“On the drive home, Adam glances at me several times, clearly wanting to talk about what’s happened.But I can barely look up from the door latch.Exactly six pain-filled minutes later, he pulls over at the corner of my street and puts the car in park. “Do you hate me?” he asks.“More like I hate myself.”“Yeah.” He sighs. “Kissing me tends to have that effect on women.”“That’s not what I meant.”“Don’t worry about it,” he says, still trying to make light of the situation. “It’s my fault. It won’t happen again.”“I let it happen.”“Yes, but only because you couldn’t help yourself. I must admit, I’m far too irresistible for my own good.”“I wouldn’t go that far.” I can’t help but smile.”

“To my complete and utter surprise, the writing on his door is gone.Vanished.“What happened?” I ask.It takes him a second before he realizes what I’m asking. “I washed it off,” he explains.“You what?”“I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t want the super to give me a hard time. Plus, I thought it might freak out some of my neighbors. You have to admit, death threats on doors can be pretty offensive, generally speaking. Not to mention the sheer fact that it made me look like a total asshole—like some old girlfriend was trying to get even.”“Did you take pictures at least?”“Actually, no.” He cringes. “That probably would’ve been a good idea.”“But Tray saw the writing, right?”“Um . . .” He nibbles his lip, clearly reading my angst.“You told me he was with you last night. You said you called him.”“I tried, but he didn’t pick up, and I didn’t want you to worry.”“So, you lied?” I snap.“I didn’t want you to worry,” he repeats. “Please, don’t be upset.”“How can I not be? We’re talking about your life here. You can’t go erasing evidence off your door. And you can’t be lying to me, either. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me the truth?”“Why are you helping me?” he asks, taking a step closer. “I mean, I’m grateful and all, and you know I love spending time with you, be it death-threat missions or pizza and a movie. It’s just . . . what do you get out of it? What’s this sudden interest in my life?”My mouth drops open, but I manage a shrug, almost forgetting the fact that he knows nothing about my premonitions.”

“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.”

“I shake my head, knowing that if it hadn’t been for me, Ben wouldn’t have been there in the first place. I try to tell him that, but he swats my words away with his hand and says he wants to show me something.“Sure,” I say, wondering if he’s really as nervous as he seems.He clenches his teeth and hesitates a couple of moments; the angles of his face seem to grow sharper. Finally, he motions to the pant leg of his jeans.There’s a tear right over his thigh.“I know you saw it in the hospital,” he says, exposing the chameleon tattoo through the torn fabric. “I felt you . . . looking at it. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did this back home, before I ever came to Freetown. Before I ever met you.”“So it’s a coincidence?”His dark gray eyes swallow mine whole. “Do you honestly believe that?”“No,” I say, listening as he proceeds to tell me that a few months before he got to town, he touched his mother’s wedding band—something that reminded him of soul mates—and the image of a chameleon stuck inside his head.“I couldn’t get it out of my mind,” he explains. “It was almost like the image was welded to my brain, behind my eyes, haunting me even when I tried to sleep.”“And you got the tattoo because of that?”“Because I hoped its permanence might help me understand it more—might help me understand what it had to do with my own soul mate.”“And do you understand now?” I ask, swallowing hard.“Yeah.” He smiles. “I suppose I do.”I take a deep breath, trying to hold myself together, desperate to know what he’s truly trying to say here, and what I should say to him as well. I close my eyes, picturing that moment in the hospital when I held his hand and wondering if he would’ve recovered as quickly as if it hadn’t been for the connection between us—the electricity he must have sensed from my touch.”

“Oh, and because I don’t have a dating history as big as your mouth, it doesn’t quite measure up?” he asks.“I hate to break this to you, but that isn’t the only thing of yours that doesn’t measure up.” She waggles her pinkie at him.“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins.“I think I’m all set,” I interrupt, zipping up my bag.“Don’t forget this.” Still cuddling my sweater, Wes purrs a couple of times before tossing it my way.“Yeah, I can’t imagine why your dad thinks of you as feminine,” Kimmie mocks.”

“I shrug, suddenly remembering how Adam never called me this morning, even though he said he would. “I should probably go back to Adam’s apartment to have a look at his door.”“Want some company?” Wes asks. “I can bring along my spy tool. I’ve got a cool UV-light device that picks up all traces of bodily fluids.”“You’re kidding, right?” Kimmie asks.“You know you want to give it a try.” He winks. “I’ll even let you borrow my latex gloves.”“Say no more,” she jokes. “I’m in.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping out of the car.“Waiting for you.” He closes the car door behind me. “I called you earlier and your mom said you’d be home around nine. You’re two minutes early.”“Should I go away and come back?”“What do you think?” he asks, encircling my waist with his arms.”