Uh, had he just given me a compliment? Couldn't have. There'd been something sharp in his tone.

I noticed two kids standing off to the side, wanting into the classroom but not wanting to squeeze between Cole and me to get there. I wrapped my fingers around Cole's wrist and lowered his arm. The kids bypassed us, but I didn't return to my place. I was flush against Cole, could feel his heart pounding and couldn't bring myself to move.

"Yes, I have been in a fight," I said, recalling what he'd asked me. With my dad, during training.

Cole's head tilted to the side, that violet gaze intense. "A fistfight?" he asked.

Uh-oh. I'd noticed his eyes. I was well and truly trapped now. So pretty. "Is there any other kind?"

"Many kinds. So who'd you fight?"

"No one you'd know," I said, mimicking his answer. If I told him the truth, he'd think my dad had let me win or worse, that I was a major witch for fighting my own father. And I'd have no defense!

The quirking at the corner of his mouth started up again. I amused him, I guess, and had no idea why. Well, he confused me. Why warn me about his ex's cruel streak? Why try to comfort me? Why do nothing else?

I studied his face, searching for answers, finding none.

"Ali?"

"Yes." My attention lowered to his mouth. Up close like this, the split in his lower lip revealed a fresh bead of blood. I bet he could have taken my dad and still had the energy to turn the two visions I'd had into a reality.

"I asked if your last name is Bell."

This newest topic switch threw me, but I quickly adapted without dying of embarrassment for losing myself to such silly thoughts. "Yes. Bell. Why?"

"Your dad was Phillip Bell. Your mom was Miranda Bradley."

Was, he'd said. Not is. He knew. I swallowed my sudden urge to scream, gritting out, "You're right, but how did you know that?" I'd never even mentioned their names to Kat.

"My dad went to school with them."

Someone else had known them, might mourn their loss. How odd to discover that the people I'd lived with for most of my existence had had a life before me, without me. On some level, I'd realized that, of course I had, but hearing the truth was a different matter entirely. "Your dad went to school here?"

A hard nod.

I had about a thousand more questions now. Had our parents hung out together? Been friends? Enemies? Had his dad said anything about mine? How had his dad known about me-had Cole mentioned me to him? I didn't ask a single one, though. Asking would have invited him to ask questions of his own, and I wasn't ready to talk about what had happened over the summer.

"My dad wants to know-"

"Thanks for the heads-up about your girlfriend," I interjected in a rush, making it clear our parents weren't up for discussion. I wasn't sure of my reaction, and I wasn't going to risk it. "We should probably say goodbye now."

A knowing pause before he gave another stiff nod. "Fine. But just so you know, Mackenzie isn't my girlfriend."

He didn't say anything else, and I had no idea how to reply, so I strode into the classroom. Gold star for me-I didn't cast a final glance over my shoulder. I think he watched me, though, because I felt two white-hot pings in my back.

I made it all the way to last block without any problems and forced myself to listen to the final lecture of the day, this one about equations and how to properly decipher them with minimal brain spasms-without allowing thoughts of Cole Holland to invade. Go me. Finally, blessedly, the bell rang-and I was quite sad to realize I wasn't any smarter.

Kat, who'd saved me a seat and wiggled her eyebrows at me every time I'd glanced in her direction, grabbed me before I could escape and demanded to know every word that had been uttered between Cole and me.

The self-imposed CH embargo was over, I guess, and I was kinda glad. I needed advice. I relayed the conversation verbatim and her excitement drained.

"Okay, I don't know how they judge cool versus lame at Carver Suck It Academy-oh, and did I mention that we kicked your butt last year in both football and basketball?-but here at Asher we consider that seriously lame."

I wasn't offended. I liked her honesty. "What should I have said?"

She batted her lashes at me and lowered her voice to a smoky rasp. "Cole, you big strong manimal. I know the boogeyman thinks you'll jump out of his closet, but I think you're- Hey, are you listening to our private conversation, Marcus?" she ended in a shout. "Yeah, that's right. Run."

I could only blink at her. Never, and I mean never, could I call Cole a manimal.

"Where was I?" Kat asked me. "Never mind. Judging by your expression, you're not ready for flirting lessons. I'll just stick with giving you a pick-me-up. Come on. Let's go to Cafe Bella and drink so many lattes we're peeing coffee for a week."

Suddenly I heard angels singing. "I would seriously love that."

She smiled. "I always have the best ideas, don't I?"

Outside, a gray film covered the sky. Thick dark clouds looked ready to burst at any moment...except for one. It was white and fluffy, perfect in every way-and shaped like a rabbit in midhop.

Ice chips crystallized in my veins, and I skidded to a stop. The last time I'd seen a cloud like that, I'd lost everyone and everything I loved.

Logically I knew a cloud did not determine my future, or even predict it, but...

