3.

But I can tell by watching you

That there’s no chance of pushing through

The odds are so against us

You know most young love, it ends like this.

—THE AVETT BROTHERS, “I WOULD BE SAD”

I’M MORE NERVOUS THAN I ANTICIPATED WHEN I WAKE UP Monday morning. My mind has been so preoccupied with all things Will I haven’t had time to process my impending doom. Or rather, my rst day at a brand-new school.

Mom and I nally had a chance to go shopping for weather-appropriate clothing over the weekend. I throw on what I picked out the evening before and slide on my new snow boots. I leave my hair down for the day but slide an extra band onto my wrist for when I want to pull it back, which I know I’ll do.

After I nish up in the bathroom, I move to the kitchen and grab my backpack and my class schedule off the counter. Mom began her new night shift at the hospital last night, so I agreed to take Kel to school. Back in Texas, Kel and I went to the same school. In fact, everyone in the vicinity of our town went to the same school. Here, there are so many schools I have to print out a district map just to be sure I’m taking him to the right place.

When we pull up to the elementary school, Kel immediately spots Caulder and jumps out of the car without even saying goodbye. He makes life look so easy.

Luckily, the elementary is only a few blocks from the high school. I’ll have extra time to spare so that I can locate my rst class. I pull into the parking lot of what I consider to be a massive high school and search for a spot. When I nd one available, it’s as far from the building as it could be, and there are dozens of students standing around their vehicles, chatting. I am hesitant to get out of my car, but realize when I do that no one even notices me. It’s not like in the movies when the new girl steps out of her car onto the lawn of the new school, clutching her books, everyone stopping what they’re doing to stare. It’s not like that at all. I feel invisible and I like it.

I make it through rst-period Math without being assigned homework, which is good. I plan on spending the entire evening with Will. When I went to leave this morning, there was a note on my Jeep from him. All it said was, “Can’t wait to see you. I’ll be back home by four.”

Seven hours and three minutes to go.

History isn’t any harder. The teacher is giving notes on the Punic Wars, something we had just covered in my previous school. I nd it hard to focus as I literally count down the minutes. The teacher is very monotonous and mundane. If I don’t nd something to be interesting, my mind tends to wander. It keeps wandering to Will. I am methodically taking notes, trying my best to focus, when someone behind me pokes my back.

“Hey, let me see your schedule,” the girl directs.

I inconspicuously reach for my schedule and fold it up tightly in my left hand. I raise my hand behind me and quickly drop the schedule on her desk.

“Oh, please!” she says louder. “Mr. Hanson is half blind and can barely hear. Don’t worry about him.”

I sti e a laugh and turn toward her while Mr. Hanson is facing the board. “I’m Layken.”

“Eddie,” she says.

I look at her questioningly and she rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s a family name. But if you call me Eddie Spaghetti I’ll kick your ass,” she threatens mildly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Cool, we have the same third period,” she says, inspecting my schedule. “It’s a bitch to nd. Stick with me after class and I’ll show you where it is.”

Eddie leans forward to write something down, and her slinky blond hair swings forward with her. It falls just below her chin in an asymmetrical style. Her nails are each painted a completely different color, and she has a variety of about fteen bracelets on each of her wrists that rattle and clank every time she moves. She has a small, simple outline of a black heart tattooed on the inside of her left wrist.

When the bell rings, I stand up and Eddie passes me back the schedule. She reaches into my jacket pocket and pulls out my phone and starts punching numbers. I look at the schedule she has returned to me and it’s now covered in websites and phone numbers in green ink. Eddie sees me looking and points to the rst web address on the page.

“That’s my Facebook page, but if you can’t nd me there, I’m also on Twitter. Don’t ask me for my MySpace username because that shit’s lame,” she says, strangely serious.

She scrolls down the remaining numbers jotted on my schedule with her nger. “That’s my cell phone number, that’s my home phone number, and that’s the number to Getty’s Pizza,” she says.

“Is that where you work?”

“No, they just have great pizza.” She moves past me, and I start to follow her out the door, when she turns and hands me back my phone. “I just called myself so I have your number now, too. Oh, and you need to go to the of ce before next period.”

“Why? I thought you wanted me to follow you?” I ask, feeling slightly overwhelmed by my new friend.

“They have you in B lunch. I’m in A lunch. Go switch yours to A lunch and meet me in third period.”

And she’s gone. Just like that.

* * *

THE ADMINISTRATION OFFICE is just two doors down. The secretary, Mrs. Alex, makes rolling her eyes a new form of art as she prints my new new schedule just as the second bell for third period rings.

“Do you know where this English elective is located?” I say before I leave.

She gives me somewhat lengthy and confusing directions, assuming that I know where Hall A is, and Hall D. I wait patiently until she’s

nished and walk out the door, more confused than before.

I wander across three different hallways, entering two wrong classrooms and one janitor’s closet. I round the corner when I nally see Hall D and feel some relief. I set my backpack down on the oor and place the schedule between my lips, then pull the rubber band off my wrist. It’s not even ten in the morning, and I’m already pulling my hair up. It’s that kind of day already.

“Lake?”

My heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I hear his voice. I turn around and see Will standing next to me with a confused look on his face. I pull the schedule out of my mouth and smile, then instinctively wrap my arms around him. “Will! What are you doing here?”

He hugs me back, but only for a second before he wraps his hands around my wrists and removes my arms from around his neck.

“Lake,” he says, shaking his head. “Where . . . what are you doing here?”

I sigh and thrust my schedule into his chest. “I’m trying to nd this stupid elective but I’m lost,” I whine. “Help me!”

He takes another step back against the wall. “Lake, no,” he says, putting the schedule back into my hands without even looking at it.

I watch him react for a moment, and he seems almost horri ed to see me. He turns away and clasps his hands behind his head. I don’t understand his reaction. I stand still, waiting for some sort of explanation, when it dawns on me. He’s here to see his girlfriend. The girlfriend that he failed to mention. I snatch my backpack up and immediately start to walk away, when he reaches out and pulls me to a stop.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

I roll my eyes and let out a short sigh. “I get it, Will. I get it. I’ll leave you alone before your girlfriend sees us.” I’m trying to hold back tears at this point, so I step out of his grasp and turn away from him.

“Girlfr—no. No, Lake. I don’t think you do get it.”

The faint sound of footsteps quickly becomes louder as they round the corner to Hall D. I turn to see another student barreling toward us.

“Oh man, I thought I was late,” the student says when he spots us in the hallway. He comes to a stop in front of the classroom.

“You are late, Javier,” Will replies, opening the door behind him, motioning for Javier to enter. “Javi, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Let the class know they have ve minutes to review before the exam.”

Will closes the door behind him, and we’re once again alone in the hallway. The air is all but gone from my lungs. I feel pressure building in my chest as this new realization sinks in. This can’t be happening. This can’t be possible. How is this possible?

“Will,” I whisper, not able to get a full breath out. “Please don’t tell me . . .”

His face is red and he has a pained look in his eyes as he bites his lower lip. He leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, rubbing his palms on his face while he paces the length of the hallway between the lockers and the classroom door. With each step he takes, I catch a glimpse of his faculty badge as it sways back and forth from his neck.

He attens his palms against the lockers, repeatedly tapping his forehead against the metal as I stand frozen, unable to speak. He slowly drops his hands and turns toward me. “How did I not see this? You’re still in high school?”