A metallic taste flooded my mouth. Michael had caused the slightest drop of his blood to drip onto my tongue. The sand and the wind and the cove disappeared, and I experienced a powerful flash-much stronger than I'd ever experienced before. I saw myself on that first day of school, walking down the hallway with Ruth after the episode with her and Missy. I watched as I whipped my head in Michael's direction, and I couldn't believe how I appeared. My pale skin and eyes looked striking against the sleek blackness of my hair, and my long, lithe body was outlined in a glowing light. As seen through Michael's eyes, I was indeed beautiful, almost ethereally so.

Just then, the upper school hallway faded, and I saw another, more disconcerting image of myself. I watched as I elevated to Michael's second-floor bedroom window and stretched out my hand in an invitation to flight. It was a scene from my dream.

I drew back from Michael's kiss, and the image disappeared. Pushing myself up from the sand, I asked, "What was that? How did you know-"

"How did I know that you saw images like that? That you get insights into other people's thoughts and feelings and baggage?"

"Yes." I could barely breathe.

"How did I know that you dream of flying? And that, last night, you flew by my bedroom window in your dream?"

"Yes."

"Ellie, I told you that you are different. We are different. And that difference means we are meant for each other."

Chapter Eleven.

Different-what did Michael mean by different? I was too freaked out to ask. I was also too terrified-of him, the images, even myself-to stand there next to him on that remote beach as darkness fell around us. I felt betrayed, too. Had he orchestrated the whole reconciliation just so he could bring me here and frighten me? And how did he know about my flashes? About my dreams? Something was off. I backed away from him and headed toward the rocky pathway leading to the road.

Michael hurried after me. "I'm sorry, Ellie. I didn't mean to scare you."

I turned around and said, "Well, you did." Then I kept moving up the path.

I felt his hand as he reached out for me. "Come on, let me help you back up the trail."

Keeping my hands glued to my sides and marching forward, I said, "No thanks, you've 'helped' enough. I'll make my own way." I didn't want him touching me just then. What if he could transmit more of his thoughts and images to me-or, worse, obtain more of my thoughts and images?

The sun had almost sunk beneath the horizon, and the pathway was getting really hard to see. I trudged ahead as if I knew what I was doing-and where I was going. As I made my way along the narrow path, I heard some rocks slide down the steep cliff face. The sound startled me, and I lost my confidence and my footing. I started to slip, and Michael grabbed me just in time.

I sat for a moment to catch my breath. Since I didn't experience any weird flashes as he pulled me up, I figured that I should accept his help the rest of the way. I walked with his hand on my arm until we finally reached the peak. There, I tried to shake off his hand so I could walk to the car on my own. But he held tight.

"Ellie, look at me."

I didn't want to look at him. As we had hiked up that treacherous path, I had thought about what had pa.s.sed between us. Whether or not the sensations were real-and I wasn't ready to tackle that just yet-I was furious. How dare he bring me to such an isolated, even dangerous, spot to inflict all this on me? And I didn't want my anger to soften when I looked into his eyes, which I suspected it might.

"Please, Ellie."

I kept my gaze fixed on the ground. "Why should I, Michael? You dragged me out here to this remote beach to scare me with some kind of game."

"Game?"

"Yes."

"You think that the images I shared with you were some kind of game?" He sounded shocked, even a little mad. I didn't dare look at his face.

"Yes." In truth, I wasn't sure. I'd experienced enough flashes, visions, or whatever you wanted to call them, of my own to suspect that they might be real. But I didn't want to admit it out loud to him-because then I'd have to face it. And I desperately wanted to be regular, like my parents had always told me I was. I'd never had any trouble thinking of myself that way until right now. I did not want to be different, especially not in this weird way.

"They were no trick, Ellie. You are different. We are different."

"We are not. I don't know how you did what you did, but there's nothing different about either of us."

I felt Michael stare at me, and I couldn't keep my eyes averted any longer. Even though it was fairly dark, I could see the startling greenness of his eyes. I refused to let them unnerve me, so I met his gaze. He released my hand. Then, very deliberately, he walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the ocean.

"Michael, what are you doing?" I was fuming, but I didn't want him to do anything crazy.

Twisting toward me, he asked, "Are you so sure that your flying is just part of a dream? That you are just a regular girl?"

When I didn't answer, Michael turned back to the sea. He stood frozen for a moment, a black silhouette against the remnants of the simmering crimson sky. For a second, I thought he wanted a moment alone, to cool off. So I walked away from him, in the direction of the car, and then turned to see if he followed.

