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Amber Blake is having dreams, and they just might be the key to saving her best friend, Mark.
Unfortunately, she's too preoccupied pretending to hate the boy next door, Carter Hayes. Secretly hoping to rekindle what once was, Amber atte...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
I'm racing towards a clock at the speed of light.
The pink atmosphere should be calming, but my panic is too far gone. Every instinct is screaming at me to slow down, to stop, to stay as far away from the clock as possible, but it's useless; I'm completely paralyzed.
There's nothing special about it except the velocity of its arms; they spin like rapid fire, so fast I can barely see them. I match them in speed, crossing the length of football fields in seconds. I'm gonna hit this thing, no question about it.
"Figure it out!" A voice warns when the clock is only inches away. I brace myself for impact, but instead of smacking into its face, I pass through like smoke. Black fog moves in and cuts out my senses.
Then, I'm falling again. I hit the ground—
And shoot up in bed, gasping for air.
My hair sticks to my forehead with sweat; it feels like a thousand degrees in my room. Pushing the covers off to feel some relief, I bend over my knees and take deep, even breaths. You're okay, just breathe. You're okay...
Then, someone touches my back.
"Hey, are you ok—"
I flail around blindly until my hand hits bare skin, then I'm screaming at the top of my lungs. Scrambling off the side of the bed, I reach around desperately for anything to defend myself. My fingers wrap around the base of a lamp, and I hold it out in front of me as I stumble to my feet. As I feel under the lampshade for the switch, the stranger in my bed talks again.
"Jesus Christ, what the hell?!"
Except this time, I recognize it.
"Carter?" I whisper, flipping the light on — and dropping it at the sight of him.
He looks like Carter, but not like I've ever seen him. I have to rub my eyes, that's how much I don't believe it. He's somehow grown facial hair overnight, a shadow of scruff that hugs his strong jawline. The muscles in his back ripple as he sits up in bed, and his shoulders are much broader than yesterday. His hair is shorter too and rests just above his eyebrows, still furrowed in pain as he cradles his cheek.
