I rub my gritty eyes and reach for my cell phone to check the time. Did I set the alarm?

It’s 7:36. “Holy scatterplot.”

I have exactly twenty-four minutes to make it to class.

Leaping from the couch, I race to the bathroom, nearly tripping on Mr. Bojangles asleep and splayed out in the middle of the hallway, belly exposed, perfectly content and unconcerned with my struggles.

I only take the time to pee and splash my face with cold water. I left my book bag in the room and I don’t even attempt silence, throwing the door open and then rummaging through the closet for the stuff I stashed there last night.

It doesn’t matter. The door is unlocked, which means Fitz is gone. The bed is neatly made. He probably slept like a baby and flitted out the door to the sound of songbirds while forest creatures helped him dress.

All the more reason to hate him.

I throw on an old tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans.

I’ve nearly made it to the front door when a looming presence appears in the kitchen doorway and I gasp before I realize who it is.

Beast.

For someone so large, he moves like a ninja. Or an ambush predator.

His giant hands hold out coffee in a disposable cup and a small brown paper sack. I take the items and peek inside the bag. There’s a neatly wrapped sandwich next to an apple.

I meet his eyes with a surprised blink. “Thank you.”

A slow nod is my only response.

Then I’m out the door, blowing down the sidewalk along with the dead leaves from the trees finally catching up with the change in seasons, even though it’s already over seventy degrees.

I didn’t have a chance to grab a hair tie, and the wind whips my hair all over the place.

The house isn’t far from campus, but I’m never late and I already missed a full day.

“Hi,” a voice calls in passing, but I don’t look over.

I’ve made the mistake of waving or returning salutations, only to discover they were inevitably attempting to communicate with someone else nearby.

“Hey.” Now from someone coming in the other direction. This time, I glance around. No one else in the immediate vicinity. Must have been some kind of mistake.

It’s not until I’ve reached the building where my calculus class is held that I have a minute to catch my breath.

The auditorium-style classroom is nearly full, but I make it through the door with only a minute to spare and take my normal spot in the very back.

I toss my bag at my feet and bend over to pull out my materials while trying to get my breathing under control.

While I’m still in a supine position, I catch someone sitting next to me out of the corner of my eye.

Unusual in and of itself, but even odder is the fact that when I sit up and meet his eyes, he’s smiling.