Give it back," I demand.

"Nah, I don't want to."

I glare up at Hayden, eyes twitching as my patience grows thinner and thinner with every second of him standing in front of me. I keep reminding myself to keep calm and not to blow up. That's what he wants. Hayden looks down at me with gray eyes that glint with the satisfaction of angering me. For a moment I'm transported back to the other night in the parking lot of Del-Mart . There was that same satisfaction in his eyes, but for different reasons. For reasons I can't even begin to comprehend and it has me on edge.

Someone has dropped an anvil on my chest.

Say something to him! Say something!

I tried to earlier, but all that became of it was an insult war. And the more I think about it, the more doubt taints my mind. Was that really Hayden, or someone else? It was dark.

There were so many lights and shadows...

Hayden and his buddies crowd around my desk in third period Photography class. The period started with me minding my own business, admiring my new Nikon camera and trying to figure out manual shooting, when it was abruptly snatched out of my hands.

"Seriously, this isn't funny," I growl, reaching across the table in another attempt to grab it. Our photography teacher is out sick today and the substitute is nowhere to be found. If anything happens in here, well, I have a feeling no one is going to call the principal until blood is spilled.

Hayden stretches away from me and I press a hand down on the desk to hold myself up, leaning even further and clawing at the air in a pathetic attempt to reach the camera. He takes a long look down my shirt in the process and ducks before I can smack him.

"If you break that, I have fifteen other witnesses who can testify against you," I tell him.

You saved me that night. There were no witnesses there to prove it, but I know it's true.

Hayden runs his tongue slowly over his bottom lip and hands the camera to Chase. "What are you? A lawyer? Are you going to take me to court?"

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I reply, "I just might."

I eye the camera in Chase's hands. Maybe if I lunge at him...

"Alright," Hayden leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles pressing into the thin fabric of his shirt.

I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

The edges of his mouth quirk up slightly. "I'll give you your camera back."

I look up at him suspiciously. "There's a catch."

"I have one condition and then I'll give you your camera back."

I tap my foot impatiently. "And that is?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," he repeats. A few people turn around to watch the drama unfold. All eyes are on me and I can feel myself turning bright red all over.

"I heard you!"

His look of boredom transforms into an all-out, dimple-filled grin. "Well?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?" He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head down, looking over at me with a pout.

"Yes!"

Hayden takes one step forward and then another, inching forward. "So you'll kiss me?"

"No!" I gape.

He narrows his eyes. "But you just said yes."

"Yeah!"

"So you'll do it."

"No!"

Hayden pockets his hands in his jeans, "But you just said you would—"

I clamp a hand on his mouth. "I am not kissing you and don't even think—Ew! You licked me!"

Hayden doesn't do anything when I use his shoulder to wipe away the spit, and only smiles. "Well then it looks like you won't be getting your camera back," he chuckles.

I ignore him. "Give it back, Hayden."

This feels like middle school all over again.

Exhaling slowly, he nods his head. "Fine, just a small peck on the cheek? And then you can get your camera back."

Why the hell is he so adamant about this!

"Fine." I mutter. It's just a kiss on the cheek. I'll get my camera back. I can survive this.

As I take a step forward, Hayden wraps his fingers around my wrists and yanks me forward. I stumble over a cord on the floor and grip his forearms to steady myself. My eyes land on the camera sitting on the desk beside him and I purse my lips.

"Right here." Hayden leans forward and tilts his cheek toward me.

"Okay," I exhale dramatically. Leaning in, I look up at him from beneath my lashes, forcing myself into a steady breath. Because of my height, I only reach just below his collarbone and move one arm around his neck to pull him down to eye level. This gets me a wide-eyed look of surprise.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

Is that nervousness I hear in his voice?

I tilt my head.

"You're too tall. Now do you want me to kiss your cheek or not?" My gaze lands on his lips before flickering back to his eyes. "Class is almost over and I don't want to be late." A long moment passes before I've mustered up the confidence to speak what's on my mind. "And I want to thank you for saving me the other night. I don't know what would have happened to me."

The stiffness in his body and the horrified shock in his eyes is all I need to confirm my suspicions. It was him. I should feel relieved, or at least content and knowing his identity, but I only become more anxious from before.

Dumbfounded and confused, Hayden stares at me, speechless.

My anxiety and chaotic thoughts can wait until later.

Suddenly, I jump back and rip my hands from his, diving toward the camera. Hayden snaps out of his trance and whips around. Chase, Logan, and Drake have the same surprised look. I don't give either of them a chance to react and grab my things.

