Sketching his crooked smile had become a habit for Halen, a madness not easily tamed. Flipping through her worn notebook, the boy's haunting stare glared back from the pages, calling her out for her addiction—cursing her for the hundredth time.

But as much as Halen fought him, she couldn't stop the urge to place her pencil on the page. It was as if the boy were battling to be free from her thoughts; that somehow being captured in her notebook was a far more favorable prison than her mind. 

How could she blame him? She too wished to be free from the nightmares in her head.

Halen turned to a blank page, not caring if the teacher noticed, and set the tip of her pencil poised for his command. Closing her eyes, she knew the boy would be there. He never kept her waiting.

His face flashed into view; his forehead furrowed, his full lips pressed into a tight line. Halen sketched him quickly. She was familiar with the hollow of his cheeks, which dimpled when he smiled, how one side of his jaw was a little rounder than square, and his nose hooked ever so slightly as if it had broken at one time and not set properly. His imperfections were perfection.

As she shaded the rims of his eyes with deep charcoal halos, she longed to climb into the page and ask what was bothering him. She had so many questions for the boy. If only he were real.

Her skin prickled with thoughts of their first meeting—the day they moved back to Rockaway Beach—the place she cursed the waves for snapping her father's bones and stealing his soul. 

And when her mom crossed the state line into Oregon, the sparks Halen worked so hard to keep from rising beneath her skin surfaced with a stabbing reminder. So, when she woke with the boy's face etched inside her eyelids, she feared both were a warning.

But from what, she didn't know.

There was more to this boy—more than she wanted to admit. There was more to Rockaway Beach than she cared to face.

The boy smiled knowingly back from the page.

Like you care. With a sweep of her pencil, she drew a long handlebar mustache under his nose. Tearing the page from her notebook, she crumpled it in her fist. Her palm warmed as if she were holding a hot stone. She drew a panicked breath. Please, not here.

She scanned the classroom. Most of her classmates were still filling in the test answers with penciled circles. Her fingertips flickered with heat and she dropped the paper, fearful it might combust in her hand. She hadn't set anything on fire in a long time and she wasn't about to start now. She shook her hands by her sides, hoping the sparks would just leave her alone.

Halen. A whispered voice brushed her ear, raising the hairs along the back of her neck. She spun in her seat to find an annoyed boy shielding his score sheet from her.

Haaaalennnn. The whispers turned with a hiss.

A jolt of shocks gripped her wrists. She inhaled a sharp breath as the searing pain spread up her arms. She whipped around to face the front of the class. The teacher didn't even look up from his book when she gasped. Which added to the sinking feeling—she was the only one who could hear the taunting whispers.

HalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalen.

Beating like the thunderous wings of a thousand birds, the voice swarmed her thoughts. 

Stop! She threw her hands over her ears. But the chanting chants grew louder, now drilling into every crevice of her mind. 

Halen fought to hold on as the classroom blackened around her. A vision of the teacher's desk in flames, his book curling in smoke, and his eyes lit with the reflection of fire as the hungry flames reached for his flesh flashed before her.

"No!" she shouted. Gathering her notebook to her chest, she fumbled to her feet and stumbled out of the class. The sounds of laughter echoed in the classroom. They wouldn't mock her if she stayed. The dead don't laugh.

She leaned against the lockers, trying to catch her breath as she pushed thoughts of burning students out of her head. But the sparks rose with her hammering heartbeat. 

She scanned the hall. The exit doors seemed miles away with the heat pressing her skin. Could she make it without turning the school to ash? With the sparks building by the second, she wasn't so sure. She pulled the fire alarm.

Her chest heaved as students spilled from the classes. The wailing alarm pierced her eardrums, igniting a fresh wave of frantic energy surging through her veins, and she regretted her decision at once. 

She pressed through the crowd fighting the fire rising inside her keeping her gaze trained on the exit sign. Focus. You can make it. Halen assured herself. No one will die.

The doors opened with a rush and she inhaled, drawing the crisp air deep into her lungs. But the sparks spun with the air and her skin sweltered.

She shrugged off her hoodie and tied it around her waist as she pushed past the boys texting instead of exiting. Outside, she grasped the railing, trying to keep her balance. Ahead, the forest called her name. If she could just get to a quiet place...

"Not that way." Someone yanked her down the stairs toward the parking lot.

She turned to find the coal-lined stare of her worst living nightmare—Tage.

"Not now, Tage. What do you want?" She shrugged back from her. Of the few conversations they shared in the past, none ended well.

"I saw you pull the fire alarm. I thought you might need a way out." Tage squinted away from the sun and pulled her hood up over her head as if she might burst into flames.

"I'm fine." Halen shook her tingly fingers out by her sides, hoping she wasn't the one to explode. Beyond the trees, a cool breeze beckoned her. If only it would rain. She glanced to the sky. 

Clouds churned overhead, and the sky rumbled with thunder.

"Storm's coming. We need to get out of here." Tage grabbed her sleeve.

"I can't breathe." Halen gulped the air.

