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After Brian waved good-bye and moved off to his car, Erica sidled up closer to Claire. “You’ve got to admit, even though Alec’s shy and klutzy, he’s totally gorgeous. Plus that Scottish brogue? It’s to die for.”

“He
is
good-looking,” Claire admitted. Alec was even more handsome than Neil Mitchum—the star of stage, track, and soccer field, the athletic demigod whose singing voice had been melting Claire’s heart since ninth grade. “But Alec seems kind of rude sometimes—or he’s a total introvert, I can’t tell which—and he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. I think I only saw him smile once.”

“Don’t be so judgmental,” Erica said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as she unlocked her car. “He’s new. He’s nervous. And I’m sure he feels terrible about your locker.” There was a sudden clink on the pavement. “Oh! My bracelet!”

Claire bent down to pick it up. As soon as her fingers came in contact with the cool metal, she was overcome by the same weird, woozy sensation she’d felt earlier that morning. Then she felt really hot, as if she’d stepped under a heat lamp. Perspiration broke out on her brow, her stomach lurched, her knees began to buckle, and—

WHAM
. A series of vivid images flashed into her head:

She was driving a car. Glancing down, she saw she was wearing a long-sleeved red blouse and had a wedding ring on her finger. A sudden flash of movement brought her eyes back to the windshield. Another car was heading straight at her! She gasped in terror and stomped on the brake, her arm flying out to protect a young boy in the passenger seat beside her—a boy she recognized. It was Erica’s brother
.

There was the sound of a sickening crunch
.

“Claire? Are you okay? Claire?”

Erica’s voice cut through the fog that enveloped Claire’s mind. Claire took a deep, steadying breath, grabbing the hood of Erica’s shiny black SUV to keep from sinking to the ground. What on earth was going on? Was she going crazy? Was she hallucinating?

“Claire, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Struggling to find her voice, Claire said, “I’m … fine. Is … where’s your mom? And your brother? Are they okay?”

Erica stared at her in surprise. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… Never mind.” Claire thrust the charm bracelet at Erica as if it was a hot potato, glad to be rid of it. “Where’d you say you got that thing?”

“At a flea market in France.” Just then, Erica’s cell phone rang. Still eyeing Claire with bewilderment, Erica dug it out of her backpack. “Hello?”

As Erica listened, she gasped in alarm and asked frantic questions. When she hung up and turned to Claire, she was on the verge of tears.

“That was my mom. She and Henry were just in a car accident.”

“So they’re both all right?” Claire leaned back against the headboard of her bed a few hours later, her cell phone clutched to her ear.

“Just a little shaken up,” Erica’s voice assured her on the other end. “Some guy turned left in front of them at a yellow light. Mom swerved and crashed into the curb, but she and Henry walked away without a scratch.”

“Thank God.” Claire had been so worried, ever since Erica had screeched out of the parking lot and left her to scramble for a ride home with Brian. All afternoon, her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment right before the accident, and what she’d
seen
. It was so bizarre, the way those images had popped into her mind the minute she’d touched that bracelet. Was the accident happening at that exact moment? Claire wondered. Or had it happened a few minutes before? The most unsettling part was how she seemed to see the whole thing through Erica’s mother’s eyes. Weird, weird, weird.

“Erica. What’s your mom wearing today?”

“What’s she wearing? I don’t know. Black pants and a red blouse, I think. Why?”

Holy shit
, Claire thought. Was she a certified nutcase, or had she just had a psychic experience? She’d never had one of those before. Maybe it wasn’t her, though. Maybe it was that bracelet. Didn’t Erica say her mom had bought it from a gypsy?

“Why do you care what she was wearing?” Erica repeated. “And why did you ask if they were okay earlier, in the parking lot? That was
before
my mom called.”

Claire heard the front door open. “I’ll … explain later. My mom just got home. Can I come over tonight?”

“Sure. I’m stuck here babysitting while The Parents pick up a rental car.”

“I’ll call before I leave. Bye.” As Claire hung up, she heard her mom’s laptop bag thud against the entryway table downstairs.

They lived five miles south of school in a small, twobedroom, townhouse-style apartment. As far as she could tell, she was the only person at Emerson (except maybe some of the teachers) who didn’t live in a huge, gorgeous, art-filled, extravagantly furnished mansion with a pool. Claire didn’t need anything
that
upscale to be happy—but every time she walked in the door and saw the cream-colored walls and carpet (in other words: bland), and few personal items on display, she was reminded that they never stayed in one place for long. Ever since she could remember, her mom had insisted that they keep their possessions to a minimum and all the important stuff in one place, so they could move at a moment’s notice. When she was little, Claire had thought of it as a kind of game:
Let’s see how fast we can pack up this time!
But even though they’d been here two years, their apartment didn’t really feel like a home. Claire was too embarrassed to have anyone but her two best friends come over.

Claire left her room and padded down the stairs. “Are you a burglar?” she called out.

