“It said that whatever chores you had to do this morning, I’d help. We’re in this together, a team, and I’m not talking with Mr. Bartley about the assignment without you.” I take a gulp of air. “What should I do first?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.

“What?”

“You know it’s four-thirty in the morning, right?”

“Really?” My voice is thick with snark. “I had no idea.”

“How many cups of coffee have you had?” There’s that grin again. He knows me so well.

I give him a playful shove, then march to the Crawford kitchen to get a cinnamon roll and my third mug of the morning.

Chapter 9: Cade

For the past ten minutes, I’ve leaned against the wall outside Mr. Bartley’s locked classroom and watched Logan circle around like a caged lioness. We finished everything I had to do at the inn so I could be here with her. Every so often she checks her email, sighs heavily, then resumes wearing down the linoleum.

No response from Mr. Bartley. I mentally make a list: four possible reasons why Mr. Bartley isn’t here: (1) his internet went down in last night’s storm; (2) he didn’t check his email; (3) he read it but wasn’t able to come to school early (then why didn’t he respond?); (4) he was abducted by an alien nation in need of a History of World Governments teacher (if only we were so lucky). Logan reverses directions. Her fingers tap against her hip like she’s keeping time to music only she can hear. After a few more circles, she stops in front of a poster-size sign promoting tonight’s Snow Ball dance. She waves me over.

“Your parents’ first date was the Snow Ball dance, right?”

“A couple centuries ago.”

A long awkward silence falls between us. Usually I don’t have any trouble reading Logan, but the way she’s staring at the couple slow dancing in the center of the winter wonderland, I can’t help but wonder if she feels like she’s missing out. Neither of us has ever gone to a school dance, and when she turned down Mason’s invitation to prom last year, I was relieved. Despite all the rumors at school, however, Logan and I will never be more than best friends. From the day she moved to Riviere right before eighth grade, she was destined to leave. I, on the other hand, was born to stay.

Logan turns away from the poster and starts pacing again.

“Do you want to go?” I blurt out, instantly wanting to stuff the words down my throat.

She stops. Surprise or maybe horror fills her face. “To the Snow Ball dance?”