A Tangle of Dreams

By Nicole Adair

"Ollie, do you believe in magic?" 

Gemma and Oliver have been best friends their entire lives. But no matter how well Ollie thinks he knows Gemma, there's one secret standing between

• Language: English
• Publisher: Validation Press LLC
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737088219

Book preview

Chapter One

GEMMA

You know that odd feeling when your cheeks ache from smiling too much? A happy ache, what a thing. It’s the kind of smile that only comes at the edge of summer—that feeling of freedom mixed with the promise of heat and possibility, an intoxicating blend of restlessness.

Oliver would say there’s poetry in that. But right now he’s too busy wringing his hands and pacing back and forth to be thinking about poetry. You guys are going to fall off that cliff, break your necks, and then I’m going to have to carry your bodies back to your mom—and then she’s going to kill me.

No way, she loves you the most out of all of us, I laugh. My heart pounds as I toe the line of the cliff and look down at the plunging drop to the desert below. I lean over the edge, dangling my foot in the open air. My grin widens at the sound of Ollie’s sharp intake of breath, the only thing that interrupts his mumbling about heights and stupid unnecessary risks.

Mom’s probably surprised you haven’t had to drag our bodies home yet, so I’d say we’re doing a pretty decent job of staying alive, my twin brother Milo calls down.

Ollie crosses his arms and scowls up at us.

Milo and I ignore him. I hold up a hand to shield my eyes from the sharp glare of the setting sun as I look out across the valley. The late evening air feels fresh and warm. The early summer breeze floats through the Palo Verde trees, scattering their buttered popcorn-yellow blossoms onto the mountain trails below. Everything’s golden and gleaming as the sun clings to its last few moments of daylight.

Milo elbows past me and climbs up higher onto a large stack of boulders, balancing on the edge with his arms held up over his head triumphantly.

We’re free! echoes off the canyon walls. We—are—free!

I wave to get Ollie’s attention, then gesture toward Milo and mime pushing him off the boulder. Ollie’s wide eyes and scandalized face leave me snickering into my hands.

It’s juvenile. But then again, so are we.

Ollie sighs and shakes his head, running a hand through his dark hair before sinking down onto the old Mexican blanket we left spread on the ground. Seriously, you guys are stressing me out. Back away from the edge.

You’re such a mother hen, Milo yells over his shoulder. Why don’t you climb up here with us?

I snort at the thought of Ollie actually doing anything semi-dangerous; he’s literally the safest person I know.

Come on, aren’t you pumped it’s finally summer? Milo sings out, throwing his head back as he howls again. Finally summer!

Finally summer, Ollie repeats with a dry laugh, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his long legs out. You guys are homeschooled. There’s no way your mom’s that intense of a teacher.

It’s not her. It’s Grandma. Milo shudders dramatically.

Ollie tips his head back with a laugh. Oh, please.

I think of our Grandma and her easy-going, would-you-like-some-cookies-with-that approach to life, and I have to agree with Ollie.

And I wouldn’t call this summer ‘freedom,’ Ollie sighs, waving air quotes with his hands. Working at my dad’s firm is going to be tremendously boring. Answering the phone, making copies, he falls flat on his back and yawns exaggeratedly, I’m bored just thinking about it.

I roll my eyes before taking a running leap off the ridge and landing next to Ollie on the blanket. Oliver Cade, you’re seriously killing our vibe right now, I say, shoving my hands onto my hips. It’s the first day of summer! We’ll have plenty of time to do our usual lazing around. Plenty of time.

Ollie picks at the loose gravel near my feet, shrugging his shoulders in response. Ever since Milo and I started homeschooling our sophomore year, Ollie complains that he never gets to see us anymore, even though we see him after school pretty much every day and spend most of our weekends together.