I can't believe that worked!

Turning around, I grin. "I am truly grateful."

Score for Ember.

* * *

I make my way down the hall before the first period, eyes roaming the crowd for no one in particular. Everyone is in the same zombified state of droopy eyes, heavy limbs, and shuffled feet. Forget viruses or toxic waste, I'm convinced Mondays will be the cause of the zombie apocalypse one day.

Mondays and two hours of sleep are my reasons for feeling like the undead. Cory and my mother didn't watch their fights last night. Neither did my grandparents over the phone at three o'clock in the morning. Cory called them and they fought with my mother more than he did.

Thankfully, Mr. Johansson isn't in his room when I walk in. Nobody is. Gabby is excused from the first period for a student government election project. There are still twenty minutes before the first bell goes off for class.

The wooden desk groans when I plop down and rest my head on the bend of my arm. Sleep pulls at my eyes and I let out a deep breath, body relaxing, and sit there with my eyes closed for what seems like hours.

I should sleep here tonight.

Something cool brushes the hair from my neck. There is a slight tugging on one of the white-blond curls that falls from the messy bun I've pulled my hair into. I ignore it, too lost in sleep-deprived delirium to care. Smooth fingers trace circles on the back of my neck slowly and I tense at the tingling that runs through my body. I hold back the small shudder that climbs up my spine. It tickles. A light feathery touch on my ear and my stomach clenches at the strange yet pleasant feeling. Surprisingly, at the same time, it relaxes me. My breath becomes shallower, eyes refusing to open.

"Just take a deep breath," a deep voice instructs in my ear, softly. "Just take a deep breath and let the worries melt away. Go to sleep, Ember. You deserve it."

And so I do.

* * *

"Miss Chance," a distant voice calls.

Ignore it. Maybe it'll go away.

"Miss Chance!" the voice calls again. It's a lot closer this time.

Miss Chance isn't here. Please leave your message after the beep.

Beep.

"Ember!" The voice is firm and angry. "Wake up this instant!"

"Shit!" My eyes fly open and I shoot up out of my seat. Books fly off of my desk and I almost hit the person standing beside me. He's way too close for my liking and I stop myself from shoving him away. It's Mr. Johansson. Stumbling backward, I extend my arms out to balance myself.

How the hell did I get here?

I look up at the teacher and if looks could kill, I'd be long dead. The white-haired man looks murderous.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Johansson," I plead. "It was late and I couldn't sleep because—" My words are drowned out by obnoxious laughter. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where the laughter is coming from or by whom.

"Enough!" He holds up a hand. "Enough. If you can't catch up on your night's sleep then I suggest you either fix that problem or take that up with administration. In fact," he points to the door, "go do that right now."

I blink in shock. "That's not fair. It happened one time and I can't be the only one who has fallen asleep in your class!"

This is insane! The way he drones on forever in deep monotone I'm surprised everyone hasn't fallen asleep at one point or another!

The man towers over me. "No, but they haven't caused as much commotion as you have, Ember. Distracting students, knocking over desks, and random outbursts of shouting during lesson! I've been tolerant since you're outstanding in your academics, but enough is enough!"

I throw my hands in the air in exasperation, opening my mouth to continue, but Mr. Johansson raises a hand in a dare for me to say something else. The look on his face is enough for me to know if I say anything else I might be in even more trouble than it's worth. Instead I just give him the best glare possible. There is yet another obnoxious laugh from behind me and I feel the thump of something hitting me in the back.

"I don't know what has been going on in your life," Mr. Johansson continues in an icy voice. "But unless you'd like to face detention for the rest of your final year, I suggest you go and get it sorted out with Principal Miller. Now enough bickering and get out before I need to call someone."

I let out a sigh of disgust and pack up my things. It's not even worth fighting back.

As I close the door behind me with a hard slam, a white folded piece of paper falls from the hood of my jacket. My name is written in cursive across the front and it makes my blood run cold instantly.

I hope you liked my little lullaby. It knocked you out like a light. Nobody plays me.

Score for Hayden.

I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. All I can do is stare at the note, dumbfounded and growing more and more furious by the second. For a fleeting moment, I contemplate the pros and cons of going back in there and shoving the note down Hayden Cross' throat. Is expulsion worth it? Maybe, just maybe. But there are other, more clever and satisfying ways to counteract this basic stunt.

I just need to figure out what that is, exactly.

"Okay, enough, hovering. Get out of here." I tell myself. If I stand out here any longer, I'll get in trouble for loitering without a hall pass. If I go to Miller's office, I'm going to get some lame lecture about sleeping in class, my feud with Hayden affecting my grades, and whatever else.

