Sleep No More. Aprilynne Pike

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      There’s nothing on the news the next morning. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. The location looked remote; they might not have found him yet. My mom held firm last night and the weather guy was right. So I sat at my bedroom window until the wee hours of the morning, helplessly watching that thick, muffling snow cover the ground, certain I was too late.

      I sit at the breakfast table, pushing my food around on my plate and waiting for the time when I have to leave for school. I keep expecting a hint of something on the news, but it’s all still Bethany. People are starting to get angry because the medical examiner hasn’t released her body. It’s been five days and as far as anyone can tell, there are zero leads.

      I wonder if the discovery of another body will make them keep her longer or let them move on.

      I feel like all of my insides are twisting around each other and squeezing. I wish I could fake sick. But then the news of Matthew’s death will come through and Sierra will know why I stayed home. I can’t risk it.

      I considered telling her this morning—coming clean before the body was found—but when I got to her room, her door was locked. I thought about knocking—lifted my hand even—but I couldn’t make myself do it. I feel like the lamest Oracle on earth.

      I leave the house with a quick glance at Sierra’s still-closed door, and Mom wheels onto the porch to watch me again. Tomorrow, she won’t let me walk. After today, I’ll be lucky if she ever lets me out of the house again.

      I’m grabbing my trigonometry book from my locker when I see him, standing there with no idea he’s supposed to be dead.

      The heavy book falls from my hands and lands on the linoleum floor with an ear-splitting crack that echoes through the hall. People turn to look at me, but I’m already staggering toward Matthew, ignoring everything else.

      “Hey,” I say lamely, realizing I’m so focused on the fact that he’s not dead that I don’t have any idea what the hell to say to him.

      “Hi, Charlotte.” He studies me, furrows his brow and then asks, “Are you okay?”

      Better now. “Um, yeah, I just, I … I forgot my music for ‘Winter Wonderland.’ Do you mind if I borrow yours and make a copy of it real quick?”

      “Oh, sure. Of course,” he says, the concern erased from his face so easily I want to cry with relief. He’s alive, he doesn’t suspect, and no one is looking at us anymore.

      He hands me a piece of music. “Just bring it to choir with you. No hurry.”

      “Thanks,” I reply, taking the music I don’t actually need. I hesitate, but the hellish hours I spent last night aren’t something I can live through again. I banish Sierra’s voice from my head and say, “Matthew, you live kind of out in the middle of nowhere, right?”

      “Sort of. I mean, there are, like, four houses in our little neighborhood, but it’s up on the hill west of town.” He’s confused again.

      “Be careful,” I say, hurrying on before Matthew can say anything. “Maybe I’m just paranoid because of Bethany, but that guy is still out there somewhere and … be careful, okay?” I spin away and flee before he can reply.

      Before he can ask any questions.

      There. I did something. Who knows if it will be enough? But I warned him. Being careful can’t possibly hurt. And considering last night’s snow, there’s a chance he was going to die, but that the future changed and it’s not going to happen at all.

      The future is funny like that.

      I return to my locker—which I left open with my trig book on the floor in front of it—no wonder everyone thinks I’m such a freak—and gather my stuff. I know I ought to feel guilty. But I can’t bring myself to be anything but glad.

      As I pick up my trig book, my phone peals out my text chime and I drop the book again, winning myself more startled looks.

      It’s a number I don’t recognize.

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