“I hope so.” I turn to go, chest fluttering and abdomen incongruently cramping inward from the run.
When I get back to the parking lot, it’s still empty, but as I’m standing there, there’s a flicker of color and form across the asphalt as the cars—mine included—appear for the breadth of a blink. I stand there watching until it happens once more, this time for three whole seconds. That seems like a good sign, so I go inside. As far as I can tell, the school’s still empty, but after my conversation with Beau nothing feels as eerie as it did before my run, and I’m not as anxious either. Perhaps misguidedly, I’m totally confident the world will go back to normal soon, just like it has all week. So I go down to the locker rooms and rinse off as quickly as possible before I head back up to the library, crossing my fingers that I can get in without any trouble.
When I get there, it’s the same as I left it: void of everything except bookshelves and one lone sleeping bag and duffel. The clock on the wall reads 6:01, and, because I have no clue what else to do, I get in my sleeping bag and lie back down, watching and waiting for the world to right itself.
Next thing I know, someone is shaking me awake. My eyes pop open onto a pair of round blue ones, framed with sheets of straight blond hair. “Good news or bad news first?” Megan says.
“Bad news,” I croak.
“Okay, well, that’s the wrong order, and the good news is: I know you very well, and I didn’t even bother trying to get you up to go running with me this morning, so you’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” I say, though my mind is still sorting through the fog of knowing that I absolutely did go running this morning.
“The bad news is, you have to get up right now, because breakfast started ten minutes ago, and everything’s obviously super greasy and everyone’s obviously super hungover so it’s sort of a fly-to-bug-zapper situation.”
“Rachel’s going to eat all my bacon,” I whine, running my hand over my face.
“No one wants to see that happen. Please get up.”
“I left,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it happened again. First, the school disappeared and I was lying in a field. Then the school was back, but everyone else was gone, and I left. I went for a run, and I saw Beau down at the stadium.”
“Oh my God. Natalie Cleary is dreaming about a boy who isn’t Matt Kincaid. I’m so happy I think might explode.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t a dream. Beau was one hundred percent real. And the other stuff, it was like the other times, like when I see Grandmother. I can’t really explain it.”
“That’s so weird.” Megan sits down beside me. “So . . . did anything happen? With Beau, I mean.”
“He invited me over.”
“In what way?”
“There are multiple ways someone can come over?”
“So many ways,” Megan assures me.
“Are these ways, like, the front door, the back door, the bedroom window, et cetera?”
“Sometimes,” she says. “What was his energy like?”
I bury my face in my hands because I know exactly what she means, and I know the answer, and I don’t want to tell her. “Please don’t make me say these words aloud.”
She breaks into giggles and lies down beside me. “What does he look like?”
“Well, his biceps are roughly the size of my head, and his eyes look like summer incarnate, and he has two little dark freckles on the side of his nose, and a mouth that somehow manages to look like a shy kid’s one minute and a virile Greek god’s the next. So I guess you could say, pretty decent.”
“Oh my God,” Megan says. “I’m shaking I’m so giddy right now. I feel like this is happening to me. Where did he come from?”
“No idea,” I say.
“You’re going to make out with him,” she says knowingly.
I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. “What if you just jinxed me?”
“No way. I love you too much. My psychic energy is literally incapable of jinxing you. If anything, I’m willing you into this make-out.”
“Hey, perhaps you’d like to react to the fact that an entire building and the many people within it vanished before my eyes too? Or no, not really of much interest to you?”
“Of quite a bit of interest,” she says. “Slightly less interest than your incomparably soft and beautiful heart opening like a flower to Beau, but yes, I’m interested.” Her smile fades, and she squeezes my hand. “You know, I like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert on my best friend, but the truth is I have no idea how to help with all of this. So tell me, okay? Tell me what you need, and tell me every single time you need it, and I’ll be there.”
I squeeze her hand back and swallow a lump. “You are the best person,” I tell her. “But I don’t know what I need either.”