The world was suddenly spinning, spinning, round and round. Car after car zoomed beside me, the parking lot writhing and seething with blurry motions and hazy sounds. Someone honked. Someone grumbled. I couldn't force myself to move. Could only stare in horror.

"Ali?"

Kat's voice sounded far away, as if she stood at the end of a long, narrow tunnel. Would I cause Kat to wreck her car today? Would she die in front of me? Would I walk away without a scratch?

Finally, motion on my part. I backed away from her.

"Ali?" she said again.

I jerked my gaze in her direction. Her frown of concern nearly leveled me. "I can't," I said, shaking my head. "I just can't. I'm sorry." Fog filled my head, making me dizzy. I spun and ran, just ran, arrowing toward the building.

I heard her calling for me, knew she was chasing after me. A back door blew open and closed in the wind. I shot through on its next opening and sprinted down the hall. I didn't see Dr. Wright but I heard her shout for me. I ignored her, too, and found a bathroom (for boys) where I shut myself inside one of the stalls. Panting, I sat on the lid of the toilet, drew my knees up to my chest and fought the sting of tears in the back of my eyes.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed but neither Kat nor Dr. Wright ever found me.

What should I do? What should I freaking do? I'd already missed my bus, and I refused to call Nana to ask her to pick me up. I just...I couldn't get in a car today. With anyone. If someone died because of me, I would never be able to shake the guilt.

You realize you're being irrational, right?

Yeah, I did. But did that help me? No.

My house was only a few miles away. I could walk, I decided. Yeah, that was the perfect solution. No cars would be involved, and I'd get some much-needed exercise. Finally I calmed.

The storm would break at any moment, and I'd probably be soaked to the bone by the time I got home, but everyone would be safe. That was all that mattered.

6.

Advice from a Dying Caterpillar Dinner that evening proved to be a horribly tense affair. Nana had come home early and I hadn't been there. She had worried. She'd called my cell a dozen times but I hadn't answered. I had known she would insist on coming to get me, and my protests would have fallen on deaf ears. So I'd sent her straight to voice mail, listened to her messages and texted her back each time, telling her I was on my way and fine.

"What's the point of having a cell phone if you're not going to use it," she muttered now.

"I did use it," I said, my voice nasally. My nose was cold, wet and stuffed, and if I sneezed one more time, I'd hopefully blow the thing off my face. "I texted you." Multiple times.

Her lined face scrunched in distaste, making her appear older than she really was. "And I had no idea how to respond! I've never typed anything but a number into my phone."

"I'll teach you the basics," I said, the thought alone enough to make me nervous. I could already tell: there'd be lots of adjusting her reading glasses, repeating my instructions as if I'd spoken in Greek, until she finally asked me to write everything down in a language she could understand. But there wasn't a language she would understand, so we'd never get anywhere.

"You'll teach me?" Nana asked.

See? Repeating me already. "Yes."

"You, a girl who doesn't even have enough sense to stay out of the rain until I can come and get you?"

As if to emphasize my own stupidity, I sneezed. "Yes."

"That's it. I'm taking you to the doctor." She tossed her napkin on the table. "You've probably given yourself pneumonia!"

"I'm not sick, Nana. Honest." Wasn't like I'd gone to a medical lab, asked for a dish of their tastiest virus and feasted.

She drew in a deep breath...released...then picked up her napkin. "All right. If you're without a fever tomorrow, I'll allow you to teach me how to text."

Gee. Thanks. "So what did you do when Mom was late?" I pushed my peas around my plate with the prongs of my fork. "She never had a cell."

Pops frowned at me. "Is that what today was about? Scaring us so that we'll never take away your phone? Really, Ali. That was unnecessary. We wouldn't do something like that to you."

"That wasn't what happened at all," I said. "I just felt like walking." And that was one hundred percent the truth. "With the thunder and the wind and the rain, I knew you wouldn't be able to understand me if we spoke. Also, I was afraid I'd be struck by lightning and, if the phone was at my ear, electrocuted. Texting was the best option." Again, truth-only stretched thin with the more pertinent details omitted.

"Well, don't walk home again," Pops said in that scolding voice. Scolding, and worried. Over the past few days, his comb-over had lost a few valiant soldier-strands desperately holding on to his scalp. Because of me? "I'm not trying to- What do teenagers say nowadays?" he asked my grandmother.

"Get all up in her biznez," Nana said. Without cracking a smile.

"That's right," he replied. "We're not trying to get all up in your biznez, Ali."

Oh, wow. Okay. They were trying to relate to me right now. Had probably watched a news program about how to communicate with a teenager or something, and I'd bet they'd later spent hours in front of a computer screen, studying urban slang, muttering together as they deciphered words and discussed the best way to use them.

How...sweet.

Dang it! Their sweetness made me feel all kinds of guilty.

"Those woods are dangerous," Pops continued. "Predators of the four-legged variety roam freely, and animal carcasses are found all the time."