But I know what he means. The three of us have been inseparable our whole lives, ever since the Cades moved in across the street when we were babies. We even share the same birthday; what are the odds? I’ve always felt like there’s some kind of magic in that. When we were little kids, we used to tell everyone we were triplets. We’ve had sixteen years of shared birthday cakes, crooked party hats, and fighting over who blew out all the candles.

We have all summer, I say softly, nudging him with my foot. Relax a little. As if to prove my point, I flop down on the blanket next to him, sprawled and perfectly content. You worry too much.

So you tell me, Ollie chuckles. He’s lying near me, propped up on his elbows and close enough that I can feel the rumble of his laugh.

We grin at each other, already envisioning the endless swimming, late afternoon naps, and exploring the river at dusk. There isn’t much else to do in the scorching Arizona desert, but we don’t mind. We make our own fun. We always have.

But my grin fades as I watch him sit up to check on Milo, who’s still climbing along the side of the mountain. Guilt sours my stomach while the words I so casually tossed out replay in my head.

We have all summer.

Our last summer.

I close my eyes and shove that thought aside as quickly as I can. My hand absently reaches out to touch the rusty red dirt beside me. I run my fingers through its silty texture and pause, trying to concentrate on the pulse my mom told me about. The pulse that runs through the earth and all living things—the pulse of magic. But I don’t feel any power or sense any connection.

Sighing, I pull my hand back and cross my arms over my head and think for the millionth time how I can’t wait to feel, to finally feel, the magic inside me come to life.

Milo and I come from a long line of people gifted with magic. But so far we’ve just experienced magic on the periphery through our mom and grandmother. Our magic won’t manifest until we come of age on our seventeenth birthday.

Just thinking about the magic within me makes my skin itch. The closer we get to our birthday at the end of July, the more my skin tingles with its blossoming, surging well of energy. It’s already making me crazy and we still have a few months left to endure before the Claiming ceremony.

But the closer we get to our birthday, the closer we get to saying goodbye to Ollie.

If Ollie can sense that Milo and I are preoccupied with our upcoming birthday, he hasn’t mentioned anything. I’m sure he’s picked up on a lot of strange things about our family over the years, but somehow he’s never questioned it.

I guess that’s what happens when you grow up surrounded by magic without knowing what it is. Oliver’s been on the periphery of magic, too.

Milo hops down from the last clump of boulders and skids to a sweaty stop in front of us. He meets my eyes as he brushes his damp dirty blond hair off his forehead, and I know in that moment he was just thinking about our Claiming, too. His face contains the mix of emotions that go along with a Claiming ceremony—the excitement, the nervousness, and the sharp pang of longing.

I hate waiting.

When I look at my brother’s face, I see my mom. I see her in his laugh lines, straight nose, and small mouth. We may be twins, but we don’t look very much alike at all. And I know who Milo sees when he looks at me. I’ve been told countless times that I look like our dad with my wide dark eyes and my black hair. I see the resemblance between us in the pictures we have of my dad when he was young.

A familiar twinge of grief shoots through me like it does every time I think of him. Can you miss something you never had? Our dad died before we were born. That father-shaped hole in our lives has never healed over. I don’t think Mom has ever moved on, and I don’t know if she ever will.

The feeling of Ollie’s eyes on me pulls me back to the present. He lifts one eyebrow in a silent question to see if I’m okay. I give him a faint smile and a nod before his frown has the chance to deepen and before he starts peppering me with questions.

The three of us lean back on the blanket to watch the end of the sunset, the first tangerine-soaked scene of summer. Arizona isn’t the most exciting place to live, and honestly, it can really suck the life out of you with its intense summers. But I don’t think you can find another place on earth with sunsets as spectacular as this.

I’ve lived here my whole life and each time I see the sun setting over the vast desert, it still leaves me feeling cleaned out and warm all over like the world is really as bright as the colors painted across the sky.

We silently watch the sun sink lower until it’s behind the mountains, tipping the valley into neon-tinged darkness. A collective sigh rises up between us. I may not have access to my magic yet, but in these moments I think I feel a glimmer of it.

