Sal was right. Time flies when you’re fitting in. The first month of school passed in a blur of pop quizzes, party planning, and surprisingly interesting new friends. I finally made it to a mall, where I was able to find casual clothes that were neither plaid nor flannel, and I started combining Prada with my new pedestrian pieces in a look Sydney coined “fashion fusion.” Too soon, it was the end of September, on the cusp of October.

When the first crisp afternoon hit, the twins and I were at our usual table at All Hours, fighting off the chill of fall with hot lattes. I’d learned to order mine without sweetener to keep the taste as close to coffee as possible. We were waiting for the boys to join us, but even so, I barely recognized Reg when he burst through the bright yellow door.

His soft stubble had grown into such a full beard, I might have mistaken him for a werewolf if the face behind the beard wasn’t still so pretty.

“What is this?” I yanked on his whiskers as he sat down, and he swatted my hand away.

“I’m growing it out. Haven’t you noticed?”

Noticed? I’d hardly even seen him in the last few weeks. When he wasn’t with Poe, he was tied up with debate practice and play rehearsals. He’d fallen understudy to Poe’s Puck, but you’d think he won the lead the way he crowed about it. He was keeping busy enough that he even forgot to torment the teachers—or perhaps that was Poe’s influence, as he seemed to be the favorite of everyone on staff at Hope High.

“You look like an animal.” I caught his eye and gave him a look to let him know exactly which animal I meant, but he just smiled.

“Well, I think it’s distinguished.”

I opened my mouth to mock him again, but as I watched him stroke his beard, it struck me how old he looked. He could almost pass for an adult, and the sight of it caught my chest in a vise. We were already aging. The proof of it was there on Reg’s face. In a minute, we would be adults, and a minute after that we would be old and wrinkly.

My hands went to my own face, as if I could feel lines sprouting from my skin as easily as facial hair sprouted from Reg’s. My fingers found only soft skin and the occasional pimple, reminding me that I was still, mercifully, teen. But the tight feeling in my chest remained and began to pulse in time with my heart, like a clock counting out every passing second.