I figure he's talking to someone at the next table, but I look up from my work anyway.

Then I suck in my breath.

The boy standing there across the table, looking like he's going to sit down with me, is flat-out gorgeous.

"Hi?" I say, more question than greeting.

"I didn't know you had study hall this period," the boy says, casually dropping his bag onto a chair and pulling out the one beside it. He sits down, his eyes never leaving mine.

Do I know him?

"Obviously," I say back, which comes out sounding a little snippy because I'm preoccupied.

Am I in the right place?

I scan the faces of my classmates. Andy Bernstein. Check. Hannah Wright. Check.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, so today is Tuesday. Check.

Second period?

Yep, I just had PE.

The boy is talking again.

"... because after the fire drill I had to finish orientation, and it took up all of second period, too. But you weren't here yesterday. Where were you?"

I'm tapping my pencil on my notebook now. This conversation is making me anxious. I think back to my notes before answering.

"At a doctor's appointment," I say, adding no additional clarification.

"Oh, sorry," the boy says, glancing down at the table for a moment. "I didn't mean to pry."

He looks embarrassed. It's cute.

"It's okay," I say, still tapping my pencil. "I tripped over a ball in gym. My mom thought my ankle was sprained."

"Was it?"

"Nope, just bruised," I say.

I'm tapping faster now.

He's still looking right at me.

Right into me.

Seriously, do I know him?

"That's good," he says. The bell rings and we're still staring at each other, him looking amused and me probably looking like I'm going to explode. At least that's how I feel.

"You okay?" he asks, with the slightest nod in the direction of my furiously tapping pencil. The acknowledgment of my nervous energy makes me fumble; I lose my grip, and the pencil launches into the air and then falls onto the floor. Feeling like a complete idiot, I scoot back in my chair and bend over to retrieve it. I grab the pencil, and, on my way back up, I spy something interesting.

Chocolate brown Converse All Stars.

My heart leaps as I remember this morning's note. This boy is my weirdo.

My weirdo is hot.

Somehow I manage to sit straight and scoot back to the table without completely humiliating myself. I smile at him. He smiles back, and I smile more.

"So, you stole my sweatshirt, you know," he says with a glint in his eye. "You can borrow it for a while, as long as you..."

"Shhh." Evil Eye Mason interrupts with a sharp whisper from her perch.

"... promise to..." Weirdo attempts to continue in a whisper before Ms. Mason smacks her palm on her desk.

"Mr. Henry!" she shouts. Weirdo's mouth slams shut, and he grudgingly looks her way. I'm happy to know at least part of his name.

"Sorry," he says.

"I should hope so. You're new, so I'll give you a pass this one time. But understand, son, there is no talking in my classroom. This is a time for studying. Quietly. This is not social hour."

A couple of the other girls giggle softly. Ms. Mason kills their giggles with a glance. She reminds me of a bird. A very mean bird.

"Sorry," the boy says again before pulling a pad and some charcoal pencils from his bag.

I'm happy for all the information I'm getting. His last name is Henry. He's new to school. And he's an artist.

Before going to work, the boy smiles at me once more. While I'm left gooey from the sentiment, he opens his drawing pad and flips through a few sketches in search of a blank page. I can't help but notice both that he's talented and that his subject of choice is... intriguing.

Ears?

As if he can hear my thoughts, Mr. Weirdo Henry brushes a stray wave from his eyes and glances at me one final time. He shrugs and smiles slyly, as if to say, "So what? I like ears."

I shrug and smile back. What I'm trying to say without words, and what I hope he understands, is, "Hey, we all have our things."

He's back to drawing before I can give it another thought, and I'm forced to continue my math homework in silence. But halfway through problem number 3, something dawns on me: the boy's sweatshirt in my room has to be the one Weirdo Henry is talking about. Apparently it's not from the reject pile, like my note said.

So apparently I lied.

At midnight, I boot up my laptop. I can type faster than I can scribble. Besides, the note by my bedside is already cluttered with hearts in the margins and flowery words about a boy I just met today.

