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  I turned the music volume down a touch on my phone. “Yeah, I don’t know how I’m going to get any of this,” I admitted.

  He picked up his book and crammed it in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he made his way down the aisle and out the room into the hall. I put in the other earbud and stayed a step behind, not wanting to look like I was following him, but it seemed he was heading in the same direction as me.

  Then he slowed down to match his stride to mine. I pulled out one earbud and let it drape over my shoulder.

  “So what do you think?” he asked me.

  “About?”

  “The Ubermensch,” he said, his face serious. “Our journal question.”

  “You tell me first,” I shot back. I’d bet a hundred dollars he had a good answer. And if he shared it with me, maybe I could use it for my paper.

  He barked out a laugh. “I like you,” he said with a crooked grin.

  I blinked. I’d never had a guy tell me that before—so easily, so smoothly. Like he was telling me he liked strawberry ice cream or kung-fu flicks.

  I like you.

  I found myself flushing again. “You don’t hold anything back, do you,” I said as he pushed the building door open and waved me through. Gentlemanly too. A surprise a minute, he was. I turned my music off and stuck my phone in my pocket, then my earbuds in my bag.

  “Why should I hold back?” he replied. “Life’s too short to not be upfront.”

  We walked in a strange, companionable silence down the sidewalk, a couple of cars slipping by. Birds chirped happily from their nests in thick, green trees lining the roads, but I was so distracted by his electric presence beside me that I didn’t care. Plus I was in desperate need of coffee but didn’t want to go back to my apartment, since my English class was at noon, so I’d decided to go to Coffee Baby, the best coffee shop in Berea. Not only did they give you large mugs of coffee, they also had huge pastries for supercheap. It was a studious college student’s wet dream.

  “Where are you going?” I finally asked him. Shouldn’t he be heading away toward a class already?

  He shrugged. “I don’t have another class until early afternoon, so I’m just wandering around, killing time.”

  I stopped in my tracks. Hot sunshine poured over me, despite the midmorning hour. It was gonna be another scorcher today. “Um, so why are you here with me?” The attention made me itchy underneath my skin. I suddenly didn’t want this guy to walk beside me, to nudge me gently into opening up in that manner of his.

  My life was my own, private, and it was better that way.

  He peered down at me. The dappled sunshine spilled through a nearby tree and cast gentle shadows and highlights on his face. His eyes glowed a strange shade of green. “Am I getting on your nerves, Casey?”

  “No,” I was grudgingly forced to admit, a bit embarrassed at my rudeness. I hadn’t intended to come across that hostile. Yeah, I would meet his bluntness word for word, but for some reason I couldn’t make myself lie.

  Okay, he made me uncomfortable. But he also had this compelling air around him that made me want to listen to him, to have him turn those bright eyes on me. I’d felt it on Saturday night, when he was talking to me a little bit about deejaying. I felt it nearly every class period when he answered the professor’s questions. And now that attention was focused on me.

  And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

  Daniel shifted his bag strap to his other shoulder. I noticed a smattering of freckles across his forearms, the bridge of his nose. He had this oddly boyish charm about him, but his body was all man.

  “Are you busy right now? Can I buy you a Coke or coffee ?” he asked quietly.

  I should pass on the offer, should keep our interactions the way they’d been so far—interesting but not invasive. Not personal. Yet I found myself saying, “No, but I’ll buy you one if you help me with this philosophy assignment.”

  Where the hell had that come from? Probably the same place that had boldly asserted to Sal that I was his DJ. Some deep-down, balls-out part of me that would not be suppressed, despite my best efforts to stay on the straight and narrow track.

  There was no harm in my sitting with a fellow student, I justified to myself. And if I could get a handle on philosophy, I could ease some of my stress. Nothing more, nothing less.

  A slow smile spread across his face, and he gave me a nod.