But Michael hadn't followed me. He hadn't even looked back at me. Instead, in that moment, he stretched out his arms and dove off the cliff.

I lunged for him, but I was too far away. Only the precipice stopped me. Frantic, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to the very edge. I scanned the cliff and beach below, but could make out nothing but the blue-gray rocks and the white sand. And then I screamed.

Within seconds, the shock subsided and the obvious occurred to me. I needed to go back down there to search the cliff side and beach for signs of Michael. He could be hurt, or worse, given the sixty-foot drop. The very thought of "worse" started me crying. I felt so guilty, as if my lack of faith in him had pushed him over.

But tears wouldn't bring him back. So I wiped my face and struggled to my feet. Just as I was about to head down the path, I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around, thinking that some pa.s.serby had heard my screams. I welcomed the help. But I was wrong.

Chapter Twelve.

It was Michael.

Michael. Alive. Unhurt.

I could have killed him.

"How could you do that to me?" I yelled.

He had the audacity to smile. "Do what? Fly?"

"Trick me!"

I spun around, away from him and toward the car. Of course he had tricked me. The pieces all fit together. He had brought me to this secluded spot with this whole scheme mapped out to make me believe some crazy fantasy about our shared "difference," whatever that was. And as a last-ditch attempt to convince me, he staged a "flight," really a premeditated jump into some cliff-side niche he obviously knew well, followed by a "magical" reappearance. Why he had gone to all the trouble, I didn't know. Clearly, he didn't need to resort to sleight of hand to get me.

"Boy, this sure isn't going the way I'd hoped," I heard him mutter to himself.

I kept walking.

"Ellie, it was no trick. Surely you must know that the only way I'd survive a leap like that is by flying. I thought you needed to see the truth to believe what I've been telling you."

I stood by the pa.s.senger car door, waiting for him to open the lock with his keys. I didn't look at him or speak. I could see that any effort would be of no use; he was going to stick with his story regardless. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was sit alone in a car with him, but I had no choice. I wanted to go home.

He kept on trying to explain himself-"ourselves," he kept repeating-on the ride. But I literally couldn't hear him. I clung to my anger at him as a way of blocking him out. Of blocking out whatever feelings I still had for him and whatever truth might lie deep within his words.

I didn't bother to say good-bye as I got out of the car. Instead, I ran to my front door and closed it behind me. The compulsion to race up the stairs to my bedroom and bury myself under my quilt was strong. I just wanted to forget-about the night, about Michael, about all the weirdness-and awaken to a fresh, new day. But my parents were waiting for me in the kitchen.

"Where have you been, Ellspeth?" my dad asked in an alarmed voice I'd never heard from him before. And he used "Ellspeth"-which he never, ever did.

"At the library."

"Really?" Now it was my mom's turn to use a totally foreign, troubled tone.

"Really."

"Is there anything you want to tell us, Ellspeth?" It was my dad's turn again.

"No," I answered. But as I uttered my denial, I remembered that I had told them that I'd be at the library after school with Ruth. And I never called Ruth to tell her that I wouldn't be there, that I'd be with Michael instead.

I knew what my mom would say before she said it. "Then why did Ruth call here over two hours ago looking for you-from the library?"

I gave the only excuse that I could in the circ.u.mstances, even though it created its own host of problems. "I was at the library, Mom. But with Michael, not with Ruth. And then we left to get a cup of coffee."

"The boy from the other night? The boy from Guatemala?" my mom asked.

"Yes."

My parents exchanged a glance I couldn't read.

"Ellspeth Faneuil, you explicitly told us you would be at the library with Ruth. You know better than to leave the library with someone else and not inform us. Especially since it was with a boy we haven't laid eyes on for three years," my mom said, scolding me for the first time I could recall.

"I'm really sorry. I should have called you."

"Yes, you should have. You should have turned on your cell phone, at least," she said.

"Why didn't you, Ellie?" My dad sounded so hurt that it brought tears to my eyes, for the second time that night.

"I just forgot, Dad."

My dad sighed. "Oh, Ellie, if you only knew how important you were, you wouldn't scare us like this or place yourself in jeopardy. You are so special, not just to us, but-" What on earth was my dad saying? Calling me "special" went against everything they'd taught me.

My mom uncharacteristically interrupted him. "What Dad means is that we love you and we want you to be safe. We thought that we had fostered a trust among us, but we can see that the teenage years are putting that to the test. You are going to have to be honest with us from now on, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mom." At that moment, I really meant it. I'd do anything to avoid seeing that wounded look on either of their perfect faces. They looked like they'd aged ten years in that one evening.