I recalled the Bride and Groom of Gore I'd seen. Or might not have seen. Whatever. They were predators of the two-legged variety, definitely, and I never wanted an up-close-and-personal meet and greet with them without my baseball bat firmly in hand.

"I'm sorry," I said after another sneeze. "I really am."

Nana muttered something else about pneumonia.

"I missed my bus," I added, "and I didn't want to bother you." Another stretched truth. "It won't happen again. I promise." And that was the God's honest truth, with no evasion. I'd never put them through a worry-wringer again.

"You aren't a bother." Nana reached over and patted my hand. "We love you and just want-" By then her chin was quivering too much for her to continue. Tears filled her eyes, but she swiftly wiped them away with the back of her hand. She cleared her throat. "Now, then." Sniff, sniff. "You asked about your mother. Once she started dating your father, she stayed in most nights. And if they went out, he always had her home before dark. We were always so impressed by that and failed to realize... Well, never mind."

Did they know why? Had Mom? Or had Dad waited to tell her until after he'd bagged and tagged her?

Oh, gross. Thinking of my parents that way...ick, just ick.

"Did Mom ever mention a friend whose last name was Holland?" I asked, recalling what Cole had said to me. Or had tried to say to me.

Nana's lips pursed as she pondered my question. "Holland...Holland...no, that name doesn't ring a bell."

"Your mom was terribly shy. Didn't make friends easily, truth be told. Didn't date much, either," Pops said, after swallowing a bite of roast. "In fact, your dad was the first boyfriend she ever had."

My mom? Shy? To me, she'd always been effervescent, full of life. Just like Emma.

"Your dad made her laugh and was always convincing her to do such silly things," Nana said with a soft smile. "One day, they dressed in the most hideous outfits I'd ever seen and went out to lunch. I'm sure people stared, but when they came back, they were laughing so hard your dad actually threw up."

I could not imagine it. To me, he'd always been serious, a little too driven, even in his drunkenness.

We finished our dinner in silence, then I trudged to my bedroom. It was the only room on the second floor, and I had a bathroom of my own. My mom had spent her teenage years up here. How had she decorated the place? I wondered. After she'd moved out, Nana had boxed up her things and turned the space into first a playroom, then a sewing room and now a guest room.

Me, I hadn't done any decorating at all. The walls were as bare as when I'd first moved in. I'd stashed the boxes of family pictures Nana had given me in my closet. I hadn't opened them, hadn't hung a single frame. Heck, I hadn't even glanced at them. The most I'd done was go through my mom's old things, and only because Nana had dug them out. I think she'd been trying to reconnect with the child she'd lost.

Reconnect. Something I'd never truly tried, the sadness that came with such an attempt overwhelming me, stopping me. But I should push through that sadness, shouldn't I? Otherwise, I would forever be a bad daughter and a terrible sister. I mean, I'd built my new life around the concept that my mom, dad and sister had never existed, yet they so deserved better. At the very least, they deserved recognition, a place of honor.

Time to pull on those big-girl panties.

I flopped in front of the closet, and with blind eyes and hands no longer operating under my control I burrowed through the box closest to the door. As I withdrew a stack of frames, dust wafted and had me sneezing all over again. But no, I did not have pneumonia or even a cold. And okay, yes, my body grew warmer with every second that passed, as if I was indeed developing a fever, but that stemmed from emotion not a virus.

Tears I hadn't realized had formed trickled down my cheeks, and my vision finally cleared. And there was my mother, looking adorable in a metallic gold dress with her hair teased into what could only be called the Rat's Nest look. But what a lovely, glowing smile she had. And there was my dad, cute and lanky in a black tux, with a spray-painted-gold flower hooked to his lapel, his arm wrapped around Mom's waist. He had a fierce, get me out of here frown.

They were so young. Was this prom? If so, that would mean my dad had gone out at night. No wonder he was frowning. But then, Nana had said he'd never taken my mom out after dark. So...maybe he'd refused to take her to prom but had taken her somewhere else, during the day, to make up for his failure.

Why had I never asked them about their teenage years? Now, it was far too late.

I continued searching and at last found a picture of Emma. That mass of dark hair hung in silky waves because I'd spent hours curling each individual lock, all because she'd "always wanted hair that looks like yours, Alice." Somehow she'd convinced my mother to buy her a flower girl dress-when she wasn't a flower girl. The monstrosity was fluffy, white and belled at the waist, with more lace, ruffles and ribbons than could usually be found under a Christmas tree. But then, Emma could sell the devil a vacation stay in the fiery tropic of Hades.

Smiling, I traced my fingertip over the glass. I miss you so much, Em. My vision blurred a second time, new teardrops trickling down and landing on the bow at her waist.

So badly I wanted her to appear. Just one more time. "I met this boy," I told her photo. "I even talked to him a little without sounding completely idiotic. He's beautiful and tough and...and I kind of...imagined kissing him."