“He’d wanted to accompany her, but both of them knew it’d be smarter for him to stay home.In other words, neither of them trusts me. And who can really blame them?The last time they both went away together, a stalker broke into our house, our basement turned into a scene out of Fright Night, and I nearly gave my boyfriend a concussion.”

“We sit there, our eyes locked on one another, for several seconds. I know in my heart we're both thinking the same thing. Jacob leans forward over the candle, the shadow of the flame dancing against his bottom lip. I lean forward to meet him as well. It's a kiss full of promise, of trust, and of all that is magic.”

“What’s the verdict?” Kimmie asks, peering back at me.I stare down at the jumble of words. “I can’t quite tell yet.”“Give us a clue,” Wes says. “I love puzzles.”“That’s because you are one,” Kimmie jokes.I read them the list of words: ARE, ALONE, YOU, NEVER, EYE, WATCHING, ALWAYS, AM.Not five seconds later, Wes has the whole thing figured out. “YOU ARE NEVER ALONE. EYE AM ALWAYS WATCHING!” he says, making his voice all deep and throaty.“Wait, seriously?” I ask, completely bewildered by the idea that he’d be able to unravel the message so quickly. I look at the individual words, making sure they’re all included, and that he didn’t add any extra.“What can I say? I’m good at puzzles.”“Are you good at making them, too?” Kimmie asks. “Because it’s a little scary how you were able to figure that out so fast.”“Do you think it matters that the “eye” in the puzzle is the noun and not the pronoun?” I ask them.“Since when is it a requirement for psychos to be good in English?” Wes asks.“Only you would know.” Kimmie glares at him.“Plus, it’s a puzzle,” he says, ignoring her comment. “You have to expect a few quirks.”“I don’t know,” I say, still staring at the words. “Maybe there’s some other message here. Maybe we need to try unscrambling it another way.”“Such as ‘EYE AM NEVER ALONE. YOU ARE ALWAYS WATCHING,’” he suggests. “Or perhaps the ever-favorite. ‘YOU ARE NEVER WATCHING. EYE AM ALWAYS ALONE.’”Kimmie scoots farther away from him in her seat. “Okay, you really are starting to scare me.”

“It's after school, after my double detentions for gym and chemistry, and I'm at Knead, about to begin working on a new piece. I wedge the clay out against my board, enjoying the therapeutic quality of each smack, prod, and punch.As the clay oozes between my fingers and pastes against my skin, images of all sorts begin to pop into my head. I try my best to push them away,to focus instead on the cold and clammy sensation of the mound and the way it helps me relax. But after only a few short minutes of solitude, I hear someone storm their way up the back stairwell. At first I think it's Spencer, but then I hear the voice:"I'm coming up the stairs," Adam bellows. "I'm approaching the studio area, about to pass by the sink."I turn to look, noticing he's standing only a few feet behind me now."I hope I didn't startle you this time," he says."Ha-ha." I hold back my smile."I would have called your cell to tell you I was coming up, but you never gave me your number.""I'm fine," I assure him, unable to stifle a giggle.”

“Hi,” I say, stopping right in front of him. “I missed you today in chemistry.”“I got to school a little late.”“But you left my house early,” I say, wondering what time he did in fact leave—if he waited until I fell asleep or stayed until the last possible moment.“I still overslept,” he explains.“I’m sorry if that was my fault.”“I think it was your fault.” He smiles wider. “Once I got home, I couldn’t really fall asleep. Too wound up, I guess.”“Because of all the drama with Adam?”He shakes his head and touches the side of my face, raising my chin slightly to kiss my lips.”

“Dear Jack:I have no idea who he was. But he saved me. From you.I watched from the doorway as he smacked, punched, and threw you against the wall. You fought back hard- I'll give you that- but you were no match for him.And when it was over- when you'd finally passed out- the boy made direct eye contact with me. He removed the rag from my mouth and asked me if I was okay.'Yes. I mean, I think so,' I told him.But it was her that he was really interested in: the girl who was lying unconscious on the floor. Her eyes were swollen, and there looked to be a trail of blood running from her nose.The boy wiped her face with a rag. And then he kissed her, and held her, and ran his hand over her cheek, finally grabbing his cell to dial 911.He was wearing gloves, which I thought was weird. Maybe he was concerned about his fingerprints, from breaking in. But once he hung up, he removed the gloves, took the girl's hand, and placed it on the front of his leg- as if it were some magical hot spot that would make her better somehow. Tears welled up in his eyes as he apologized for not getting there sooner.'I'm so sorry,' he just kept saying.And suddenly I felt sorry too.Apparently it was the anniversary of something tragic that'd happened. I couldn't really hear him clearly, but I was pretty sure he'd mentioned visiting an old girlfriend's grave.'You deserve someone better,' he told her. 'Someone who'll be open and honest; who won't be afraid to share everything with you.' He draped his sweatshirt over her, kissed her behind the ear, and then promised to love her forever.A couple minutes later, another boy came in, all out of breath. 'Is she alright?' he asked.The boy who saved me stood up, wiped his tearful eyes, and told the other guy to sit with her until she woke up. And then he went to find scissors for me. He cut me free and brought me out to the sofa. 'My name's Ben,' he said. 'And help is on the way.'When the girl finally did wake up, Ben allowed the other guy to take credit for saving her life. I wanted to ask him why, but I haven't been able to speak.That's what this letter is for. My therapist says that I need to tell my side of things in order to regain my voice. She suggested that addressing my thoughts directly to you might help provide some closure.So far, it hasn't done the trick.Never your Jill,Rachael”

“Ever since what happened last fall, my dad has made a feeble though still earnest attempt at safeguarding our place. He’s put stickers on all the windows and poked yard signs into the lawn, both of which claim that we have a security system (we don’t). He’s also installed motion-detector lights that go on and off pretty much whenever they feel like it.”