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she just wanted to make sure I didn’t need anything.” And really I can’t complain. Those are the most words she has said to me in a while.
    Biting her lip, Jordan studies my face. She opens her mouth to say something.
    I don’t give her the chance. “We should go. I wanna get a coffee on the way.”
    Jordan frowns. “Since when do you drink coffee?”
    “Since I decided it’s part of the college experience, and since I decided I need caffeine to keep awake.” Lots of caffeine.
    “You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”
    Knowing there’s no point lying, I nod. She waits for me to elaborate. I don’t want to tell her everything, but I don’t want to lose her as a friend, either, because she thinks I can’t be honest and open with her.
    I take a deep breath. “I was trapped in a burning building last spring. That’s why I have nightmares.”
    “Were you hurt?”
    “I was treated for smoke inhalation and that’s it....I just don’t like talking about it. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.”
    Her frown shifts into an understanding smile. “Well, I’m here if you ever need to talk about it.”
    We walk to The Coffee Shack. It’s still raining, but not as hard as last night. The sun eagerly breaks through the clouds, creating a rainbow ahead of us. The agitation from earlier fades like an early morning fog in the sun.
    “Hey, isn’t that the guy who helped you yesterday?” Jordan asks while we wait for our coffees. She nods toward the door.
    Standing next to the wall are the guys I first saw at Your Designs. And we aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed them. Most of the twenty-something females are checking them out.
    “Maybe you should go over and say hi.” Jordan gives me a nudge in their direction.
    I look back at her, frowning. “Why would I do that?”
    She grins. “Oh, I don’t know. Because maybe he’ll ask you out.”
    Forget medicine. She should go into the matchmaking business.
    I’m saved from having to respond when they call our order. By the time we turn around again, the guys have left. Problem solved.
    The day creeps by, and the caffeine perks have long since faded by the time I walk in the rain to math. I consider buying another coffee, but there’s not enough time. After being late for my last math class, I don’t want to be late again and interrupt. The fewer people who notice me, the better.
    Because I’m not going the long route this time, I arrive with several minutes to spare and sit at the back of the room.
    “I have your test marks,” the instructor announces when the class begins, his tone menacing. Or maybe it’s just me who feels that way because I’ve been dreading this moment. “Some of you will need to put in a lot more effort if you hope to pass the course.” He calls out names and one by one everyone goes to the front and collects their test. “Amber Scott.”
    I want to tell him not to say my name out loud, where everyone can hear it. I’d rather be anonymous and not have to worry about anyone recognizing it or thinking it’s a great idea to memorize it, fantasize about it, cover a wall with it.
    I want to say that but the words stay stuck in my throat as I make my way to the front, legs trembling. I take the test booklet and breathe in deeply before daring a glance at the grade.
    The page is covered with red and a big fat F stares back at me.
    I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from crying, then shuffle back to my seat. Shit. I’m screwed. Unless I can figure this stuff out, there’s no way I’ll pass the class.

Chapter Eight
    Amber
    A week after receiving my disastrous math grade, I sit cross-legged on my bed, math book and notes in front of me, and close my eyes. I can almost imagine Trent next to me, his familiar scent of lemons and sunshine lingering in his hoodie. He forgot it the night he rushed out of my house, angry at what I had said. Words I’ve wished a million times I could take back. Then he would