10
When I come to, I’m at my desk.
It’s not until I see Mr. Jansen at the chalkboard that I realize I’m in English class.
What the—
Flashes from the night before appear in random bursts in my head. Like pieces of a puzzle, some fit easily together, while the rest are more like a dream—guys in slinky black gowns, a moose wearing a tiara, something about a green fairy, a song like a lullaby for my mind—
None of it makes any sense.
And worse, no matter how hard I try, I can’t unearth a single memory of how I ended up here.
Frantically, I look all around, then glance down at myself, only to find I’m wearing my hoodie over the dress Elodie bought me when we went shopping.
Shopping.
It’s one of the few things I remember, and I cling to the image of the two of us crammed inside that dressing room like the life raft it is.
When I look at my feet, I see the heels Elodie bought me have been swapped for my sneakers. Though my backpack and cell phone are missing.
A stream of images races through my mind…Arcana—that strange underground club with the tarot cards, my gravestone, a boy in a blue velvet mask… Did I forget to get my stuff from the bag check girl?
Or did something else happen?
Something so bad, my mind blocked it out?
My heart starts to pound, my leg to shake. And when I glance up, I see my teacher is staring right at me. So I stitch my lips closed, force myself to keep it together, and focus on the test sheet in front of me.
With a shaky hand, I sprint through the questions—checking random boxes, scribbling nonsensical words. Then the second I’m done, I leave it on his desk and bolt from the room.
As the door closes behind me, I hear him call out my name, but I can deal with that later. Right now, there’s no time to waste.
I need to find my phone.
Need to text Elodie so she can explain what the hell happened to me.
The chilled morning air strikes at my cheeks as I rush toward my locker, hoping to find my bag and my cell stashed inside. My fingers twitch as I work the dial, mentally reciting the combination as I race against the beat of heavy footsteps thudding in the near distance.
C’mon, c’mon!I kick the locker below mine and curse my clumsy fingers for falling just short of the final digit, forcing me to start over.
“Natasha?”
Furiously, I spin the dial. The only person who calls me that is Elodie, and that wasn’t her voice.
“Natasha Clarke?”
The footsteps grow more determined, and they’re no longer alone.
“Step away, Natasha.”
My heart runs a riot in my chest, my breath growing choppy and quick.
But I won’t look.
Can’t look.
If I can just get inside this damn locker, then—