I was swimming. The water cool and smooth, enveloping my limbs. I peeled through the water. Long, even strokes, legs pumping, arms reaching, lungs burning. It felt great. Wonderful. I was in a lane that seemed to go on for miles. No matter how hard I pumped, I was still swimming, never seeming to get closer to the end, never hitting that wall. I pumped harder, faster, pushing with everything I had. If anything, the wall seemed to get farther away.

And then it happened.

The water started to cloud. Red. Swirls of bright red liquid surrounding me like tendrils as they mixed with the chlorinated water. I reached out to touch one, watching the wisps of colors slide over my fingers. Then there was more. And more. Suddenly the entire pool was red. Bloodred.

I screamed. Long, loud, lashing in the bloody water, feeling it suck me down, down, down. Lower and lower until no one could hear my screams anymore.

“Tina!” A sharp voice barked out my name.

I shot awake, blinking up into the face beside me. Cal.

What the hell was Cal doing in my bed?

I blinked again, my eyes slowly focusing on the room around me until I realized this wasn’t my bed, it was his. And his sheets were wrapped around my legs, tangled and twisted, his pillow clutched in my hands in a death grip.

“Hey, you okay?” Cal asked.

I looked down. And noticed that his hand was resting on my thigh. I gulped.

“Yeah. Just…a bad dream, I guess.”

“Well, I’d say after last night, you’re entitled to a nightmare or two.”

I sat up, shrugging Cal’s hand off and rubbing my eyes. “Aunt Sue up?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she’s in the kitchen making French toast.”

That woke me up. “She’s cooking?”

“Don’t worry. I’m supervising closely.” He looked down at my jeans as I jumped out of bed. And smiled.

“What?”

“You always wear jeans to bed?”

“I was cold,” I said. Even though the feel of Cal’s silky sheets on my bare skin had left me anything but.

“Well, let me know next time. You can borrow some sweats,” he said, rising from the bed and leading the way to the kitchen.

I found Aunt Sue at the little turquoise stove, manning a pan of egg-battered bread, a cup of coffee in one hand.

“’Morning,” I said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“What?” she asked. I noticed her ears conspicuously absent of hearing aids.

“Goo-d morn-ing,” I enunciated.

“Huh?”

“Good morning!”

“Oh. Well, good morning to you, peanut. But there’s no need to shout, I’m right here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right.” I leaned over and inspected the pan. Right color, right smell, no charred edges—so far so good.