Her mom was in the kitchen, unloading a bag of groceries. “Hi, honey. What a day! I showed the Wangs six houses, and I think they’re really interested in one of them.” Digging something out of a bag, she extended it to Claire. “I got you some fruit leather. Cherry, strawberry, and apricot. Try not to eat it all in one sitting.”

“
Gracias
, Mom!” Claire snatched the booty, immediately ripped the plastic wrapping off the dried apricot strip, and commenced scarfing. “You’re the best. I was totally starving.”

“Did you eat lunch today?”

“Not really.”

Claire’s mom studied her with concern. “Is something wrong? When I called, you said everything went okay at Book Day.”

“It did.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

Claire hesitated. How to answer? No way could she tell her about the weird vision she’d had, or whatever it was. The last thing she needed was for her mom to go into freak-out mode. “Because Erica’s mom and brother were in a car accident. I just heard, five seconds ago, that no one was hurt.”

“Oh—thank God.”

“Yeah.” Claire helped unload the groceries. “Mom, is it okay if I go to Erica’s after dinner?”

“Sorry, honey. I need the car. I’m meeting a client tonight.”

“Can you drop me off at Erica’s first?”

Her mom shook her head. “I don’t have time to drive all the way to the Valley and back in Friday traffic.”

“Maybe I can get Erica to pick me up and drive me home.”

“You know how I feel about you riding in other people’s cars at night. Anyway, I don’t want you going over there. You’ll be up talking until all hours, and God knows what time you’ll get home.”

“I can sleep over at Erica’s, then.”

“No. The last time you slept over at Erica’s, boys were there.”

“
A
boy.
Brian
. Our best friend, whom neither of us is even remotely interested in.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you, dear.”

Claire groaned in frustration. “He isn’t, I promise. What do you have against boys, Mom? Don’t you trust me?”

Her mom paused. “It’s not that. It’s just … Erica’s mom doesn’t supervise her kids the way she should.”

“You mean she doesn’t hover over them every second, and never lets them go anywhere or do anything?”

“I don’t do that,” her mom said defensively.

“Yes, you do.” Claire’s stomach tensed with rising anger. “I swear, you’re the most uptight, paranoid hippie who ever lived.”

“Just because I don’t believe in bank accounts or use credit cards, that doesn’t make me a hippie.”

“Yes, it does! You’re all: ‘Who needs a permanent mailing address, when you can have a P.O. box?’” Claire mimicked her mom’s voice and shrug.

Her mom slammed a cabinet door and whirled on Claire, eyes flashing. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady. Everything I’ve done is for a good reason.”

“What reason? You say that every time! What was so wrong with Chicago that we had to leave? Why have we lived in seven different cities since I was born? What are you running from? Does it have anything to do with my father? It’s like we’re in the goddamned witness protection program!”

Her mom averted her gaze, a grim look on her face. “What does this have to do with boys, Claire?”

“See! There you go again! Always changing the subject.”

“I repeat: What does this have to do with boys?”

Claire sighed, giving up her line of questioning. “It just sucks.
You
don’t date. All men are off-limits for you—and you expect me to follow the same rules.”

Her mom looked at her, a hint of apprehension in her eyes. “Since when do you even care about dating?”

“I’m sixteen, Mom. Of course I want to date. Not that I’ve ever even had a boy look at me yet. But I
hope
it’s gonna happen. And just because I’m now
physically
able to get pregnant, it doesn’t mean I’m gonna end up a high school dropout with a newborn and a guy who ditches me—like you did!”

Claire’s mom’s eyes widened with sudden pain, and she didn’t reply.

Turning, Claire left the kitchen and stormed up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. She threw herself on her bed, her frustration and anger dissipating as her stomach knotted in guilt. Why, oh why had she said that? She hated these rare fights with her mom and wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself.

It was a truly horrible end to one hell of a strange day.

four

I
diot. Moron. Half-wit
.

Alec shook his head in disgust as he drove home. He’d spent the past few hours on his favorite local rooftop, watching the sun set as he struggled to regain his normal sense of calm. He was still struggling. The last thing he’d wanted today was to call attention to himself. Then he’d mangled a locker—something no average teenager would ever be capable of. What had come over him?

He knew the answer, of course. It was because of Claire.

Alec pulled his ’69 Mustang into his parking space and crossed the small concrete lot. He’d felt a brief connection with Claire just before they found their lockers. In that moment, he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t
completely
dislike him after all. Then he’d ruined everything with that ridiculous, clumsy move. Not that it mattered. She was obviously more interested in the Choir Boy.

When it came down to it, Alec had no business pursuing his interest in
her
, anyway. It was dangerous, not to mention forbidden. In the few similar cases he’d heard of, the punishment exacted had been instantaneous and unforgiving.

But he didn’t care. He’d left his old life for good—which meant the old rules no longer applied. For more than a century, he hadn’t been allowed to indulge in anything remotely pleasurable. There were so many human experiences that had been denied to him—high school among them. Even though human beings often spoke of high school as if it was hell on earth, Alec had always strangely longed to try it for himself. Despite his youthful appearance, he’d never infiltrated a school before—his elite training had prepared him for more complex assignments.