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and wooden staircase leading to an upstairs. Kids were looming over the staircase, looking me up and down. Then I looked down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. The house was packed, bodies milling over every square inch. Burke pulled a bottle of something out of his shirt, ignoring me. The guy obviously didn’t want to babysit his girlfriend’s friend anymore. I mean, we were past the front door, right?
    What was I going to do now? Who would I talk to?
    Was John here?
    I glanced at the crowd, but all the faces and bodies melted together, like a buzzing blur of bees. The drone became louder and louder, and I stood in the middle of the room, my feet feeling as if they were glued to the floor. Why had I come? What was I trying to prove? I wished I were home in my room watching television or reading or … I took a few deep breaths to slow down my racing insecurities. I closed my eyes to escape for just a minute. Crowds made me crazy. It was like my blood absorbed everything that everyone was feeling, so I could feel their joy or sorrow, and it washed over me, making me either super hyper or totally depressed.
    After a few good phys-ed-worthy inhalations, I opened my eyes and willed my body to calm down. I came to help out my best friend.
    And to see John.
    I jostled my way through the crowd and headed to the kitchen. Burke was ahead of me, weaving his way down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I walked a few steps behind him, so he wouldn’t know I was following. I glanced around as soon as I walked in the kitchen.
    Then I saw him.
    He was alone, leaning against the counter, holding a red cup. He looked so out of place, exactly how I felt. He wore his usual: jeans, flip-flops, and the same plain hooded sweatshirt, no logos. From the pouch of his sweatshirt, a tattered paperback peeked out. From where I stood I couldn’t read the title. I stopped moving, lowered my head, and stared at my feet. Had he seen me looking at him?
    Someone pushed by me, and I stumbled a bit, which made me have to lift my chin and face the party. Immediately, I saw him staring at me—his hazel eyes pierced me, seared my skin. I thought about what Lacey would do in this situation, so I smiled. He raised his hand and coolly gave me a finger salute. The small movement made his thick dark hair randomly shift and move across his forehead in one small sweep. As if on autopilot, my feet started moving forward, step by step, until I stood in front of him.
    â€œHey,” he said almost lazily. Then he smirked. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
    I shrugged.
    â€œYou don’t strike me as the partygoer type.”
    â€œI could say the same about you,” I replied.
    He nodded, once. Then he tilted his head and stared at me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
    Finally, to break his gaze and the sweltering heat that had invaded me, I pointed to the book snuggled in his sweatshirt. “What are you reading?”
    He pulled the paperback from his pouch, and when I saw the cover, I sank my feet in the floorboards and let my arms dangle at my side to maintain a casual look. The blood surged so fast through my veins that I might as well have been on a river raft fighting rapids.
    â€œ The Sleeping Prophet ,” he said. “It’s about a guy named Edgar Cayce. You ever heard of him?”
    I had. Because of my visions, my mom had a million books on different psychics, and we had many books on Edgar Cayce, too many. I knew Cayce was a visionary from the late 1800s who had died sometime in the 1940s, but that’s about all I knew, because I tried not to be interested. My mother liked to tell me that I had what he had, and if I would just accept, blah, blah, blah.
    I shook my head. “Nope. Never heard of him.”
    â€œHe’s interesting. Fascinating, actually.” He shoved the book in his back pocket. “You want to go outside? Get some