  We made our way to Coffee Baby, and he opened the door for me to step in. The air inside was tinged with the aroma of coffee and was blissfully cool, instantly chilling the thin layer of sweat on my skin. I sighed in contentment and followed Daniel over to a back table, where we dumped our bags on the floor and slipped into the rickety wooden seats.

  Daniel leaned back in his chair, draping his forearms on the table as he eyed me with one brow raised.

  I swallowed and glanced away for a moment. His scrutiny was so penetrating. How did he go through life with that level of intensity? Didn’t he find it exhausting? “So, what kind of coffee do you want?” I asked.

  His fingers stroked the swirls and dips of wood on the table, and I found myself unable to look away. He had artist’s fingers, lean and long, and his left hand had pencil marks on the side.

  “You’re a leftie,” I said.

  He gave a low chuckle, and I glanced up at him. “Dun-dun-dunnnn! The sinister hand.”

  My brow furrowed. “What?”

  “In the olden days, being left-handed was considered bad, even evil. Kids were beaten into using their right hands.”

  “That’s jacked up,” I said, blinking.

  “The world is a cruel place,” he simply said. “People are awful for no good reason sometimes.”

  Like he needed to tell me that. My mood soured instantly. I shouldn’t be here. I would buy him a coffee and leave, and then I could go back to normal. I could—

  “Where are you right now?” he asked, ducking his head down to meet my gaze. His eyes were fixed on mine.

  I stood, cramming my right hand into my pocket. Goose bumps broke out across my exposed flesh. It’s just from the cold, I told myself, my lungs tightening with each breath. It’s chilly in here. You’re fine. “What would you like?” Get the coffee, get the hell out of here.

  Out of habit, I brushed my hand across the left side of my stomach, my fingers running over the familiar deep dimple that puckered a section of skin beneath my loose T-shirt.

  His eyes darted to my hand, and I stilled. “Just black is fine, thanks,” he said slowly.

  I gave him a stiff nod and got in line. God, he was going to think I was a total freak, unable to keep a handle on my emotions. I needed to get myself back in control, now.

  The barista, a supertall blond guy I’d never seen here before, gave me a polite smile, and I asked him for two black coffees. While he made them, I drew in slow, long breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth. The way Grandma had taught me.

  It worked. It always worked. I could hear her soothing voice in my ear, and the tension in my back faded just a hair. My arm and leg muscles uncramped one by one. Grandma had told me there’d be strange panic or stress triggers, probably would be my whole life. And the best thing I could do was be aware of it and not let it wig me out more.

  Easier said than done. Then again, it was her son who’d done this to me, so no doubt her unique mental anguish was nearly as strong as mine.

  My phone vibrated from my pocket. I dug it out and smiled as I saw I’d gotten a text from her. Sometimes I would’ve sworn she was psychic. Then again, Grandma did love sending texts now that she knew how to work her phone. She was surprisingly technologically savvy. Granddad, on the other hand, refused to even touch a cell phone.

  I clicked on the message.

  It’s going to be warm out today, so don’t forget to wear sunscreen. Can’t burn that fair skin! Love, Grandma

  A low laugh burst out of me. Never ceased to amuse me that she signed every one of her texts. Li
ke I couldn’t tell it was her. The rest of my tension melted away as I replied that I would.

  The two coffee cups slid across the counter. I gave the guy a few bucks and told him to keep the change. His distant demeanor faded a bit as his smile grew genuine in thanks. If there was anything I understood, it was the pains of being in customer service.

  My hands were smooth and steady when I brought the cups back to the table. I was proud of myself—I’d shaken off the beginnings of the panic attack. History told me the next time probably wouldn’t be so easy, but I was going to revel in today’s success.

  One day. One hour. That was all I had to do—focus on the now.

  Daniel took the cup and sipped, giving a smile. “This is great stuff,” he said, looking surprise.

  Had he never been here before? I nodded, taking my own drink. Strong with caffeine. The way I liked it. “I’ve spent many hours here over the last three years,” I said. “If you come here around one, when everyone has food coma, the lines are almost out the door.”

