I'd like to say I pondered my future, ways to improve my general state of mind, something, anything useful. But, no. My brain hopped the train to Colehollandville and refused to detour.

One question after another formed. What had happened out there in that hallway? Had Cole experienced anything when he looked at me? The way he'd snapped his teeth at me, as if I'd bewildered him without saying a word...maybe. But then again, maybe that had been a gesture of irritation. I'd basically eye-raped him.

And what if I tranced out (or whatever you wanted to call it) the next time I saw him?

Desperate to know, I'd searched for him after both my first and second classes. I'd looked through numerous passageways, along the stairs and, okay, yes, I'd even slowed down in front of both the boys' bathrooms I'd passed, but there'd been no hint of him.

Maybe that was a good thing. He intimidated me.

There. I'd admitted it. He was big and bad and obviously well-acquainted with violence. I'd had enough violence in my life, thanks. Besides, there were only three possible outcomes if the two of us actually spoke.

1) He'd tell me to ~bleep~ off.

2) He'd tell everyone I was ~bleeping~ insane.

3) He'd ask me who the ~bleep~ I thought I was because he's positive he's never seen me before.

I didn't know him, and yet I easily imagined him cussing. A lot. Kat would so not approve.

"-I think you'll find her work symbolic of-"

Ms. Meyers's voice intruded, trying to claim my attention, but my dilemma quickly returned to center stage. I sooo wanted to talk to my mom about Cole and what had happened. Because of my dad, she'd understood weird in all its varying shades and degrees. She wouldn't have laughed at me. She wouldn't have rushed me in for an emergency therapy session. She would have sat me down and helped me reach a conclusion that satisfied me.

I missed her so much and wished, so badly, that I'd been nicer to her there at the end.

Well, well. What do you know? My mind could go somewhere other than Cole Holland today.

No way would I mention any of this to Nana and Pops. They'd freak-not that they'd ever show me. For me, they would smile and pretend all was well, never realizing I'd once caught them whispering in their bedroom.

Poor thing. Therapy isn't working. Will she ever recover, do you think?

Not sure. All I know is that I hate that she's hurting so badly, but there's nothing I can do. She won't let me.

I know. I've never felt so helpless.

They'd tried to get me to go to the movies, ice-skating and shopping, things kids my age supposedly liked to do, but my answer was always the same: no. Each time, they had kissed me on the forehead and said, "Maybe next time."

Refusing to worry them further, I'd swallowed back the words Maybe never. I spent most of my time in my room, and that's the way I liked it.

I had a routine. I spent my mornings reading The Iron Fey series. I spent my evenings listening to the mix tapes my dad had made for my mother. (I was staying in her old room and had found her old cassette player.) I spent my nights searching for monsters. On weekdays I left the house for school and on weekends I left for church. That was it.

The bell rang, shattering my thoughts like a fist through a mirror, and I bolted upright. Ms. Meyers was stacking books on her desk. Kids were already filing out of the classroom. I gathered my stuff and rose to do the same.

"Alice Bell," Ms. Meyers called before I could leave.

Our gazes met, locked. "I prefer Ali."

She nodded and offered me a warm smile. "I looked over your transcript from Carver Academy and liked what I saw. With straight A's, I'm guessing you didn't sleep in class."

Ouch. "I wasn't sleeping, I promise."

Her smile grew, letting me know that she wasn't offended. "I know reading and writing aren't everyone's favorite thing, but give me a chance tomorrow, okay? If you don't like what I'm saying, if I fail to engage you, fine. Sleep or daydream or whatever you want to call it."

Fair enough. "You have my word."

"Good." She motioned to the door with a tilt of her chin. "Go on. You've got places to be, I'm sure."

I stepped into the hall-and prayed the world would suddenly end. Frosty and one of his more feral friends were waiting for me. Clearly. Their gazes zeroed in on me-arrow, meet bull's-eye-and they leaped into motion, closing the distance between us. I bet they were here to warn me away from Cole.

How humiliating! I kept walking, and they kept pace beside me, flanking me. Testosterone walled me in, neatly shutting out the rest of the world.

"S'up. I'm Frosty," the rough-looking blond said. Up close, I saw that his eyes were not completely brown but a pretty blueberry with flecks of chocolate.

My stomach growled. Okay, so I was hungry, and that was probably why his eyes reminded me of delicious food. So what. An appetite was a good thing, and I'd been without one all summer.

"This here's my boy Bronx," he added when I failed to respond.

"I'm Ali." Either I hadn't noticed Bronx earlier-so not likely-or he'd been running late. "Bronx, huh? Is that where you're from?"

"Nope," Frosty answered for him.

