I stand before my closet and reach for my newest jeans, a black V-neck sweater, and my newish ballet flats—just like I wore in the vision I saw. Then I run my fingers through my hair, swipe on some lip gloss, insert the tiny diamond stud earrings my parents bought me for my sixteenth birthday (since they'll definitely notice if they're missing), along with the crystal horse shoe bracelet Damen gave me that has no place in the life I'm returning to, but there's no way I'm removing it.

Then I grab my bag, gaze around my ridiculously big room one last time, and head out the door. Eager to get one final peek at a life I didn't always enjoy and most likely won't even remember, but still needing to say some good-byes and set a few things straight before I'm gone for good. The second I pull into the school parking lot, I start scanning for Damen. Searching for him, his car, anything, any little nugget, whatever I can get. Wanting to see as much of him as I can, while I can. And feeling disappointed when I don't find him. I park my car and head to class, guarding against freaking out, jumping to conclusions, and overreacting just because he's not here yet Because even though he's becoming increasingly normal as the poison slowly chips away at the progress of hundreds of years, from the way he looked yesterday—still gorgeous, still sexy, and not at all beginning to age—I'm guessing rock bottom is still days away.

Besides, I know he'll show up eventually. I mean, why wouldn't he? He's the undisputed star of this school. The best looking, the wealthiest, the one who throws the most amazing parties—or at least that's what I hear. He practically gets a standing ovation just for showing up. And tell me, who could resist that? I move among the students, gazing at all the people I never even spoke to, and who barely spoke to me oilier than to yell something mean. And while I'm sure they won't miss me, I can't help but wonder if they'll even notice I'm gone. Or, if it'll all turn out like I think—I go back, they go back, and the time I spent here amounts to less than a blip on their screen. I take a deep breath and head into English, bracing myself to see Damen with Stacia, but finding her sitting alone instead. I mean, she's gossiping with Honor and Craig as usual, but Damen's nowhere in sight. And as I pass her on the way to my seat, ready for just about anything she might toss in my path, I'm met only by silence, a solid refusal to even acknowledge me, much less try to trip me, which fills me with dread and unease.

And after taking my seat and settling in, I spend the next fifty minutes glancing between the clock and the door, my anxiety growing with each passing moment. Imagining all manner of horrible scenarios until the bell finally rings and I bolt for the hall. And by fourth period when he still hasn't shown, I'm headed for a full-blown panic attack when I walk into history class and find Roman gone too.

"Ever," Mr. Munoz says, as I stand beside him, gaping at Roman's empty seat as my stomach fills with dread. "You've got a lot of catching up to do." I glance at him, knowing he wants to discuss my attendance, my missed assignments, and oilier irrelevant topics I don't need to hear. So I run out the door, racing through the quad and right past the lunch tables before I stop on the curb, gasping in relief when I see him. Or not him, but rather his car. The sleek black BMW he used to prize so much, that's now coated in a thick layer of dirt and grime and parked rather awkwardly in the no-parking zone. Still, despite its filthy state, I gaze at it as though it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Knowing that if his car's here, then he's here. And all is okay. And just as I'm thinking I should try to move it so it doesn't get towed away, a throat clears from behind me and a deep voice says, "Excuse me, but aren't you supposed to be in class?"

I turn, my gaze meeting Principal Buckley's when I say, "Um, yeah, but first I just have to—" I motion toward Damen's poorly parked Beemer as though I'm doing a favor not just for my friend but for the sake of the school as well.

But Buckley's less concerned with parking violations and more concerned with repeat truancy offenders like me. And still smarting from our last unfortunate encounter when Sabine pleaded my case from expelled to suspended, he squints as he looks me over and says, "You've got two choices. I can call your aunt and ask her to leave work so she can come down here, or—" He pauses, trying to kill me with suspense even though you don't have to be psychic to know where this is going. "Or I can escort you back to class. Which would you prefer?"

For a moment, I'm tempted to choose option one—just to see what he'd do. But in the end, I follow him back to my class. His shoes pounding the cementas he leads me across the quad and down the hall before depositing me at Mr. Munoz's door where my gaze lands on Roman who's not only occupying his seat but shaking his head and laughing as I slink back toward mine. And even though Munoz is used to my erratic behavior by now, he still makes a point of calling on me. Asking me to answer all manner of questions regarding historical events including those that we've studied and those that we haven't. And my mind is so preoccupied with Roman and Damen and my upcoming plans that I just answer robotically, seeing the answers he holds in his head and repeating them pretty much verbatim.

So when he says, "So tell me, Ever, what did I have for dinner last night?"

I automatically say, "Two pieces of leftover pizza and a glass and a half of Chianti." My mind is so ensconced in my own personal dramas it's a moment before I notice he's gaping. In fact, everyone's gaping. Well, everyone but Roman who just shakes his head and laughs even harder.