Page 3 of Dream On

The rumbling of traffic beside us does little to overpower the sound of my pulse thrumming in my ears. I inhale a shaky breath, and my traitorous eyes water again. “I didn’t even get to drink my coffee,” I mutter, misery lacing the words and making me sound foolish. My car is in shambles, and I’m about to burst into tears over an overpriced macchiato.

Lex’s tawny eyebrows furrow with rightful confusion. “What?”

“My coffee.” I shrug dejectedly. “I never buy coffee, but I splurged today. It was supposed to be a good day.”

He scoffs at that. “Eventually, you’ll realize there are no good days. There are just days, nights, and all the monotonous bullshit in between.”

I glance up at him, blinking away the mist. I’m not sure what to make of that. But I don’t have time to overthink a response because my attention shifts to the blood spatter dappling the collar of his shirt. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” I point at the evidence, a pang of worry carving its way through my bevy of addled emotions. “Your collar.”

He follows my finger, pulling the fabric away from his chest and eyeing the stain. Then he looks over at the blue car. The windshield is partially smashed. “Huh” is all he says.

Sirens sound in the distance. We say nothing else as we stand an arm’s length apart and wait for the officers and medics to arrive.

With a drawn-out sigh, Lex finally saunters away and collapses onto the curb, the sun lighting up his hair like a misplaced halo. I remain a few feet away, idling near the rear of my Saturn, my eyes dancing around the disjointed scene: two wrecked cars, a suburban road littered with metal and glass shards, and awhite-collared shirt speckled with blood.

When my gaze skates from Lex’s shirt to his face, a metallic knot forms in the back of my throat. He looks at me. His glacial eyes lift, locking on mine as he leans back on his palms.

And I know one thing to be true.

It’s the blue I’ll remember.

Chapter 2

Stevie

“You havegotto be kidding me.”

It’s been a long time since my sister and I have stayed up watching those early-2000s rom-com movies, always set in high school, usually featuring a boy and a girl from opposite sides of the tracks. The ones with dramatic camera angles and slow-motion effects, capturing every intense glance, shoulder brush, and hallway confrontation like a life-or-death showdown.

Never once did I ever think a similar scene would unfold in real life, especially to me, especially here at Hollow High. But I swear time slows. I’m positive every head turns with cinematic precision. I’m certain there’s a soundtrack playing, somewhere, somehow, and it’s one hundred percent a Taylor Swift song. More importantly, I know I’m the only person with a vagina who is not at all impressed watching Lexington Hall saunter down the hall on the first day of senior year with his designer clothes, too-white teeth, and halo of unnaturally perfect hair.

The slow-motion montage continues for a few more heartbeats when he does a double take, those disarming blue eyes wheeling in my direction and lingering, a look of confusion sweeping across his face as familiarity registers. But he looks away as quickly as he finds me, and the scene speeds up to real time. Background noise returns, outplaying Taylor’s romantically tragic lyrics, and then Misty is hopping in place beside me, punching my arm.

“Holy shit balls, Stevie. Did you see the new kid?”

I clutch two textbooks to my chest, still staring at Lex’s retreating back as he disappears into one of the classrooms. “I saw him.”

“No, but did you see his face?”

“I did see his face. I saw it two weeks ago actually, when he wrecked my car and blamed it on me.” Harrowing memories churn to life, drawing my lips into a flat line. “It’s still at the shop. Dad had to go into work late to drop me off since it was already ninety degrees by seven a.m.”

“Wait.” She punches my arm again. “Thatwas the guy who hit you?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. You never told me about his face.”

My cheeks puff as I blow out a breath. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. He was kind of an ass.”

She pushes up from the row of lockers, her shiny red ponytail swinging side to side as she links her elbow with mine. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair to be blessed with inhumanly good looksanda sparkling personality. No one is perfect.”

Misty has been my best friend since middle school. She’s a little more extroverted than me, but we both come from lower-class families, putting us outside the perimeters of the in-demand social groups. We’re not pariahs or anything, but we’re not cheerleaders or homecoming queens either. It’s always been Misty and me, ever since gym glass in the sixth grade when we were teamed up together for a two-legged race.

She is going to obsess over this new guy.