Or worse, my home life will come into question, yet again. She may be irresponsible at times and lost and lonely and infuriating, but I still love my mom. Corry and I have already lost our dad. We can't lose her either. I don't think I could survive it.

Just as I round the corner, someone calls my name from down the hall, and my heart drops onto a rollercoaster headed straight into an anxiety-ridden abyss.

There's nothing I can do to the tangled, bluish-blond snarls of curls piled into a ponytail on top of my head. There's nothing I can do about the crumples in my t-shirt or the barbeque stain on my jeans, but I still try. Maybe they'll magically disappear.

You should have at least worn some concealer today...

"Nate," I smile, coming to a stop for him to catch up. "Hi."

Out of all the days he decides to talk to me, it's when I look like a train wreck.

As we walk, his arm brushes my shoulder. Cursing my ridiculous anxiousness around him, I take a deep breath. I always forget he's so tall. Granted, I am not the tallest person myself, but he's a giant.

A really hot giant, though.

"Are you headed to class?" he casually asks.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, I clear my throat. "Um, not exactly. I was...uh...going to the gym for the Student Council thing going on."

His eyes light up. "Oh, really? So am I. I actually have to get a few things out of my car for the posters we're making." He pauses. "Do you think you could help me?"

"Sure, I'm in no rush." And it's not like I was invited to a meeting anyway. But he doesn't need to know that.

His expression falls into an easy smile and we change direction to that of the school parking lot, walking in a normal, comfortable silence. There's no rushed need of making so much small talk. He asks me about my past weekend. I ask him about the game. It's so surreal that I have to make sure I'm not passed out in Mr. Johansson's room and slobbering all over the desk, dreaming.

Mid-morning sunlight bounces from one car to another, reflecting rainbows of light all across the black asphalt. Coming out of the overly-air-conditioned building is heavenly.

Nate points to his car on the other end of the lot. Across the parking lot, a gym class full of freshmen runs around the track. They look miserable.

"Are you going to Burgers n' Bagels after school with everyone?" he asks.

"No. I...have detention after school."

Nate wrinkles his nose. "Sorry. I've seen you and Cross on the field before. How much longer do you have?"

I roll my eyes. "Way, way too long."

Nate has just handed me the first box from the back of his truck when a harsh whistle catches our attention. And when I turn around, I'm suddenly in the parking lot of Del Mar at the mercy of two men in jumpsuits once again. Night alternates to day as reality and memories merge together. But just as quick as the memory rushes into my line of sight, it's gone, and three different men stand in front of me. But they're not men, of course. They're my age, maybe even a bit younger, with identical buzz cuts and harsh scowls that spell trouble.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"Who are you?" One of them sneers. I scowl.

"What are you doing here?" Nate asks in a relatively calm voice. His stature has changed to one of power and intimidation. He knows these strangers.

"Are we not allowed to stop by and pay you a visit?" the middle one cackles.

"No." Nate answers. I'm all too aware of how fidgety he seems. Images flip across my vision, and sensations and sounds of another night reel across my senses. Tires screeching. Asphalt. Blue and gray jumpsuits. A newswoman reporting about suspicious mob activity around the Valleyfield area.

Nate Lincoln, the boy I've known and heard of all throughout my school career, is so uncharacteristically nervous around this person.

Are you being serious? He may have been in and out of Valleyfield for years, but he's definitely not the type to be hanging around those types of people.

I am being paranoid. Nate's only eighteen, with parents that are successful business owners, a football scholarship. He hasn't been in Valleyfield because he's been travelling around in foreign exchange programs.

"The homecoming game is going to be intense, isn't it, Lincoln?" the middle one sneers.

Rival school douchebags. That makes sense. It wouldn't be the first time people from other schools have come to stir trouble.

Even though Nate turns to me, his eyes never leave the others. "Can you take that stuff to the gym, Ember? I'll catch up with you."

"Are you sure?" I ask, hesitant.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. Besides, the Coach is right there. Nothing will happen. It's just a school thing."

As much as I don't want to, there's nothing I can really do. Nate must have some buddies swooping in at any minute. "What time are you out of detention?"

"Um, four."

"Cool, I'll see you then."

"Okay."

And with one final glance, I turn around and head for the door. But no matter what I do, I can't shake the feeling of dread that pools at the pit of my stomach. Something is very, very wrong here.

None of it has to do with a school sports rivalry and a lot of it has to do with a boy named Hayden Cross.

* * *