My head tilts onto Milo’s shoulder and I feel Ollie’s knee shifting next to me. The familiarity we all have with each other used to be so comfortable, like the most comfortable t-shirt. Soft and worn in all the right places kind of comfortable.

But it feels different now.

I try to slow my mind by taking a deep breath and focusing on the sky sliding into the inky blackness of night. It works temporarily until Ollie nudges me with his knee and my whole leg warms up like he’s the sun. My breath catches in my chest and I make a fist to try to distract myself from his pressure on my leg.

It doesn’t work.

Ollie’s knee has touched me thousands of times; we grew up in a tangle of limbs. After years of wrestling and hugging and racing and fighting, sometimes I feel like I know his body better than I know my own. What were once normal and natural—a punch on the shoulder, a high five across the table, or my head in his lap while we watch a movie—suddenly seem like monumental occasions that my heart and my blood and my breathing all need to stop and recalibrate over.

It’s ridiculous.

And I can pinpoint exactly when it started.

A few weeks ago, we were in the kitchen, the three of us huddled around a bowl of cookie dough Grandma had stuck in the fridge earlier that day. Milo was going on and on about his latest soulmate, a girl he’d locked eyes on while he was stopped at a red light the night before.

"You guys, I’m serious! There I was, just minding my own business, waiting for the light to turn when—wham! Out of nowhere, this…this vision appears to my right. All blonde hair and legs for days—"

Ollie and I were cackling before Milo could even finish getting the words out.

Let’s just say Milo falls in love easily and frequently.

How could you see the length of her legs? Wasn’t she driving, and therefore sitting? Ollie asked while scooping another giant spoonful of dough, heavy on the chocolate chips. He handed it to me before I could even ask.

I could just tell. Milo sighed dreamily to himself while I snorted into my spoon.

Besides, he continued. We were both listening to the same song on the radio. If that’s not fate, if that’s not a sign, then I don’t know what is.

Milo, Milo, Milo. I slapped my spoon down on the counter. You only listen to the Top 40 songs. Of course she was listening to the same station as you. And if that’s the case, then there’s a strike against her: no imagination.

But then again, that would mean she’s perfect for Milo, Ollie added.

Hey, you’re not much better. You only listen to music from the ’60s, old man. Expand your horizons.

Ollie ignored me, but Milo gave a loud cough that sounded suspiciously like snob.

Well, it sounds like true love to me, Ollie said. I mean, who cares if you don’t know her name, where she lives, or anything else about her. Sounds like she’s The One. He flicked a loose chocolate chip at Milo, who let it bounce off his chest before sighing again.

And that’s when it hit me.

You know how you have those moments, those caught in time silvery moments that for some reason stand out sharp in an endless stream of memories?

I watched Ollie eating his cookie dough, his eyes crinkling with laughter as he listened to Milo, when a wave of want eased up and over me so thoroughly. It’s like I had been slowly wading out to sea, and then wondered how I was suddenly treading water, struggling to keep my head up above the waves.

That’s how it felt with Oliver. Slowly, so slowly I didn’t even notice it, and then all at once.

All I know is that I’m aware of him in a way I wasn’t before. It’s equal parts exhilarating and exhausting. Now every touch feels like it means Something with a capital S.

The other day I was teasing him about how his mom still folds his laundry, when the thought, wait, are we flirting? flashed through my mind, catching me so completely off guard that my face turned an embarrassing shade of beet red in an instant.

That night I lay in bed over-analyzing everything I had said and everything he had said, and I ended up with my pillow over my face wondering when I became the girl that thinks about Oliver Cade while she falls asleep.

It’s terrible, and I’m pretty convinced all this emotional havoc might one day kill me. That’s a bit too much to feel from one boy’s knee if you ask me.

Like I said: exhilarating, exhausting.