  Since my panic attack had faded, maybe I could go ahead and talk to him about our philosophy class. Needed to get that done with anyway at some point. I put my cup down and pulled out my book and notebook. While I was grateful Daniel hadn’t commented on my weirdness, I also didn’t want to open the door to the conversation coming back to it. “Can I ask you some questions about the Ubermensch and take notes as we talk? You seem to have a better handle on this stuff than I do.”

  “By all means.”

  I cleared my throat and hovered my pen above the paper. “Okay. First, what the hell is an Ubermensch?”

  He barked out a laugh and put his cup down. “I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”

  For the next ten minutes, Daniel patiently explained the origins of the concept of Ubermensch. It took me a while to grasp the nuances of what he meant. Partly because the theory itself was rather difficult, but also partly because as he leaned over the textbook and pointed to various sentences, I could smell the ocean-fresh scent of his cologne wafting off of him. Having him this close made my stomach flutter uncontrollably.

  I couldn’t take my attention off his fingers. Or the way he shifted slightly in his chair, the gentle huffs of breath that came from his slightly parted lips. It was uncomfortable how aware of him every pore of my skin was.

  I’d never been this hypersensitive about another human being in my life. Disconcerting, to say the least. And strangely magnetic.

  “So basically,” he summed up, “the Ubermensch is Nietzsche’s ideal man. One who doesn’t simply go with the crowd. He’s not a follower, nor is he a leader. He has his own ideas and beliefs, but he doesn’t force them on others. See, for Nietzsche, God didn’t exist. So man has to create his own unique set of morals, standards.” Daniel turned to look at me with a toothy grin, his green eyes glowing with enthusiasm for the topic. “Make sense?”

  I gave a silent nod. The concept was coming together for me now, but I needed to get out of there before I did or said something embarrassing. Like how good he smelled or how awkward he made me feel.

  “Uh, okay. I think I get it. But I need to head out now,” I said to him, ducking my head to avoid his stare. I stuck my book and notebook in my bag. “Thanks for all the help. It might have taken me hours to get this far.”

  “No problem.” Daniel leaned back and took a sip of his coffee, probably now cold. He’d ignored it the whole time he’d been talking. “I hope we’ll hang out again soon,” he added.

  I cleared my throat. Did I want to? Surprisingly, I did. But I wasn’t ready to admit that to him. Giving a noncommittal shrug and saying thanks again, I dumped my half-filled cup in the garbage on my way out. Then I turned to glance over my shoulder as I walked through the door.

  Daniel was still looking at me, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  The song was almost there.

  Squinting my dry, fatigued eyes, I scrolled through available tracks on my laptop, clicking and listening to different samples I’d created or bought over the last couple of years. Digital music composition was just as exacting and precise as any other type of composition, and I would sometimes spend hours hunting for the perfect sample. If I couldn’t find it, I’d make it myself.

  The piece I was currently finishing up was a little more melancholy than I normally did. My typical songs were heavy on bass and an echoing melody, meant for airplay in a dance club. But for some reason I’d been inspired to try something new. To be a bit more resonant.

  I’d woken up just over two hours ago, shaking from a vivid nightmare. This one was even more brutal than usual. The room in my dream was dark, pale blue light casting a deadly pallor across the narrow twin beds, dressers and walls. My younger sister Lila’s pale face, spattered with scarlet blood specks, had turned to look at me. We were both stretched out on our bedroom floor between our beds, limbs awkwardly positioned like dropped marionette puppets.

  Lila parted her lips, but blood dribbled out the corner of her mouth and I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I tried crawling to her, but the stabbing pain in my stomach was so severe, I couldn’t do anything but lie there and press my hand over the spurting wound. She moved her lips silently and then her eyes went still as she exhaled her last stuttered breath.

  Then I’d woken up. Covered in a clammy layer of sweat, cream-colored sheets and blankets kicked onto the floor, fists clenching my pillow. Tears streaking down my cheeks and throat aching from biting back my screams.

