My soul had shattered so easily, and its enduring frailty suggested that there had not been much holding it together in the first place. Something that hinted at a more horrible truth still.

And that was this: that the true reason the curse was irreparable . . . was because I was.

NINETEEN

Stephanie

Unable to pay attention in any of my morning classes, I spent the first half of the next day replaying my latest dream encounter with Erik in my head. Over and over again, I heard his cryptic answers and, over and over again, I tried—and failed—to decipher them. Then the bell for lunch rang, and even though Lucas had invited me to the gym, I made myself go to the cafeteria. I even got in line, telling myself it would be a bad idea to seek Lucas out. Because what would Charlotte do if I interrupted the rehearsal that had been rescheduled because of me? But then, when I got to the tray station, it occurred to me that it would be far worse for Lucas to think I wasn’t grateful to him for coming over last night. Or that I wasn’t interested . . .

With that thought, I bailed on lunch and rerouted to the gym. On the way, though, I continued to vacillate, my steps alternating between quick and slow. I wanted to see Lucas, but I didn’t want to be a nuisance. Then again, Charlotte really hadn’t minded being one yesterday . . .

Arriving at the gym with little more than half of lunch period left, I stalled in front of the open double doors. My heart gave a flutter when Lucas glided into view, moving backward to one of his old-school doo-wop songs. An echoing flitter of jealousy flapped through my gut when Charlotte slid into view, extending a hand to Lucas, which he took.

I held my breath, my insides twisting as he pulled her close in a dance pose, his free arm wrapping her waist.

“Shoo-doop shoo-bee-doo,” chanted a quartet, the accompanying piano and pace-setting drums issuing soft and sultry from a nearby portable speaker.

Augh. Coming here had been a mistake. I started to back away before either of them could spot me, but then someone called my name.

Seated several rows up on the bleachers, next to Patrick, Wes waved a sandwich at me.

“What’s shakin’?” called Patrick through the otherwise empty gym. “Hopefully not your house.” He popped a Dorito into his mouth.

Dropping Lucas’s hand, Charlotte spun to glare at the doorway. At me.

Oh boy.

Lucas, his expression brightening, broke away from her and jogged to meet me. And he might have looked utterly ridiculous in his newsie-style cap, bow tie, cropped pants with suspenders, and tawny argyle socks if he hadn’t looked so smoking hot.

“Hey, you came,” he said, actually pulling his hat off. Like somebody from the jazz era might do before opening a conversation with a lady.