And then my boot catches on a thin patch of ice and I slip, falling backward into a wet pile of slush. My elbow is throbbing when it hits, and I can already sense the bruise forming on my tailbone. I can feel the cold seeping through my pants—snow finding its way into places snow has no business being—but the heat spreading across my face is worse. This is not the kind of grand entrance I wanted to make. I lie back for a second, letting the embarrassment wash over me, avoiding the moment I’ll have to face James Dean. Maybe he didn’t see me fall. Maybe he turned back to the chalkboard at just the right moment, and I can still get up and scramble away and come back tomorrow shiny and new.

“Keely!” Hannah’s voice calls, high and sharp. I sit up, dizzy, turning in her direction, and then I see it—a bright red car is sliding right at me over the ice. The driver blasts on the horn and I scramble to my feet. As the car turns sharply, slush sprays in all directions, and I careen myself toward the sidewalk. I land hard on my hip, bruised but out of the way.

The car skids around me, finally coming to a stop. The driver rolls down his window, his face blotchy and purple.

“This is a parking lot, you dumb bitch! What are you doing? Making snow angels?”

“Hey!” says a deep male voice behind me. James Dean is waving a piece of chalk at the driver. “She fell. Give her a break!”

“I almost ran her over!”

“Exactly! Maybe you should slow down.”

“Whatever,” the driver huffs. “You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops.”

“Yeah? Let’s call them.” James Dean’s voice is firm and steady. “You almost killed this girl.”

“Go to hell!” The driver clucks his tongue and backs away, slush spraying out from under his tires. And then he’s gone. The calm of the parking lot falls over us, and we stand for a moment too long in silence. My heart is thudding like crazy and my mouth feels dry, adrenaline coursing through me.

“Are you okay?” James Dean puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump at the contact, still dazed.

“Keely, you almost died!” Hannah grabs on to my other arm. Her eyes are watery.

“I’m fine,” I try to say, but the words get caught. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m fine.”

“That started out pretty funny, but now I feel bad for laughing,” James Dean says with a slight grin, showing off a set of perfect dimples. “You should come inside. You want some tea? Coffee? Whiskey? We have it all.”