Parallel

response.
    Astronomy Boy just asked me out on a date. I’m still staring at him when he says, “Just so you know, I will be forced to treat silence as acceptance.”
    And just like that, this day that went from bad to worse to the worst day ever redeemed itself with one perfect moment.
    “Halloween might sound like a weird night for a first date,” Josh is saying, “but I think it’s appropriate for the girl who took me trespassing the last time we went out.”
    “What about Megan?” I ask, when what I want to say is, Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
    Josh shakes his head in mock disapproval. “See, here I thought I was the clueless one, because I’ve never had a girlfriend before. But it turns out you’re even more clueless than I am.” He turns to face me, and this time, I meet his gaze. “I like you , Abby,” he says softly. “I have from the beginning. Ever since the moment you told me you were fated to be in Dr. Mann’s class.” His face, so close to mine, blurs slightly. “There have definitely been some moments when I’ve doubted your sanity,” he says with a laugh, wrapping his hand around my bare left foot, his palm covering the tender flesh of my scar. “But oddly, those moments only made me like you more.” I look at his hand, imagining what it would feel like on my calf. My thigh.
    “So maybe you’re the crazy one,” I say.
    “Crazy about you,” he says, with an uncharacteristic confidence that makes my cheeks flush. His face gets serious. “I was never uncertain. I just wanted to get to know you first, so I’d know exactly what I was getting into if I ever got the chance to do this.” Cupping my chin with his hand, he kisses me. The kiss is gentle, but not tentative. I close my eyes, tasting his cinnamon-sweet breath, feeling the softness of his lips. His hand slides off my cheek to my shoulder and then down my left arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. My whole body is drumming with pleasure. When his thumb reaches my elbow, he wraps his fingers around the crook of my arm and pulls me gently toward him. “So is that a yes?” I hear him whisper, right before he kisses me again.
    I pause long enough to smile. “Yes.”

9
    HERE
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2009
(Halloween)
    “BOO!”
    My eyes fly open at the sound. I’m lying on forest-green plaid in a bed that isn’t mine, staring at a chipped navy wall. The air smells like jalapeño peppers and processed cheese. Somewhere nearby, a girl squeals with laughter.
    The fact that I’ve been preparing for this moment doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Panic floods my body, pounding through my veins. I’m somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere I’ve never been before. Yale is gone, Marissa is gone, Michael is gone. I put my hand on the wall, as if to steady myself. I can handle this.
    “Morning, Sleepy.”
    I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding, the panic melting away as I realize. Reality hasn’t changed again. I’ve just never seen Michael’s bedroom in daylight before.
    “Hi,” I say, rolling over. Michael’s face is now inches from mine. I’m careful not to exhale too deeply, not wanting to ruin the moment with morning breath.
    “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he tells me. “You’re so cute when you sleep.”
    I am mortified. Have I been snoring? Drooling? Making weird sleep noises? This is precisely why I’ve never slept over at a guy’s house (well, this and the fact that I had an eleven o’clock curfew and parents with a pretty expansive no-sleeping-anywhere-near-boys policy). There are too many ways to embarrass yourself in your sleep.
    “How long have you been awake?” I ask, subtly checking my pillow for drool.
    “Oh, ages,” he teases as he touches his nose to mine. “Ten seconds, at least.” He clearly does not share my concern about morning breath. Michael looks me up and down and laughs.
    “What?” I demand.
    “You’re still wearing your shoes,” he says, pointing. I am, indeed, still wearing my shoes. And every other article of clothing I came with, including my jacket and scarf. I think my purse is in the bed somewhere, too. “Were you afraid I’d get the wrong idea?” he asks. I look down at his bare chest and am instantly flustered. Holy pecs.
    “It wasn’t that,” I say quickly. “It’s just . . .” Every excuse I can think of is creepier than the real reason. “Okay, yeah. I didn’t want you to think that just because I was sleeping