“Lori! Don’t you want to come up here and introduce yourself?” She flashed me a massive smile.

My head started shaking all by itself. I wasn’t even aware of the shake until I noticed the shapes of the world blurring in front of me.

“I know everyone is dying to meet you!” she said, but I was still frozen to my seat.

“Lori!” This time I could see her smile was forced, and when I still didn’t move, she shook her head and marched off the stage. I breathed a massive sign of relief—not so massive as to pop my buttons, though. But then, to my horror, she veered toward me with the most determined-looking face I’d ever seen before. And before I could register what was happening, I was on my feet, being dragged to the stage, her hand digging into mine. My head spun, my lips and fingers tingled, cold sweat prickled on my forehead, and that was when I knew I was in the grip of full-blown panic. My inner mantra kicked in. It was something that Dr. Finkelstein had taught me, phrases I needed to repeat in order to ground myself.

My name is Lori Patty Palmer.

I’m seventeen years old.

My birthday is on the fourteenth of November, and I live at 101 The Exchange Stree—wait! I didn’t live there anymore. Wait! What the hell was my new address?

“Wait!” I didn’t realize I’d opened my mouth and said it until I heard Amber gasp.

“Wait, what?” She stopped pulling me.

“Wa . . . uh . . . uh . . .” My tongue tripped over the words as I tried to break free of her grip, but for someone with such delicate-looking wrists, she was surprisingly strong.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she hissed through a clenched jaw. “I get extra credits for this.”

My heartbeat felt like it was getting more and more irregular. My breathing more labored. I put my free hand on my diaphragm, In for three, hold for four, out for three. In for three, hold for four, out for three . . . but it wasn’t working. Please, please, please, don’t let this happen. Not here. Not now.

And then . . . a bloody miracle!

“Fire alarm!” someone screamed as the sound of an alarm ripped through the room and everyone scrambled to their feet again. I seized the opportunity and pulled my hand away from Amber’s. But I pulled so hard and fast, using all my weight, that Amber tumbled to the floor.

“Sorry.” I stepped forward apologetically, only to be met with an angry glare. I tried to dissipate the tension with a smile, but it didn’t work. And then her eyes trailed down to her hand. I followed them and saw three snapped, false nail tips lying on the floor next to her.