Bronx said nothing, but oh, did he stare. For a guy with barbells in both of his eyebrows and hair dyed an electric blue, that stare bypassed demon-dark and went straight to devil-damned.

"Okay," I said. What else was I supposed to say?

A group of jocks passed us. To my surprise, they practically flattened themselves against the row of lockers to get out of the way of my giant, muscled bookends. I could even smell their fear, an acrid scent coating the air between us, stinging my nostrils.

So weird.

At my old school, jocks had ruled, their word law, and the only thing they'd worried about was the next game. Different schools, different worlds, I guess.

"Boys," I heard Dr. Wright say. I picked up the clack clack of her heels before I spotted her at the end of the hall. "You're not manhandling Miss Bell, correct?" She spoke as she walked toward us. Her gaze remained locked on Frosty. "I'd hate to have to ruin the rest of your day with detention."

"No reason to ruin, Dr. Wright," he said with military precision at the same time I said, "I'm fine."

She wasn't satisfied. "What do you want with her?"

Frosty smiled, all innocence. "Just to talk, what else?"

"Why?"

Were all principals this nosy?

"Because she's cute?" Frosty replied, a question rather than a statement.

In that moment, I could have fallen flat on my face and experienced less embarrassment.

Dr. Wright's suspicions were not assuaged, judging by the narrowing of her eyes, but she briskly passed us without trying to stop us. "Just make sure you watch your mouths or I'll have to call your guardians," she threw over her shoulder.

Frosty shuddered. Bronx saluted with mock respect.

"So how do you know Kat?" Frosty asked me, jumping back to the conversation. As determined as he looked, he was done with distractions.

I relaxed. They weren't here for Cole, and they weren't here because I might be-or might not be-moderately attractive. "We ran into each other during summer break." Hopefully that was the right thing to say. I wasn't sure about proper etiquette when dealing with a friend's ex.

"Where at?" he asked, pretending an ease those M&M eyes failed to project.

"Well, uh...hmm." How could I answer that without spilling info about myself?

The two boys "guided" me around a corner by pressing their shoulders into mine and steering me. I'd wanted to go the other way, to my locker. Whatever. I could deal. I might not want anything to do with violence, but I could handle myself, even with bruisers like these. My dad had made sure of that.

In fact, I'd taken my dad down a time or twelve, flipping him over, popping his eye and once even breaking his nose. Every time I'd bested him, he'd smiled, so wonderfully proud of me.

A burning in my eyes...a tremor in my chin. Dang it, I needed to concentrate on the here and now.

What had Frosty asked me? Oh, yeah. "If you want to know where I met Kat, you'll have to ask Kat." There. An answer without being an answer. Meanwhile, I'd be pulling her aside the next time I saw her and asking her to mentally torch the details.

Frosty acted as if he'd just been stabbed in the gut. "Cruel, Ali, so cruel. At least give me a hint. Pretty please with cherries on top of me."

Charming. But I couldn't forget that he'd cheated on Kat. Thinking fast, I said, "Okay, here's a hint. A lot of people were there. There was some screaming, definitely some writhing. A looot of touching." Doctors were very hands-on.

In the next instant, I was given a deeper glimpse of the criminal-in-the-making Frosty was. That mask of affability fell away, revealing hard, dark eyes and lips compressed with rage. "Did she touch anyone? Did anyone touch her?"

Dude. You left her for the entire summer. "It's been nice talking to you and everything, but I really need to-"

We rounded another corner and I slammed into something solid, losing my concentration as I stumbled backward.

Bronx caught me, righted me and then let go of me as if I'd just given him third-degree burns.

"I'm sorry," I began, focusing on the person I'd hit.

A girl, shorter than me by several inches. Silky dark hair curled to the middle of her back and framed a face God might have used to design his favorite angels. Her makeup was perfect. Her skin was slightly sunburned but still perfect. Her clothes were expensive and sexy, yet still elegant-and perfect. She wore a pink cashmere sweater and a flirty white skirt. She was the only diamond in a sea of glass.

I wasn't into girls, but...wow. This one could probably turn anyone. Not even Kat and her catalog friends could compare.

"Is this your newest slice of tail?" she asked Frosty, all kinds of you're beneath me in her tone. A tone clearly directed at me.

Maybe she wouldn't be able to turn me. I wasn't into nasty.

"Back off, Mackenzie," Frosty said.

Mackenzie. As in, Mackenzie Love. This was Cole Holland's ex?

Of course she is, I thought next, wanting to laugh without a bit of humor. Beautiful boys dated beautiful girls. That's how the world worked. And yes, by those rules, I was destined to be with a lanky loner with a tragic past. Wonderful.

"Cole wants you," she snapped at the boys, "so your little missionary trip will have to wait."