“Her sound is a siren's song, calling me to the rocks.”

“Her graphite pencil scratches the thick paper and it is the soundtrack to my bliss. That, and her sound - dissonant, aching. Her breath and heartbeat and pulse are my new favorite symphony; I'm beginning to learn which notes will play when, and to interpret them.”

“And then you show up with the voice from my nightmare, and you call me an asshole.”

“what if they make me stay? To keep me safe?”“I wouldn’t, if I were them.”“What do you mean?”“Any minute now . . .”Two seconds later, the sound of an alarm filled my ears.“What did you do?” I said over the noise as he backed up toward the bathroom door.“The girl who gave you the note?”“Yes . . .”“I caught her staring at my lighter.”I blinked. “You gave a child, in a psych ward, a lighter.”

“You're the girl who called me an asshole the first time we spoke. The girl who tried to pay for lunch even after you learned I have more money than God. You're the girl who risked her ass to save a dying dog, who makes my chest ache whether you're wearing green silk or ripped jeans. You're the girl that I--" Noah stopped, then took a step closer to me. "You are my girl.”

“When Ms. Adams took attendance and called out the name of an absent classmate, Noah’s hand shot up. I watched him cautiously. After she finished roll call, Noah stood, completely unself-conscious as heads followed his progress to the front of the room.“Um—” Ms. Adams checked her clipboard. “Ibrahim Hassin?”Noah nodded. I died.”

“I grabbed the sides of the machine and tried to shake it. No dice. Then I kicked it. Still nothing.I glared at the machine. “Let them out.” I punctuated my statement with a few more useless kicks.“You have an anger-management problem.”I whipped around at the sound of the warm, lilting British accent behind me.”