Tage wrapped her arm around her shoulder and dragged her toward her car. "Breathe slow—in through the nose and out through the mouth."

Halen cast her gaze to the darkening sky as the air thinned around her.

"Clear your thoughts. Count backward. 100, 99, 98."

"97, 96, 95," Halen started.

"Good. Keep going." Tage shoved her in the passenger seat of her beat up VW, drew the belt over her lap. Tage's bracelet caught with hers and they both stared at the matching silver bands—gifts from Halen's mom. Her attempt at bringing them together.

Halen liked hers. The spiral etchings and starbursts lining the band matched her dotted birthmark with the swirls which sprawled across her shoulder, trailing her left arm down to her hand. But Tage hid hers between her leather bands beaded with little pewter skulls. Halen had no clue why she even wore it.

"Count!" Tage untangled her bracelet and slammed the door.

She nodded and started back at one hundred.

Tage skidded out of the lot, narrowly missing the approaching fire engine. She tapped a message into her cell phone.

"You shouldn't text and drive." Halen inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

"You shouldn't pull fire alarms." She typed another message.

Halen swiped the phone from her hand and tossed it in Tage's backpack. "Seriously, you're going to get us killed."

She gulped when Tage shot Halen her infamous are-you-serious death glare.

"What the hell happened in there?" Tage turned onto the main street. She ran her free hand over the newly shaven fuzz along the side of her head: the other half plaited in a Dutch braid.

"It's nothing. Please, just let it go." Halen gathered her hair into a messy bun and swiped her sleeve across her damp forehead.

The shops of Rockaway blurred as they sped through town. The people inside unaware of the disaster passing them by. If she mentioned the whispers calling her name, Tage would think she'd lost her mind. So, she curled into the side of the seat, burying her secrets in silence as they made along the Oregon coastline.

The sky above darkened to match the turbulent ocean waves; nature working in unison to contribute to the foreboding doom-like vibe of the day. In the distance, two massive rocks jutted up from the ocean—Twin Rocks. They seemed misplaced against the long stretch of sand as if God had forgotten to put away his building blocks.

Halen followed the hollow of the rock, which formed the tail of a serpent, the other rock with its head dipping under the waves. Darla, her dad had named the shape of the water beast the rocks formed. Or maybe it was Daphne? She couldn't quite remember. Memories of him came and went like the tide, leaving fragments for her to pick up each moment like a treasured piece of sea glass.

Her mom's diagnosis to her strange feverish sparks—stress.

"You're suppressing your grief," she had said. "Let yourself have a good cry."

Her mom overestimated the power of tears. Her father's bones lay beneath a tomb of sand—tears wouldn't bring him back—tears couldn't drown the fire raging inside. Tears wouldn't save her now.

Tage parked the car, jerking Halen hard against her seatbelt. She retrieved her phone before getting out.

Every muscle ached as Halen crawled out of the car. "You don't need to come in," she shouted after her. "I've got this."

"I don't have anywhere to be." She leaned against the front door. 

Halen should have known better; nothing came easy with Tage. She was grateful for the escape route and the ride, but she couldn't deal with hanging out right now.

"I won't stay long," Tage said as if sensing her trepidation.

Halen didn't have the energy to argue, so she let the demon inside. 

She double bolted the door. Not that locks would protect her from the whispers, but the ritual made her feel a little less rattled.

"Where are you going?" Tage asked when she bypassed the sunken living room and headed to the kitchen.

"I desperately need sugar." This was true. Sugar helped the sparks. But what she prayed for was a vial of her mom's homemade medicine; the amber liquid capable of resurrecting her aching body back from the grave.

Her hands trembled as she dug through the drawers in search of the tiny vial. When she spotted the glass vial wedged between the knives, she sighed with relief. As she unscrewed the lid, a coppery, earthy scent escaped the bottle. Her tongue rolled to the roof of her mouth, fearing the bitterness to follow.

"Gross. What is that?" Tage propped up on the barstool and wrinkled her nose.

"My mom's cure-all. It helps me when—" She paused, almost blurting her symptoms. Tage wouldn't understand. "When my blood sugar's low."

"You look like you have the flu." She shrugged off her hoodie.

"I'll be fine." Holding her breath so as not to smell the liquid inside, she downed the syrupy liquid. Within seconds, her hands steadied, but the sparks still trailed her fingertips. "I need sugar," she said a little too loudly.

"Relax." Tage slid a box of cereal her way.

Halen grabbed a fist full of sugar pops and shoveled them into her mouth.

"And this is why I don't sit with you at the cafeteria." Tage's phone buzzed with an alert. Her brow furrowed as she typed her response.

"You told them." Halen slammed the box down hard on the counter. "They're going to freak." Daspar more than Mom. Mom would feed her vegetable broth to build her back up. But Daspar had a way of making her shrink into herself. He wouldn't take pulling the school alarm lightly.

"The school will call them, anyway." She plucked a rogue piece of cereal from the counter and popped it in her mouth. "Better if we have our stories straight."

