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As we were settling into our seats for Chemistry class, Gray sat one lab table away from me, talking to Krystal. It seemed like she was trying to pull something out of her purse. Something akin to a … knife?
With help from my visions, we’d already averted Gray’s death for the day: a street stabbing that Mom and I foiled by picking him up just in time. But what if Fate played a prank on me and the event was actually supposed to take place right at this moment? I instantly imagined the worst-case scenario—Gray’s unsuspecting death in front of the whole class.
Deep breath.
I laid my instincts on the table.
Jumping between Gray and Krystal, I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed until my voice faded into a little mouse squeak. In the following silence, I figured I had it all wrong. I opened my eyes and registered the defenseless pen Krystal held in her hand.
“Dear me,” I said innocently before looking back over my shoulder to find Gray and our other classmates giving me odd looks. “What? I don’t have any pain tolerance.”
Gray stepped beside me, hands on his hips. “What did the pen do to you now?”
Krystal tilted her head quizzically. “Yeah, twat, what did my pen do to you?”
“I thought she was going to stab you with it or me,” I whispered. Thankfully, the rest of the class stopped paying attention to us and resumed what they were doing, either chatting with their friends or finishing the project assigned by our now sleeping teacher. She snored with her mouth wide open for everyone to see.
“Are you nuts?” Krystal snorted. I wanted to snap my fingers and have her mouth magically glued shut.
Gray peered at me with an O-shaped mouth. “I-I was just,” he stammered, trying to explain, “borrowing a pen from her.”
My mouth gaped open, slightly offended. I thought we had grown closer, close enough for him to come to me if he needed a damn pen. Guess not. “Dear me. Why her when I’m here?”
“Do you … have an extra pen?” he asked.
“No. Why would I have an extra pen? I hate school,” I said.
“Youliketaking notes,” he pointed out.
“I don’tliketaking notes. I amobligatedto take notes. I have extra ink, though. Do you want some?” I offered, aware I was grinning creepily.
He raised his eyebrows. “How am I going to write with just ink?”
“Uh, you use your fingers?” I replied sarcastically. “Didn’t you do that when you were a toddler? Memory lasts that long. You definitely know how.”
“No … I used to only play with dogs.”
“Cute,” I muttered to myself.
Nonetheless, I seized the pen from Krystal’s grip and placed it in Gray’s hands with a proud smile etched on my face. Not the smartest or the smoothest move ever, but Krystal’s pissed expression brought me supreme satisfaction.
And relief.
I mean, at least she wasn’t the culprit.
Or was she?
For as useful as my visions were at predicting Gray’s death, they never showed the perpetrator. Everyone was a suspect.
* * *
I checkedon Gray day and night.
I bombarded him with messages, called him, and bothered him in person. Even though I wasn’t the one destined to die, the majority of my nights were sleepless.
One perk of thwarting Gray’s death was that Fate, and my visions, remained centered on him. No other rando-death-visions of pigs or neighbors. It was as if my supernatural ability suddenly malfunctioned because I’d decided to interfere with one person’s fate. Ridiculously dramatic karma. Maybepast mewould have run away and thought that saving someone else other than myself would not be worth it, but this time was different. Gray deserved to be saved more than anyone else I knew.
And he needed to be walked home from school, apparently.