10/19 (Tues.) Horrible memory popped into my head as I was falling asleep tonight. Worst I can remember, really. Can't see much... just know I'm in a crowd of people wearing black. Their faces are muddy, and someone is dead. At first, I thought it might be Mom's funeral, but then I remembered hearing her sobs. She's there, too. Alive.

Can hear the occasional bird, and weeping. The weeping is terrible so I focus on the birds. I think it's morning, but it's gray so I'm not sure.

Terrifying statue of a saintly woman (maybe an angel?) one plot over to the left... carved of green stone and looking like she's watching us.

I finish typing and save the file on my computer desktop, naming it, appropriately, Dark Memory.

I print the page and then place the typed note under the handwritten one; hearts and flowers over the black-and-white account of dark days ahead.

I climb back into bed and turn off the lights for the second time tonight, thinking of the boy whose first name I don't know, feeling guilty for thinking of him when there are bigger things ahead.

Somehow, amid all the conflicting emotions, sleep grabs my hand and pulls me under.

And then everything unwritten is gone.

7.

On the way to school, I consider telling my mom about the funeral memory, until I realize that it might scare her. Not everyone needs to know what's coming.

After she drops me off, I head straight for the library. It's an even-block day, so I have periods 2, 4, 6, and 8: I'll never be so happy to miss first-period PE. The warning bell hasn't sounded yet, but I want to arrive early and compose myself for the guy from my notes.

Mr. Henry.

I make my way toward the tables at the back of the library and retrieve a compact mirror from my bag. I use my sleeve to fix my eye makeup and then exchange the compact for my Spanish book.

I don't hear him approach. Then, without warning, he's across from me, leaning on the table, eyes fixed on my face.

"Hey."

I lower the book and my jaw drops. I thought I was prepared, but no. Not for this.

"Hi," I manage.

"Good day so far?" he asks.

"Not really," I answer truthfully.

Concern crosses his face, and it warms me. "What happened?" he asks.

"Oh, nothing," I answer. "Just overslept and my mom was annoying and... nothing. Not worth talking about."

The bell rings, and he and I are eye-locked. When the shrill tone stops, he whispers, "Okay, but if you decide you do want to talk, you can tell me."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it.

"You're welcome," he says back in an intimate whisper, before he's hushed by Ms. Mason.

"Luke Henry and London Lane, this is your final warning. No talking!"

Warmth washes over me at the sound of his name next to mine, and as he searches through his crowded bag for schoolwork, I breathe his name so softly that I can barely hear it myself.

"Luke."

We can't speak the rest of the ninety-minute period, but his presence makes me feel better. It allows me to forget the frenzied morning and, more important, this morning's note.

Halfway through the period, my fingers accidentally brush Luke's across the table. It feels like someone shot adrenaline directly into my heart; I inhale sharply and quickly move my hand to my lap. Luke glances up at me and smiles, which makes me blush and look away. I hear him chuckle a little under his breath and then turn a page.

Aware that I can't seem to remember Luke from tomorrow or the future, all I want to do right now is ditch class and spend the rest of the day getting to know him before he disappears again. Instead, I sit, grabbing glimpses of him every so often, and try my best to act normal.

I answer the phone before my mom hears the ringtone and scolds me for being up so late.

"What's up?" I whisper.

"Were you asleep?" Jamie asks, more surprised than concerned that she might have woken me.

"No, but my mom thinks I am."

"Didn't you know I was going to call?" she asks.

"You know I don't remember today, only tomorrow on," I say, rolling my eyes at her, even though she can't see it.

"I know, I'm just kidding."

"Oh," I say, tired. "What's up?"

"I need to borrow that supercute green shirt you bought that time your mom took us to the city for your birthday."

I am silent. Of course I have no idea what trip she's talking about from the past, but I think forward to what she'll wear tomorrow.

"Hello?" Jamie asks.

"Sorry, I'm here; sure, it's fine," I say in a low tone. "You're coming over before school to get it, right?"

"Yes, but remember I have detention, so it's going to be..."

"Shhh!" I interrupt. The floorboards are creaking outside my room. "My mom's coming. Gotta go!"

I hang up and toss the phone on the nightstand just as my mom peeks into the room.

"Honey, it's late," she says.

"I know, I was just going to sleep."

Mom gives me a look.

"What?" I ask.