But this weekend was hell. There were nightmares about alien body snatchers and convicts with hooks for hands. There were dreams about Luc and Gabe that I blush just thinking about. And twice I was sure I saw a black ’68 Shelby drive past my house. Belias, Avaira, me, we’re all from . . . And all day today at school I’ve felt like I was on some kind of possessed seesaw, up and down with Gabe and Luc. But after last-period government, I waste no time grabbing Luc’s arm and dragging him to the parking lot. We climb into his car, and, as soon as the doors are closed, his lips are burning into mine. It feels amazing, so it’s really hard to push him away. “Tell me,” I say into his lips. “What?” he says into mine. I force myself to push back from him. “What you were going to say Friday—in my room—before my mom showed up.” He reaches for me. “I don’t remember.” I push back harder. “Belias, Avaira, me, we’re all from . . .” I say to jog his memory. For a second, his face pinches in a wince.