  After almost eight years, one would think I’d be used to these torturous dreams by now. Could even grow to anticipate them and not be so freaked out. But they surprised and horrified me every single damn time.

  I shoved the dream back into the far recesses of my brain and focused on the task at hand, taking a sip of water. I’d found that if I worked on music until I was so tired I collapsed, I could usually go back to sleep for another few hours. Enough to keep me running. That, plus a morning coffee, would let me have enough energy to make it through the day. And given that I had to go to work in eighteen hours, I needed all the sleep I could manage.

  Adjusting my headphones, I cued up a sample I’d made of a woman singing. Her voice was light and airy, her soft French words a verbal caress. When I’d first heard her voice, it had given me goose bumps. Could be a nice complement to the strings track. I added her to my composition, which I’d tentatively titled “I’m Haunted.”

  A hand clasped my shoulder, and I jumped out of the computer chair, wheezing in fear, lungs the size of grapes. I ripped the headphones off and whirled around to see my attacker.

  Megan, my roommate, stared at me in shock, her sleep-mussed, curly black hair sticking out in all directions. My bedroom door was open, a black, yawning stretch of hallway behind her. Since my slim, solid-wood desk was underneath my window, my back had been facing the door. I hadn’t heard her at all.

  “You okay?” she asked, dropping her extended arm to her side. She had a pillow crease along her smooth, dark cheek. “I heard some loud music coming from here and it woke me up. I tried knocking on your door, but . . .” She gave a meaningful look at my headphones.

  My heart rate finally began slowing down. I pressed a shaking hand to my chest, letting out a surprised laugh. “Oh, you scared the shit out of me, Megan. I’m sorry. I was . . .” I glanced back at my computer, at the opened composition behind me.

  Her perfectly arched brows knitted as she peered over my shoulder. “What is that? Are you doing homework or something? It’s after one in the morning.”

  “Um, it’s nothing important. Just playing around. Sorry to wake you up.”

  I’d never told Megan about the music I composed. Megan had stuffed animals on her bed and her walls were covered in pictures of her and her friends, where I barely had any decorations on my plain white walls or desk, except a couple of pictures of my grandparents. Needless to say, we were completely different.

  She and I h
ad started rooming together a few months ago when I’d answered an ad she’d placed in the school paper looking for someone to split an apartment off-campus. Though Megan liked to party at least two to three nights a week and was far more social than I’d ever be, she usually left me alone and didn’t bug the hell out of me. I appreciated that.

  But it also meant we knew very little about each other. We ran in different circles, since I preferred staying home most evenings and holing up in my room. Something I thought wasn’t too bad . . . until now. Because according to the look on her face, I’d offended her.

  Megan tilted her head to the side. “That looks like music. I was in band in middle school—played clarinet. Are you writing something? I didn’t know you were into making your own songs.” There was a strange thread in her voice, a note of wistfulness mingled with hurt.

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment and guilt. “It’s nothing, really. Just something stupid I do when . . .” I sucked in a shaky breath. I’d been about to spill the beans on my nightmares. God, what was with me lately? “Uh, when I can’t sleep. I do a little bit of music to kill time.” I picked up my headphones and fiddled with the cord. “There must be something wrong with these—I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “Oh.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her face falling. “Yanno, you usually just stay in your room whenever you’re home, so I never know what you’re up to. It’s like you don’t want to be around anyone—even me. And we’ve been roomies for months now.”

  Guilt hit me harder, whirling in my stomach. She was right. Whenever Megan’s friends came over, I locked myself in my room and put on my headphones, listening to music as I stared up at my stain-splotched ceiling.

  I swallowed and pressed my backside against my desk. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” Shit, I wasn’t any good at this. Here I’d thought we had an understanding.

  And Megan thought I was shutting her out. For good reason, I supposed.

  “Um, I’m sorry,” I finally said.