Chapter Two

OLLIE

The three of us make our way home, our flashlight beams bobbing up and down as we weave between the looming saguaros scattered along the side of the canyon. We’re so familiar with this little patch of desert we almost don’t need the lights; we’ve goofed around out here since we could walk. Milo and Gemma only switch on their flashlights after my nagging (Milo’s words, not mine). But really, who wants to get cactus stuck in their foot?

Our neighborhood is tucked away at the base of the Superstition Mountain range. The homes out here are scattered and eclectic; new builds with crystal-clear pools across from old ranch-styles with rickety wooden porches. All of them have wide yards that stretch through the open desert. This neighborhood feels like it’s in the middle of nowhere even though we’re mere minutes away from town. I’ve always liked that about living here. Open and free but not totally secluded. We click off our flashlights in unison as we walk the pothole-riddled dirt road that leads toward home.

Are you coming over to watch a movie…or something? Milo bounds from pothole to pothole, scattering loose gravel with each jump. I can tell he’s still feeling wound up and needing to burn off some energy doing something stupid. And usually his or something ideas involve blowing stuff up and terrorizing the neighbors with some good old-fashioned homemade firecrackers.

Lately both Milo and Gemma seem to crackle with energy and a kind of tension I can’t quite place. It’s almost like I can see it shimmering on their skin, like a lit fuse that’s waiting to burn out. I don’t know any other way to describe it. It’s weird and frankly, kind of hard to be around at the moment. It makes me feel unusually tired.

Nah, not tonight. My mom wants me home for some Forced Family Fun. I roll my eyes but I’m not fooling anyone. Gemma and Milo both know I secretly love game nights with my parents. Possibly because I’m the reigning Scrabble champion.

And possibly because nobody else wants to play with me.

Gemma laughs. Scrabble, right? She’s looking up at the stars starting to pinprick their way through the night sky.

I glance at her, my mouth tugging up into a smile. Gemma must feel me staring because her blunt, black bob swishes around her chin as she turns to face me.

See anything interesting? she asks up at me.

I cover quickly. I was just wondering when you got so short.

She snorts. More like you guys won’t quit growing, leaving me down here all by myself. Remember when I was taller than you?

Yeah, when we were, what, five years old? Milo laughs. Gemma, you’ve got a lot of excellent qualities, as we all know. But a height advantage isn’t one of them. Give up the dream, you’re clearly going to be shrimpy for the rest of your life.

Gemma scowls and sashays as she turns down the gravel driveway in front of their looming two-story house. It’s one of the oldest homes in the area, mismatched and added on to over the years with tan stucco walls so worn and faded they nearly blend into the surrounding desert. I think the important takeaway from this is that Milo admitted I have many ‘excellent qualities.’ Here, Milo, say it again while I record you. She holds out her phone like it’s a news reporter’s overly large microphone.

He bats Gemma’s phone away. Ollie, don’t be so lame. You’d rather play board games with your parents than hang out with us? He scoffs and races up the porch steps, nearly knocking over one of the many potted plants lining the entryway; their mom is obsessed with gardening. You owe us a movie tomorrow. Or something! he calls over his shoulder before heading inside.

Gemma follows after her brother. She turns for one last wave before the screen door slams shut behind them. Have fun winning at Scrabble, Oliver Cade.

I feel like a fool for the way my neck heats up when she calls me by my full name, and I’m eternally grateful that Milo’s not outside to witness it. As I turn toward my house across the street, I try to control my thoughts. Thoughts about Gemma. Thoughts about Gemma I’m desperately trying to ignore because if there was ever an off-limits girl, it would be my best friend’s twin sister who is also my best friend.

I can’t even keep track of the layers of complication.

There isn’t a single significant memory from my life that doesn’t have the twins in the background. Milo’s like the brother I never had, but Gemma—she’s my person, the one I go to for everything. When something good happens to me, I tell her first. When I’m struggling, she always knows what to say; she knows how to help me get out of my head.

