It got so I was just used to acting like that—calm and apathetic—and he was just used to acting his way—interested and slightly agitated. He would write me notes. I would barely look at them. Sometimes, if I’d finished my work and there was no lecture, I’d scrawl something back. Some tiny thing. But just enough.

And Zander would be filled with hope.

It was strange. Because I was never the best-looking girl in the school, not even close. Like, I could rattle off a list of girls, Tiffany, Juliette, Charity, etc., etc., who were way more good-looking than me. And it’s not, at all, like I was even the most popular. In fact, I was always considered a bit weird. Strange. Eccentric, my grandmother would call it. But she was just trying to make me feel better. Let’s face it.

So, to have Zander Haaf, king of crushes, slayer of hearts, writing me note after note after note in biology, which I had the audacity to ignore . . . made no sense. It was like the world had turned upside down and, all of a sudden, people who never even knew I existed were saying hi to me in the hallways between classes. People whose names I’d only heard. People who played sports. People who belonged to the country club.

And, you know this about me by now, I did not belong to the country club. I belonged more to the country barnacle. My house was what a real estate ad would call “cozy,” by which I mean “crappy.” The paint was faded from white to gray, and the house always seemed a little bit like it might just fall over on itself.

So, happy day! To have, for once in my life, some kind of fantasy life where the high school royalty deigned to actually see me . . . all because of Zander Haaf. Well, I don’t have to tell you. It was like being lifted off an anthill onto the tippy-top of the rainbow. And I loved it. I lapped it up. I never thought I’d have to slide down that rainbow again. Happy days were here to stay!

You see. These are the things I dream about. These are the days I have trained myself to play on repeat over and over to just a certain point. If I can keep them to that certain point. Then it is glorious. It is a glorious defense.

But make no mistake.

It’s a defense nonetheless.

And this shiny, happy defense is whisked away in what seems like a wind, or a draft, or a shudder, and I find myself awake in my humble attic bed once again.

Although, now the window is flung open and the night air is rushing in. Yes, that must be what woke me. Just weather. You see, totally natural.

I sigh and move toward the window but, when my feet hit the ground, I notice the floor looks different now. Worn, weathered. I look around the room.