"You're going to cover for me? That's a first." Her shoulders slumped, her bones were anchors. All she wanted was to go upstairs and crawl under her duvet, but she couldn't let her mom see her shivering with fever. 

If she knew how badly she'd lost control, the moving boxes would come out. Halen swore her mom had the movers on speed dial. She wasn't ready to leave Rockaway. Not until she had answers. Not until sketchbook boy and the sparks were under control.

Eyeing the left-over morning coffee, she poured a cup, reasoning caffeine would counterbalance the groggy feeling; at least trick her mom until she could sneak off to her room. But Daspar would be suspicious. "Daspar won't buy it if we stick together. He'll know something's up." Hell, she couldn't figure out what was up with Tage's sudden friendship.

"Relax. He'll be fine." A sly smile broke on her face. "Knowing what you can get away with is the one and the only perk of living with him."

"I feel for you. It can't be easy living with him. He's kind of stern."

She let out a laugh under her breath. "You think? Last week I came home after midnight, and he locked me out of the apartment to teach me a lesson."

"No way." Daspar was always close to Halen and her mom, no matter where they moved. He was like an uncle, but to Tage, he was a name on a will—her legal guardian—a stranger until three months ago when bears mauled her parents on a camping trip. But no one spoke of that day or the two people who raised Tage. It was as if she never had parents at all. "I'm sorry he did that."

"It's okay. The woman in 2B let me crash on her couch." Tage's phone vibrated. 

"Is that them?" Halen peered over at the alert, but the letters blurred.

"They want us to stay put. Daspar picked your mom up from the hospital."

"Oh, no. She didn't need to take off work." Panic pinched her already unsettled stomach. This day was a disaster. Why the hell did the boy have to come to her in class? All of this was his fault. Thankfully, no one got hurt—this time. Next time might be different, though. She wasn't so sure how much longer she could contain the dangerous energy. And this scared her more than the wrath of Daspar.

"Well, at least they're not coming home for me this time." Tage snagged the cereal box,

"Are you sure you're, okay?" Her eyebrow arched, the little row of piercings catching the light.

"I'm fine. I swear." Halen stared at her hands as if they weren't her own. She wanted to confide in Tage, tell anyone about the boy and the sparks, but already she'd crossed a line by letting them rise with her drawings. Halen eyed the notebook on the counter. "Do you ever feel out of control?"

"All the time." She rolled her silver bracelet over the little scars along her arm. "But you know that."

She didn't, though. An occasional nod in the hall didn't gain much information. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Halen asked.

"You gave me a legitimate pass to skip. I had a trig test in third block." She studied the blank screen on her phone, but Halen caught her eyeing her notebook.

"I need to use the restroom." She slid off the barstool; her gaze never leaving the notebook. "You look kind of pale. You should take more medicine." Tage nodded to the empty vial.

Halen agreed, but she'd have to wait for her mom for more. She cracked the kitchen window open, letting the cool salt air wash over her. She inhaled deeply and stared out at the white-tipped waves breaking along the shore.

The doorbell chimed, and her nerves pricked. She didn't expect them home so fast. As she headed to the living room, her stomach knotted with thoughts of her imminent demise. What the hell was she thinking? Did she really need to pull the fire alarm? She wriggled her fingers. Not one spark.

The doorbell rang again, and she unbolted the safety locks. She flung open the door, ready to face the disappointed faces of Mom and Daspar. Instead, a boy with a mop of black hair, the tips dyed rhubarb red, stared back.

He grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the door. "We need to get out of here."

Heat spread along her skin, and she pulled her arm back. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Ezra." His wild gaze darted behind her, scanning the living room.

She followed the tattoos winding down his neck, which hid beneath his T-shirt collar, only to reappear at his wrist where the sleeve of his leather jacket ended. "Are you Tage's friend?"

"We need to go." He wedged his foot in the doorframe, and her sparks ignited in her fingertips.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"What?" Her question caught in her throat, sounding more like a croak.

"Alone." He leaned forward ever so slightly, and as he did, she caught the glimmer of metal in his jacket pocket.

At second glance, she spotted the handle of a knife. Her stomach flipped. "I think you should leave."

"I can't do that." He stepped in, shut the door, and locked it.

Her body surged with static energy.

"Do you have a car?" He inched toward her. "Is there another way out of here?"

She focused on the knife as she backed away. "You need to leave. Now!" She caught her frightened reflection in the wall of windows. Her mind flashed with exploding glass and razored rain, cutting her flesh. Shaking her hands by her side, she tried to tame the energy.

"You should hide that cursed thing." He nodded toward her wrist.

"What?" She clasped her hand over her bracelet.

He stepped forward, and as he did, he bumped the armchair hard. He tripped, stumbling forward. The knife fell from his pocket, landing with a clattering clang.

His cool gaze slid to hers, and he lunged for the blade.

"What the hell is going on?" Tage emerged from the kitchen.

"Hunters." The boy stood, rolling his shoulders back as if prepared to fight.

Tage's phone slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor as her gaze targeted Halen. Her mouth opened and closed with rushed words, but Halen registered only one warbled command.

"Run."