And then we became teenagers. And suddenly my feelings for Gemma shifted into something new, something more. The want for her slammed into me like a punch to the gut when we were thirteen. She’d smile at me and I’d fixate on the small shadow of a dimple that appeared only when she was grinning extra hard. She’d make me laugh and my stomach would twist in a way that wasn’t unpleasant but wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was just too much. I went through a phase where I could barely be around her. I felt so awkward and self-conscious like my every feeling was written on my face.

But the summer we turned fourteen, I knew I had to rein it in. I knew Gemma didn’t feel the same way about me. At least not yet. I could love Gemma unrequitedly. I really could. Anything was better than the potential rejection or the dissolving of our friendship. Anything is better than nothing.

So, I took all those intensely heavy feelings for her, mentally boxed them up, and packed them away in a storage unit in my brain, which I then padlocked and marked Do Not Enter. But before I could metaphorically slam the door shut, I couldn’t help but add in fine print, unless you are receiving signals that maybe, just maybe, she might want you too. I couldn’t give up hope entirely. I had to leave myself a sliver of possibility.

For the past three years, I’ve been her best friend, the one who’s always there for her. Back to the buddy-buddy, business as usual. And it’s been enough. Gemma is always enough.

She’s dated other guys and I’ve dated other girls. Until this past spring when Gemma finally broke up with her latest boyfriend. Even though Gemma and Milo are homeschooled, they both run cross-country with me at the local high school. Owen was on the boys’ team and according to Gemma, sparks were flying at the first practice. They started strong in the fall and all we heard about that semester was Owen this and Owen that. It was enough to drive Milo and me a little insane.

Gemma asked us once why we didn’t like Owen, why we never wanted to hang out with the four of us all together.

Milo and I looked at each other, each willing the other to answer first and face the wrath of Gemma. Milo just shook his head, already laughing at the potential fallout from this conversation. Take it away, Ollie. He gave me a swift salute.

All right, fine. I’ll tell you, I said, turning to Gemma. She tapped her foot impatiently. Owen does that thing. You know, that thing where everything he says ends on a high note—like everything’s a question?

Milo cut in, apparently no longer concerned about dealing with his sister’s annoyance. Seriously, Gemma. You can’t tell us you haven’t noticed it. He sounds confused. All the time!

Gemma glowered back at us. Well, so do you. And I still talk to you! You two always do this, you never give anyone a chance. You nitpick at some random, stupid thing! She stormed off, ignoring Milo’s imitations of Owen’s lilting voice.

But by the spring, I could tell her heart wasn’t in it anymore. She talked about Owen less and less, and I noticed he wasn’t hanging around their house anymore, which meant that Milo and I could come out of hiding.

After she broke up with Owen, I would catch her watching me when she thought I wasn’t looking, almost like she was studying me. I tried not to make a thing out of it, but it was definitely making the padlock on my mental storage unit start to rattle. But there wasn’t enough to fling the door open and start rooting through those boxes of feelings I’d packed up so tightly.

With each passing day, Gemma’s staring increased and the way she acted around me was subtly shifting. I only recognized it because it so closely mirrored the way I acted around her when I discovered my own I-want-to-be-more-than-friends feelings. She seemed to touch me more than usual while at the same time touching me less. Her hand on my arm would linger, but then other times she’d avoid being too close to me as if she didn’t quite know what to do with me.

She’s her same confident self, teasing and hassling me like normal, but there’s an undercurrent to it that gives me goosebumps.

So, who am I kidding? The door to my mental storage unit has been completely blown off its hinges. I unboxed those feelings and I examine them any chance I have. Now I can’t be around her without noticing All The Things. Her hair, her voice, her eyes, her legs, her laugh, her mouth. I swear, I’ve looked at that girl millions of times, but now my mind is constantly cataloging all of her features like I’m an archeologist unearthing some buried treasure. It’s distracting beyond belief.

