Crave (Harlequin Teen)

number should have been ninety-one. Number nine-one.”
    I froze, staring at Mrs. Daniels, willing her to take it back even as someone else screamed with joy and ran forward to take the last spot on the team.
    My spot.
    In total, stunned horror, I stared at number ninety-one as the bouncy, tearful blonde joined the team. I knew that girl; we were in the same pre-drill class together. Bethany Brookes.
    I turned to Nanna. “Tell me she didn’t call my number first, then change her mind.”
    “Yes, she did. I’m going to go make her double-check that list.” Nanna marched over to speak with Mrs. Daniels, but I couldn’t bear to watch. I couldn’t take my gaze off the happy group of girls. Next year’s Charmers. A team I wasn’t good enough to be on.
    Nanna returned, her furious expression all the answer I needed.
    I had to get out of here. I rushed out of the gym, pushing through the crowd already trickling into the foyer. I could feel those prickles of awareness once again telling me someone was watching me. Probably Nanna. Or maybe a stranger. Had the tears already started before I could get to our car? Were people in the crowd pitying the sad loser as I made my way through? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel any part of my body now beyond the burning of my lungs.
    I reached the car, lurching into the oven of a backseat for some reason. Only when I’d laid down on the warm charcoal-colored upholstery and covered my face with a folded arm did I let go.
     
    Someone else was in my dream with me later that night. As soon as I saw him, the dream changed, the colors and edges around things sharpening, becoming more like a waking memory instead of a fuzzy dream.
    Oh, no. Not him. I could not take another of these too-realistic dreams about invisible barriers between myself and Tristan Coleman.
    But it was him. This time, he was stretched out on a patch of short grass in the bright moonlight. A yard somewhere. Trees, maybe some kind of forest, formed a dark and peaceful backdrop behind him. But definitely a dream location, because even at night, East Texas in May was muggy and stifling. Yet here the air was cool and light against my skin.
    Tristan looked incredibly good, though he wore just a gray T-shirt and black sweats, nothing special or dressy. It had never been his looks that drew me, though. That was the problem with him. If Tristan had been just another pretty boy, I could’ve ignored his entire existence. Our school had plenty of those to crush on. But I’d never cared much about how a guy looked.
    Except this one.
    I liked to think I wasn’t stupid. It had to be some inner rebellion thing on a subconscious level that I had going on. I just wanted him because he was off-limits. Right? That had to be why my heart insisted on racing every time someone mentioned his name, why I continued to look forward to algebra class. And why my dumb subconscious insisted on torturing me with these dreams about him.
    Well, I wasn’t that stupid. No matter how realistic and vivid it seemed, I knew this was a dream. A very unwelcome dream, especially after the day I’d just had. But still a dream.
    Usually in these dreams, I wound up kicking and screaming at the invisible barrier between us, and he ignored my existence. This time, I wasn’t in the mood to play along.
    So I sat down, drew up my knees to my chest, tugged my oversize T-shirt over my bare legs, then rested my cheek on them. Maybe if I accepted in my dreams that Tristan wasn’t meant for me, I’d finally stop dreaming about him.
    That would be nice. Seeing him at school always hurt more after nights like these. It would be a huge relief not to feel this yearning in the pit of my stomach and chest anymore.
    I closed my eyes, intending to ignore him. But after a minute, my eyelids crept open again. Maybe just one last peek at him. After all, it was only here in my dreams that I could safely stare at him without his knowing it.
    Except this time…he stared back at me.
    Maybe he was just looking in my general direction.
    I met his gaze, and his eyes widened. Holy crap. Nope, he was looking right at me. He’d never looked at me in my dreams before, not even once. But he was now, and…
    And I was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and underwear.
    Maybe trying to confront my dreams about him had forced my subconscious mind to react with more drastic measures. Like morphing my dreams into a new take on the “in my underwear at school” nightmare.
    I pulled my