my head in my hands. "I'll be okay. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can."
"You won't get behind the wheel until you're good and sure in the head, will you?"
"No, I won't." I met Marla's concerned gaze. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, honey." I watched her start back for the bus and when she was out of hearing range, I shifted my
gaze to Matthias again.
He sat down next to me. His nearness sent my pulse into a whirl. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze fastened with
mine. I had so many thoughts, even more questions. I didn't know where to begin. All I knew was that, twice now, I had seen
him when no one else could. That either meant I was seriously exhausted, a walking zombie dreaming all of this, or I was
imagining him.
"You have questions," he said, his voice soft. "Don't be afraid to ask. I'll answer you."
The way he said. Don't be afraid.. .was like being tucked in bed at night, warm soft blankets from heart to toes. I took a deep breath. "Am I dreaming?"
"What does your heart tell you?"
I closed my eyes. I already knew the answer, but I kept my eyes shut, embarrassed to meet his gaze and admit the
truth. "My heart tells me that... I'm not dreaming."
"What else?"
I swallowed a knot. "That.. .you're really here, even if no one else can see you."
"Yes."
Whispering into my mind was the idea that he was someone different. Someone special. Someone to believe in. But
common sense waved red flags. This isn't happening. You're hallucinating. This is the hangover of all hangovers, Zoe.
"What else does your heart tell you?" he urged.
"I—I don't know."
"You do. Your heart is where the voice of truth speaks, Zoe."
My eyes flashed, "How do you know my name?" But even as I asked the
question I knew. This guy understood much more than I did. I felt as though I stood in front of the earth, watching it whirl
and spin, and if I looked close, I would see beyond the surface to the pumping red heart where all my questions would be
answered. The reassurance I experienced was total, complete, submerging.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
"Friends, by definition, know each other. I've never met you. And if you say you know Abria, I'm going to slug you
because she doesn't have friends. She has autism. She doesn't know what friendship is."
His eyes slit briefly. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Excuse me, but I do. I'm sure you mean well, but I really don't appreciate people who pretend to know what I'm
going through or what my family is going through, and sit all comfy on the sidelines. You can't possibly know what it's like."
My voice had risen, and the silence left in its aftermath crackled with ugliness. I looked away.
"Your wounds are deep." His tone was gentle. "But they won't always be. I promise you that."
I closed off the tears welling in my eyes. "Don't say things you don't know."
"I don't."
I glared at him, but the potent conviction in his countenance warned me to tread carefully.
"You won't let yourself have faith in what you see, that's your problem."
"I thought faith was believing in things you can't see."
"You can't see the future."
"Neither can you," I shot. Then, "Can you?"
He tilted his head, his smile teasing. "It's going to be fun, being with you.”
"Being with me? I've got news for you." I pushed to my feet. "You're not going to be with anybody until you answer my questions. I'm not letting you near my little sister."
He stood and in one long step, placed himself close enough for our arms to nearly brush, but they didn't. A craving
wound tight in my gut. I wanted to touch him. See if he was real.
"Tell me how you know my name. And why do you show up whenever Abria's in some kind of danger? It's like
you're waiting—"
"I am," he said matter-of-factly. "Listen to what's inside of you."
I took a deep breath, focused on the serene color of his eyes, shaded by thick, dark lashes. His irises, slashed with
gold and agate, rimmed with ocean blue, lulled my anxious heart into a
"You won't get behind the wheel until you're good and sure in the head, will you?"
"No, I won't." I met Marla's concerned gaze. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, honey." I watched her start back for the bus and when she was out of hearing range, I shifted my
gaze to Matthias again.
He sat down next to me. His nearness sent my pulse into a whirl. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze fastened with
mine. I had so many thoughts, even more questions. I didn't know where to begin. All I knew was that, twice now, I had seen
him when no one else could. That either meant I was seriously exhausted, a walking zombie dreaming all of this, or I was
imagining him.
"You have questions," he said, his voice soft. "Don't be afraid to ask. I'll answer you."
The way he said. Don't be afraid.. .was like being tucked in bed at night, warm soft blankets from heart to toes. I took a deep breath. "Am I dreaming?"
"What does your heart tell you?"
I closed my eyes. I already knew the answer, but I kept my eyes shut, embarrassed to meet his gaze and admit the
truth. "My heart tells me that... I'm not dreaming."
"What else?"
I swallowed a knot. "That.. .you're really here, even if no one else can see you."
"Yes."
Whispering into my mind was the idea that he was someone different. Someone special. Someone to believe in. But
common sense waved red flags. This isn't happening. You're hallucinating. This is the hangover of all hangovers, Zoe.
"What else does your heart tell you?" he urged.
"I—I don't know."
"You do. Your heart is where the voice of truth speaks, Zoe."
My eyes flashed, "How do you know my name?" But even as I asked the
question I knew. This guy understood much more than I did. I felt as though I stood in front of the earth, watching it whirl
and spin, and if I looked close, I would see beyond the surface to the pumping red heart where all my questions would be
answered. The reassurance I experienced was total, complete, submerging.
"Who are you?"
"A friend."
"Friends, by definition, know each other. I've never met you. And if you say you know Abria, I'm going to slug you
because she doesn't have friends. She has autism. She doesn't know what friendship is."
His eyes slit briefly. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Excuse me, but I do. I'm sure you mean well, but I really don't appreciate people who pretend to know what I'm
going through or what my family is going through, and sit all comfy on the sidelines. You can't possibly know what it's like."
My voice had risen, and the silence left in its aftermath crackled with ugliness. I looked away.
"Your wounds are deep." His tone was gentle. "But they won't always be. I promise you that."
I closed off the tears welling in my eyes. "Don't say things you don't know."
"I don't."
I glared at him, but the potent conviction in his countenance warned me to tread carefully.
"You won't let yourself have faith in what you see, that's your problem."
"I thought faith was believing in things you can't see."
"You can't see the future."
"Neither can you," I shot. Then, "Can you?"
He tilted his head, his smile teasing. "It's going to be fun, being with you.”
"Being with me? I've got news for you." I pushed to my feet. "You're not going to be with anybody until you answer my questions. I'm not letting you near my little sister."
He stood and in one long step, placed himself close enough for our arms to nearly brush, but they didn't. A craving
wound tight in my gut. I wanted to touch him. See if he was real.
"Tell me how you know my name. And why do you show up whenever Abria's in some kind of danger? It's like
you're waiting—"
"I am," he said matter-of-factly. "Listen to what's inside of you."
I took a deep breath, focused on the serene color of his eyes, shaded by thick, dark lashes. His irises, slashed with
gold and agate, rimmed with ocean blue, lulled my anxious heart into a
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