When I walk through my front door, I’m greeted by the smell of my mom’s enchiladas wafting through the kitchen. Well, the smell of slightly-burned enchiladas. Mom’s legendary for her culinary experiments. I hear my dad setting up the Scrabble board in the family room, their conversation a low murmur in the background.

I sigh. Home. I need this tonight. If I’m with Gemma too much, it’s hard to keep my head on straight. Tonight I need a normal night with my normal parents in our normal house. I love the Fitzgeralds, but lately something weird is going on with them. I rub the back of my head, mussing up my hair, wishing I could temporarily turn my brain off. It’s hyperactive from watching Gemma watch me.

Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. When they turn and smile at me, I forget all the weirdness for a minute and just feel like regular old Oliver. I’ll take it where I can get it.

My dad smacks his hand loudly on the couch next to him, which I know is his summons to the Scrabble table. We take this game night very seriously around here. He peers at me over his glasses and says, Check your ego at the door, my friend. Tonight is the night when the tides change. Your sovereignty has come to an end.

My mom snorts into her drink and tries to cover it up with a cough. Dad glares at her.

Are you laughing at my trash-talking? I’ve been rehearsing all afternoon. Your undermining laughter isn’t going to leave Ollie shaking in his boots.

Dad, seriously? Why would I even be wearing boots? And nothing you say could make me shake in any shoes I might be wearing.

Now Mom’s laughter has gone from a snort to a full-on bellow. She wipes her eyes and says, Honestly, you two. Let’s just play. I’ve been playing Words With Friends all day with Josie from work in preparation, so I’m all warmed up. She cracks her knuckles and tries to look menacing.

Dad shudders at her reference to the word game on her phone. He’s a Scrabble purist, like me. But before he can go off on one of his classic technology rants, I reach for my plate of enchiladas and draw my tiles to start the game. We play in silence for a few minutes, everyone chewing and brainstorming their strategy until Dad says without looking at me, What did you and the twins do all afternoon?

Burgers after school got out. Then we hiked up the trails to watch the sunset.

Dad nods; he knows how much the three of us like to be out in the desert. And is the lovely Gemma happy to be done with school?

Yep, so is the lovely Milo. I roll my eyes, knowing he’s trying to bait me into yet another conversation I don’t want to have about Gemma. I shuffle my Scrabble tiles around looking for my next play.

Mom nudges my dad with her knee, obviously trying to signal him to change the subject. But Dad is relentless.

Son, he begins. Here we go.

I start to interrupt, but he holds his hand out and effectively silences me with a look. Listen, we know how you feel about that girl, and I know you get annoyed with me for teasing you about her. We love Gemma. We might love her more than we love you. He winks at me. I know you’re afraid of what could happen to your friendship if you try to move into something more. I just wanted to say that I don’t think you should be scared. Taking risks is the only way we can find out who we are and what matters most to us. It’s the only way to truly feel alive. Gemma is rare—I know you know that. I see it on your face every time you talk about her. But you’re rare too, and she’s got to see that.

"Dad, I’m rare? Where is this even coming from?" I groan into my enchiladas, my face turning a too-revealing shade of pink. Mom eyes me sympathetically.

Dad holds his hands up again, a gesture of surrender. All right, all right. I’m done. I promise. I’ve just been wanting to say something for a while. His eyes bore into mine. You’re never going to get anywhere waiting on the sidelines of your own life. Don’t let fear hold you back. That’s all, no more. Now play your next move.

Play your next move. I can’t tell if he’s referring to the game or something more now. I sigh, my focus on my tiles waning as I rearrange them mindlessly to give myself something to do rather than just sitting here like an idiot while my parents stare at me. The rest of the game goes by in a blur and, true to his word, my dad doesn’t try to psychoanalyze me for the rest of the night. Even with my concentration split, I still manage to win with my final play of quizzify, a triple letter score.

