Cold Kiss

can see it in her eyes—but it’s actually not far from the truth. I dreamed all night, of the tree where Becker’s car crashed, wrapping its spindly limbs around me until I couldn’t breathe, of Danny wandering into Bliss, his skin gray and torn, his eyes as dead as the stones that fell out of his pockets, and the whole café full, my mother and Jess and Gabriel and Trevor, all waiting for me to see him, turning me around to watch as he wept blood onto the counter.
    My subconscious isn’t very subtle, I guess.
    Thursday’s not a lot better, especially since I was up until two again, trying to convince Danny I had to go home. I’m so tired I feel brittle, and I snap at Alicia Ferris in the hall after history when she takes a picture of me picking up notebooks and my iPod and crushed packs of gum from my dropped backpack.
    “Seriously?” I hiss, blinking away the flash and feeling that dangerous knife edge of anger cutting through my control. I’m crouched awkwardly with a partially unwrapped tampon in one hand and a forgotten, desiccated apple in the other.
    “It’s for the yearbook,” she says, smirking, and holds up the camera to take another.
    That’s it—I haven’t even thought about what I’d like to do when the power rolls up out of me in a tingling wave, and the sprinkler above Alicia’s head bursts to life. I scuttle backward, out of the line of fire, as she shrieks and drops the camera.
    People up and down the hall are shouting and laughing, and within seconds Andy Petrov is in his socks, sliding along the wet floor, shaking his head like a puppy. Alicia is still stunned and soaked through, ignoring the smashed camera to peel her wet clothes away from her body. Mascara drips down her cheeks like black tears.
    By the time Principal Gorder turns the corner, the sprinkler is spitting to a stop and I’m halfway down the hall to lunch. I’m not tired anymore, but I feel scooped out, empty, and beneath the satisfaction—I’ve hated Alicia since fourth grade, at least—the guilt is already rolling inside like a sour stomach.
    Jess is waiting, as usual now, and I only manage a quick glance at Gabriel before I sit down at the table she’s chosen. He gives me a small smile before holding up his phone, and the brief flare of relief in my chest somehow feels worse on top of the guilt. There will be a text from him, then, and I hate how much I want to see it, how much I want school to be over so I can talk to him, instead of plotting tomorrow night’s fun with Jess.
    By the time I meet Gabriel behind the public library a half hour after school is over, I’m back to exhausted. I can’t even think about the essay I have to write, or the new trig problems, even though I know my grades are slipping. College seems like a distant impossibility today, and one that matters a lot less than the next twenty-four hours.
    “Hey.” Gabriel is slouched against the faded red brick, and he stands up when I round the corner of the building. I never got closer than five feet away from him yesterday, and I don’t even bother to argue with myself as I walk straight into his arms. We connect with a vague oomph. I don’t think he was expecting that, but I don’t care.
    Judging by the way his arms go around me, sliding under my backpack, he doesn’t either.
    “Bad day?” His words are muffled by my hair.
    “Bad night,” I tell him, and pull away far enough to look up at him.
    His voice sharpens. “What happened?”
    “Don’t be a big damn hero, okay?” I poke his chest with one finger. “Just be my friend.”
    “You didn’t answer the question.”
    I sigh. “I know.”
    I don’t want to, which is the first problem. Not because I’m afraid Gabriel will go all tough guy, but because it hurts to admit that Danny is getting harder and harder for me to control.
    Last night when I finally snuck out there, he was down in the garage, prowling around near the door to the yard. Thin and pale in the sliver of light through the window, he looked like something from another world when he turned around and saw me standing there, my mouth hanging open and my heart pumping pure terror.
    He didn’t even smile the way he used to. When I think about it, he hasn’t in days. Instead, he focuses those flat dark eyes on me, as if now he can see into me, too, and he wants something there that he can grab onto and twist, viciously.
    I wriggle out of Gabriel’s hold and kick aside some damp leaves to sit down with my