But it had.

I read up on recent disappearances, but none seemed related to what had happened tonight. Trinity was a big city with a million residents. Bad things happened year-round to people young and old, male and female, beautiful and ugly. It didn’t seem to matter who or when or why.

I propped my pillows behind me and gathered my thick duvet closer so I wouldn’t feel so cold. Then I did a Google search for gray, but that didn’t give me anything useful. I mean, it was just a color, that was all. But that was what the blond kid had called me. That was what had made Bishop freak out and look at me like I was a monster, when really it was the other way around. He was the monster.

For a moment, I’d thought he was so much more.

I closed the computer, swearing to put him and everything I’d seen and experienced completely out of my mind.

Yeah, right. Like that was even possible.

* * *

Monday morning loomed painfully bright and early. I wanted to stay home and hide, but I knew I couldn’t. Instead, I forced myself to get up and get ready for school. My mother had already left for work by the time I came downstairs. I had a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast—and more toast—none of which made a single dent in my hunger.

When I went to the bathroom to get ready, the full-length mirror on the back of the door showed that I looked exactly the same as I ever had—short, skinny, with long, wild dark hair that I pulled back into a ponytail to keep off my face. A smear of peach-colored lip gloss and a swipe of black mascara was the sum total of my beauty regimen for a regular school day. Same as always.

But something had changed. People at McCarthy High were looking at me differently.

I tried to ignore the curious looks and outright stares I got as I made my way into the school. Maybe they were staring at me because I looked like someone who’d hung out with a gorgeous but crazy blue-eyed murderer last night. A murderer who’d disappeared into thin air along with his victim, making me question my sanity and my own damn eyes.

Or, more likely, the news of what happened with Stephen and me at Crave on Friday night had gone viral. Likely Jordan was spreading the rumor that I was a slut, blowing everything out of proportion to make my life even more difficult than it already was.

“Excuse me, Ms. Day,” Mr. Saunders, my English teacher, said near the end of first period. His thick glasses made him look like a disapproving owl peering down at me from a tree branch. “Are you paying attention to me this morning?”

I straightened in my seat, flattening my palms against the cool surface of my desk, and tried to pull myself out of my thoughts. “Of course I am.”

“Then what did I just say?”

I felt everyone watching me, waiting to see if I’d make a fool out of myself.

“You said—” I gulped and scanned the blackboard for a clue “—something about Macbeth?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A statement. Definitely a statement.”

“Since that’s the play we’re discussing this week, I think it’s a given that I’m talking about it. But what precisely did I just say?”

The walls felt as if they were closing in on me and I suddenly had trouble breathing. I had a very strong urge to get out of there and I didn’t have time to explain why. I’d face the consequences later.

I grabbed my leather bag and books before getting up from my seat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Saunders. I—I’m not feeling so good.”

“Ms. Day?” He watched with surprise as I left my desk and escaped from the room without another word.

The harder I tried to think about something else, the more the memories of last night clutched me like a giant, monstrous hand. I needed some fresh air. First, I hurried to my locker to drop off my books.

“Hey, what happened in there?” Colin had followed me from class. He held his dog-eared copy of Macbeth and his binder casually at his side. “You okay?”

I shoved my books into my locker and closed it, twirling the dial on the lock. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

I crossed my arms to try to warm up. Colin wore short sleeves, which made me think that I was the only one with a temperature problem today. “You left class just to check on me?”

“Well, yeah. Of course I did. I told Saunders I wanted to make sure you’re okay. He seemed concerned, so he didn’t have a problem with it. You’re lucky he likes you.”

No one else had come after me. I didn’t have too many other friends in that class. I didn’t have too many other friends period. “You’re so sweet.”

I could have sworn his cheeks flushed a little. But it was true. He was sweet. Except for his inability to deal with parties without drinking and then making ridiculously bad choices involving stupid, vain cheerleaders, he was basically the perfect guy.

“Listen, Samantha—” He raised his gaze from the scuffed floor to look at me. “I know Carly and I didn’t end on good terms. Seeing her trying to avoid me last night wasn’t fun.”

I tensed at the mention of their breakup. “That’s an understatement.”

He rubbed his hand over his forehead and looked down at his feet again. “And I know you’re her friend—”

“Best friend.”

“Right. Best friend. But you’re still talking to me. You haven’t given me the cold shoulder like her other friends have.”

Good point. I hadn’t. I couldn’t help it, I liked Colin. Him coming after me just now to make sure I wasn’t going to spontaneously combust proved that feeling was mutual.