FIVE HOURS EARLIER

"I'm pretty sure no one wears shirts that way,” I comment as my best friend, Jemma, walks into the room. She's strutting her stuff, the bright orange and yellow shirt hanging off her hips.

"Wait, this is a shirt? Well, that makes a lot more sense."

I laugh at the mock horror in her voice, shaking my head at her antics. She throws one of her exaggerated sighs my way and strips the shirt off before reaching for the dress she picked out earlier. It takes her all of two seconds to pull the material over her body and then she’s turning on me.

"Can you please hurry up already?" she grumbles as I reach down to zip up my boots. She's been saying that for the last hour, even though it's another two hours before the party officially starts.

"Chill, Jemma. We'll get there."

Straightening, I check my reflection in the mirror one more time, cataloging the ordinary features that grace my face. Slightly tanned skin, small lips, and hair that can’t decide between the color of mud or chocolate. I’d tried to tame my ridiculous mane into some curls but, as usual, it didn't turn out as exciting as I’d hoped. My hair is too unpredictable with the random straight, curly, and wavy strands all meshed together. The only possibly interesting thing about me are my eyes. Medium sized, framed by long eyelashes; they look gray in most light, turning so dark at times that they look somewhere between midnight blue and dark purple. No one has eyes like mine.

My best friend, on the other hand, is gorgeous in that super model way. All legs and blonde hair cascading down her back—she walks into a room and everyone stares. She's just as outgoing as she is beautiful, and that is the reason she's dragging me to this party. She says I don't socialize enough, even though I socialize plenty.

"Let's go, slow poke." She tugs on my arm, and I have only enough time to grab my bag before we're out of the door.

I lock up while Jemma stands beside me rocking back and forth on her heels, crossing and uncrossing her arms. It's like she's afraid I'll run back inside and put on my pajamas so I can stay in and watch my favorite brothers battle some new evil this week. Truth be told, I've thought it about it. She knows me too well.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with having a quiet Saturday evening,” I comment, getting into the passenger side of her Prius. She's one of the few freshmen on campus who actually owns a car, which earns her a lot of points with the crowd. It's actually how we got invited to the off-campus shindig in the first place. That and her charming personality.

"Did I say there was anything wrong with that? No,” she answers her own question as she pulls out into the main road. "But a night out with your best friend at one of the hottest college houses off campus is not something you walk away from!"

I laugh at her enthusiasm but don't argue any further. I've been promising her a party for weeks now. As the two of the youngest freshmen on campus, both of us being seventeen, it’s pretty impressive we’re invited to the party at all. I can’t back out now. Even though crowds make me uncomfortable. I've been to enough parties over the years to have a system down, so I'm not that worried. But she would be worried if I didn't complain at least a little bit. It’s like tradition.

It takes all of thirty minutes to arrive to the house. I look around, taking it all in as soon as we step through the front door. There sure are a lot of bodies here. I'm going to have to ditch my jean jacket soon since it's already starting to smother me in this heat. I motion Jemma toward the back of the house; the music is already too loud to have a normal conversation, and she nods, following my footsteps.

We discard our outwear in the front room then head toward the kitchen. I'm following Jemma now, since she seems to know where she's going, and I can already see a number of guys checking her out. As per usual, she's about to disappear on me and head to the dance floor.

"Ladies," one of the guys leaning against the wall calls out to us. I turn to him, but his eyes are on Jemma. She glances over at me and I do a once over of the guy as he heads toward us. He's not putting off any creeper vibes, so I nod my head at Jemma and she turns to the guy in time to give him a brilliant smile. This is how we do it.

I seem to have an unbelievably acute sense when it comes to people. It takes me about three seconds to determine whether someone is going to be a problem or not. Now Jemma doesn't even bother talking to a guy unless I approve. I've been right more times than I wanted to count on the whole creepy factor.

Knowing she's taken care of, I grab a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler and head for a dark corner of the room to people watch. It's my favorite activity at these kind of things. Since my people radar is so attuned, it's interesting to see just what sort of people are around me. I can already pinpoint the few who are going to be a problem by the end of the night and I have to chuckle to myself. People are so predicable.

I'm good like this. There's an uncanny stillness that is always present inside of me, something that I've had for as long as I can remember. It keeps me grounded, even with the chaos going on around me. My eyes catalogue the people dancing, laughing, drinking, automatically. As if my eyes were made for it. I used to find it unusual how calm and cynical I can be when it comes to situations around me, but I've since learned how to use my skills to benefit me. Some may call me indifferent at times, but I think I just learned how to hone my emotions in the way most people my age haven't. It's not a bad thing, but it does make me different.

After ten minutes of people watching, I need a break. The walls feel too constricting around me, as usual. Too many people, not enough floor space. I dodge a particularly happy couple and then I'm outside. Instantly, I breathe easier, and the sheen of sweat that began to cover my skin dissipates.

Michigan is a beautiful state, full of luscious nature. It's what attracted me most about coming to school here. I walk past the groups of people in the backyard, heading for a cluster of bushes on the side of the fence. It's hidden in the shadows, and I smile because I see the space around it is unoccupied. My hands run over the leaves, which are holding on to their greenery even though it's October. The weather has been so weird lately, not just here, but all over the states. Storms come out of nowhere, tearing up towns, but this place seems to be untouched for the time being. And I’m thankful.

"You know, you are very predictable."

I hear a voice behind me and, instantly, my cool skin heats up as if touched by a flame. It's only my self control that keeps me from jumping at the sound, and when I turn and face Brendan, he's wearing a smirk on his face that I find oh-so-irritating.

"I could say the same to you. Stalking, much?" I ask, giving him a pointed look. He chuckles, but I swear he looks slightly guilty for a moment before the mask is back in place. As usual, I find my people detector malfunctioning with him, and it's frustrating.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to head outside, and here you are. Twenty minutes after arrival, on the dot."

"Oh, so you are stalking me."

"Carefully observing."

"Because that makes it less weird?"

I laugh, because it's the best defense against the strange effect he has on me. Since the moment I met him my second day on campus during orientation week, I felt like I've known him forever. The instant connection more than unnerved me, and I've been trying to keep him at arm’s length ever since. He doesn't seem to have the same hiccup.

"At least a fraction," he replies with a smile. It's hard to keep myself from returning it. He just has a way of getting under my skin without even trying.

"Now that we have that established …,” I say, pushing past him and heading back to the house. I can't stay around him for more than a few minutes at a time before I start to give in to his charm. There's a big part of me that's uncomfortable with just how comfortable I am with him. If that makes any kind of sense.

I hear his chuckle, but he doesn't follow me. Smart boy. I tell myself not to turn around, but I can feel his eyes on me as I move through the crowd. A smile is still on my face as I smack right into a body much larger than my own.

"I'm sorry—” I start, but never finish. Rough hands seize my elbows, and I glance up to find a stranger, much older than those around him, staring down at me. His face ripples for a second, as if someone has thrown a pebble into water, disarming me. I blink and the image is gone. I try to move back, but the grip tightens.

"Excuse me. Let go."

The man doesn't budge, his lips curling up in a sinister smirk as his grip grows tighter still. I can feel blood pooling under his fingertips, my arm going numb. When he opens his mouth to speak, it's as if a storm is brewing.

"Calista Faulkner, we need to talk."

That said, he drags me from the room.