They stood up and gave me a hug. The squeeze reminded me that my body ached in exhaustion from all the evening's tumult. I yearned for sleep.

"Do you mind if I head up to bed?" I asked.

"Of course not, Ellie." My dad gave me a kiss good night, and then smiled. "There's just one more thing."

"Sure, Dad."

"We're going to need to reacquaint ourselves with this Michael."

Chapter Thirteen.

I expected that rest would elude me even though my body desperately craved sleep. I guessed that thoughts of Michael and the cove and his cliff-dive would prevent my eyes from closing at all. But the moment I crawled under my quilt and laid down on my pillow, I was out.

Well, out to this world, anyway. Instead, I entered the familiar world of my recurring dream. I awoke in that world with a stronger urge to fly than ever. The impulse propelled me out of my bedroom window and onto my usual route. I soared through Tillinghast's old cobblestone streets with new speed and reckless abandon. Although I made the customary stop at the village green with its whitewashed church gaping at me like some cyclopic eye, it was quicker than ever. I had the feeling that there was somewhere else I needed to be.

Before heading to the sh.o.r.e like I usually did, I followed the blue light coming from a house near the beach. From my last dream, I knew this was Michael's house. Although I remembered what had gone on between us earlier that day in the real world, the knowledge did not lessen my desire to see him in this dreamscape. I didn't feel mad at him anymore, just peaceful and excited to be with him.

I went immediately to the second floor bedroom where the light came from-Michael's bedroom. As before, he sat at his desk, staring out at the sea, his blond hair bright against the darkness. I flew close to his window, but unlike my last dream, the wind didn't compete for my attention to Michael. I reached out my hand for him.

This time, Michael saw me. He stretched out his arm and clasped my hand with his. With that motion, he lifted out of his window and floated in the air by my side. It all seemed so natural and effortless that we didn't even need to speak. We smiled at each other and set out.

At first, we just flew around the sleeping streets of Tillinghast. Darting in between stores and homes and campus buildings, we reveled in the experience of flying together. He pushed me to climb higher, and I dared him to race me down the streets. We laughed at the sheer thrill of it, and I wished that real life could be this easy.

But then Michael took my hand and led me away from Tillinghast toward the coast. In my dreams, I'd often flown along the sh.o.r.e, but Michael guided me on a route unknown to me. I gaped in awe as we sped past huge razor-edged rocks and pebbly sand beaches and enormous white-capped ocean waves.

And then he stopped. As I peered down, I realized that I had been here before-by car earlier in the day. We had arrived at the cliff overlooking Ransom Beach.

Slowly, we lowered ourselves to the ground. I studied the setting. It was the darkest hour of the night and the moon was only a quarter full, yet I could see every rock and every blade of gra.s.s as if it were midday. Better, in fact. I was really starting to like this dream world.

Even though standing on that flat cliff top reminded me of my earlier anger and fear, it didn't shake the sense of calm and delight that pervaded this idyllic dream. I was curiously detached from my rage. Real life only crept in for a moment as I silently wished I could bottle the peace and use it whenever Piper and Missy really got to me.

Michael strode to the very edge of the cliff. Strangely, I felt compelled to join him. As I walked toward him, my feet felt heavy, almost leaden, after the ease and lightness of flying. Michael smiled at me, as if he understood that walking had become foreign to me after all the flying, and offered his arm. I grabbed on to it tightly and followed him back to the precipice. Somehow I knew what we were about to do, and I welcomed it.

We stretched out our arms and dove.

The wind whipped against my face as we plunged headlong down the sixty-foot cliff face. Jagged rocks and smooth-edged boulders whizzed right past me, but I wasn't scared; I was exhilarated. Anyway, I knew that, if it got to be too much, I could always wake up.

Just before we hit the sand headfirst, we leveled off. We floated down the remaining few inches and landed feetfirst in the cove, our hands still locked together. In the hazy moonlight, the white sand of the cove shimmered against the blackness of the sea. I was so happy Michael had brought me back to Ransom Beach. It occurred to me that perhaps that had been his intention earlier that day-to share this beautiful spot with me.

"It was my intention. In part." He spoke as if answering my thoughts. Or had I said my thoughts aloud?

"I realize that now. I am so sorry that I got mad and cut our visit short."

"Don't be sorry, Ellie. It's my fault. I had another intention, one you weren't ready for."

"What do you mean?"