If only everything made sense to me the way a Scrabble board does. I set the scene in my mind: Gemma and I bent over the board, playing a casual game as I slowly spell out exactly how I feel about her, one word at a time.

***

I’m getting ready for bed when my phone pings with a message. When I see Gemma’s name light up the screen, I wildly lunge across the room, stubbing my toe on my desk in the process. Get it together, man, I mutter to myself through gritted teeth. I clutch my phone in my hands as I fall back on my bed with a sigh. It’s just a text. Calm down.

How many points did you win by?

I lean against my headboard and smile. She didn’t even have to ask if I won.

I smoked them. 100 points better than last time.

Do you read the dictionary just for fun, you big nerd?

I grin stupidly at my phone. Gemma knows how much I love words. My room is covered in books—stacks on stacks on stacks. It’s been this way ever since I learned to read.

I have to use my giant brain for something. Can’t let it go to waste.

I visualize her rolling her eyes, her lips turned up in that indulgent smile I like to imagine she saves just for me.

There’s a soft knock on my door and my mom pokes her head in. I drop my phone on my pillow, trying to suppress what I’m sure is a sappy expression on my face.

Just wanted to say goodnight, Ollie. She walks over to my bed and lightly bounces to a seat at the end of it, her auburn ponytail swaying as she settles in. I sit up straighter and brace myself for a Gemma Talk, 2.0, but instead she says, You know what I love most about you, Oliver?

I shrug. Probably my rugged good looks and debonair manners? She laughs and tosses one of my pillows at me. I let it hit me squarely in the face.

Touché. But what I love most about you is your generosity. You give so freely of yourself to your dad and me, and to your friends.

I’m so surprised by this turn in conversation that I don’t know how to respond.

She continues, Don’t rob Gemma of the opportunity to be generous with you. I think she might surprise you. She squeezes my knee and walks out, closing the door gently behind her.

I flop back on my pillows with an exasperated groan. Man, my parents are laying it on thick tonight. It’s tempting to ignore their advice, but it’s already bouncing around in my brain, stirring up a riot of questions I don’t have the answers to.

I lie there for a while, the conversations with my parents replaying over and over in my mind as I try unsuccessfully to fall asleep. As much as I hate to admit it, they’re right. Of course they’re right.

I’ve been afraid of my feelings for Gemma for too long. I carry that fear around with me like an old sweater. I’m used to the comfortable weight of it. I know exactly how it feels. The thought of removing it makes my chest constrict painfully. What if I make my move and she wants nothing to do with me? What if it embarrasses her? Or even worse, what if she feels sorry for me? I tiredly rub my eyes with the back of my hand.

The last thought I have before I finally drift off is this: But what if she feels the same as me?

While I sleep, I dream of darkness. The kind of smothering darkness that leaves no room for any light. I feel myself running through the gloom looking for some way out, but there’s no escape. Just the vast emptiness before me, around me, below me. Everywhere. To dream of total darkness is strange, but what’s even stranger is that this is the first time I’ve ever consciously remembered a dream.

I’m notorious for never remembering a single dream. Milo can recount the most absurd and meaningless details of any dream he’s ever had, and Gemma’s told me of nightmares that woke her up in the middle of the night, breathless and shaking under the covers. I could only listen in on those conversations, never contribute. I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me, if there was some part of me that’s broken.

Until tonight. And for a first dream, I’d say total darkness is a bit of a letdown. I wake up, sweaty and tangled in my sheets, my heart pounding an uneven rhythm. My eyes are open, but I can’t shake the feeling that the darkness is still here, still on me, still permeating every last inch of me.

Chapter Three

GEMMA

On the first day of summer, I hung up a calendar on my wall with July 23rd circled in red. The countdown to our Claiming. Those first days of summer felt like they would never end with each day stretching out longer than the day before. Even the sun was taunting me as it refused to set until late in the night.

Every night before I went to bed, I marked off another day and my