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Rookie freshman error, she decided.

“Ah. So…how’s it going with the whole roommate thing?” Kayla asked. “She okay or what?”

Stray beams of morning light filtered into the room, giving Paige a glimpse of her organized desk. She studied the four-by-six framed photo of Trace nestled next to the television.

“She’s…fine.” Since meeting only the day before, Paige had really only talked to Mariah a few times. The previous night’s conversation had lasted but a couple of minutes before some guy had knocked on their door and whisked her roommate away. But those few moments hadn’t been pleasant. “We’re still getting used to each other.”

“Hmm. So, are there any available hotties there asking you out yet?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Not hardly.”

“What! No available hotties at all? What kind of college are you at?”

With a snicker, Paige corrected, “No one’s asked me out.”

“Oh.” Kayla sighed. “Well, they will.”

“Kayla, I didn’t come here to date a bunch of—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re there because of Trace. And I’m telling you right now, that’s the worst reason in the world to move so far away from home to attend a school you don’t even like.”

Paige’s back straightened with indignation. “I never said I didn’t like—”

“Well, you don’t love it the way he did. Paige…” Kayla sighed again, this time sounding like a wise old parent tired of repeating the same lecture.

“Look, I can’t talk about this right now.” It was her first day of school. Besides, they’d been over it before. A lot. Nothing had changed her mind so far. Nothing would change it now.

So what if her best friend in the world thought Paige was crazy for trying to live a dead boy’s life for him? It wasn’t as if she had her own future to look forward to. After Trace’s funeral, her world had collapsed. Her parents had turned away from her, too entrenched in their own misery to help her deal with hers. Her mother had descended so far into depression she’d looked right through Paige. And after her mom was gone, her father had drowned himself in booze. Paige had lost everything.

The only way she’d been able to dig her way out of the agony had been to focus on Trace’s lost dreams, to decide she’d live them for him and become what he’d always wanted to be.

“I really need to get to class,” she said, standing up and slipping into the sandals she’d set out last night to wear with her first-day outfit.

Kayla sighed. A third time. Really, it was too much. “Sweetie, you know I love you. I just want you to be happy. But—”

“Love you too,” Paige broke in with fake enthusiasm. “Talk later.” Disconnecting the line, she cringed, telling herself she’d call back and apologize after she actually survived her first day of school. Right now, she had other worries.

She had college to start, a first class to find, a dead boy’s life to fulfill.

Busy, busy, busy.

A minute later, Paige pushed her way from her dormitory

and halted in her tracks. The campus of Granton sprawled before her, teeming with activity. Thousands of students strolled the sidewalks while another thousand sat cross-legged in clusters on the grass as bicyclists darted between the foot traffic and an endless amount of cars filed into the parking lots. Half a dozen digital billboards sat perched in front of buildings, scrolling messages and advertisements across their screens. And a marching band practiced the Party Rock Anthem somewhere in the distance.

It was so hectic, so crowded. So intimidating. After living in a town of two thousand people her entire life and attending a school of barely three hundred, Paige huddled against the entrance of her dorm building, tempted to scurry back inside and hide under her blankets for the rest of the semester.

“Trace.” She groaned under her breath, squeezing her fingers around his gaudy amulet. “Why’d you have to pick such a huge school to dream about?”

If her brother were here now, she’d be tempted to strangle him…right after she hugged him silly and reprimanded him to never die on her again.

“I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” she chanted as she forced her numb legs to move, trudging down a slight decline to the cafeteria. But when she entered Gibson Hall, the smell of bacon and sausages made her stomach churn, and not in a good way.

“I can’t do this.” At least not food. Not right now.

She turned around and walked right back out. Okay, so she’d just get to her first class and set up early. Unfolding her map of the campus, she hunted for her eight a.m. course.

As the first to arrive, she selected a seat in the front row, changing spots a few times until she had herself positioned near the exit yet close enough to the center to provide a decent view of the instructor’s podium. She wanted to be the perfect, exemplary student.