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only deepened his sense that her knew her. The tone of it rang in his ears. It was like a song, a tune you think you recognize but can’t quite place.
    “See, now that you’ve said something, I swear I know you,” said Zack. “Your voice…has anyone ever told you that you have a really nice voice?”
    She smiled at him and he knew, in a deeper way than he’d ever known anything in his life, that he wanted to be with her. It was an exhilarating experience just being near her. He could feel the energy of her presence. He knew. He and this girl were meant to be together.
    “My name’s Zack,” he said. “What’s yours?”
    She hesitated before she spoke. She was nervous. Was she feeling it too?
    “My name is Jill,” she said. “Jill Wentworth.”
     
    *****
     
    Jill wasn’t thinking about the future when she introduced herself to Zack. Or the past.
    Risk versus reward, Zack’s safety, the danger she created for him with her presence here—that all washed clear from her mind when he began speaking.
    She had never meant to interact with him. She came to the Red Rocket to watch him play drums, nothing more. She wanted to see him one last time. Before she fled town, never to see him again, she wanted to know that he was okay.
    Now he was talking to her in the parking lot.
    They shook hands. They smiled at each other. They talked about the chill in the air and inconsiderate people who parked their cars on all sides of her, trapping her in the dirt lot.
    She lost control of the situation, and herself. Whatever thoughts she had of a quick getaway were gone as soon as he started speaking. She couldn’t help it. When Zack talked, she wanted to listen. Nothing else seemed as important.
    Before she knew it, they were walking down the street. And into a diner. And sitting at a table. And talking over coffee, just like they did the first time they met.
    He asked her what kind of music she liked.
    “I like jazz,” she said.
    Zack took a sip of his coffee. “This is so strange,” he said.
    “What’s strange?”
    “It’s just…no, I’m totally gonna weird you out.”
    “Tell me,” said Jill.
    “I knew you were going to say jazz. It was like, right before you said it, I knew that was the answer you were going to give. Isn’t that odd?”
    “It’s not that odd,” said Jill. “Maybe you’ve just got me figured out.”
    Marty’s. That was the name of the diner. Neon script hanging in the window, pancakes, eggs, and coffee at all hours of day and night, served by poorly paid waitresses wearing sneakers with thick rubber soles. In another era, Jill and Zack would have put an ashtray between them and enjoyed cigarettes with their coffee.
    She wanted so badly to kiss him. She wanted to go to his side of the booth, put her arms around him, apologize for putting him in harm’s way, and tell him everything.
    “Are you sure we’ve never met before?” Zack said.
    “I think I’d remember,” said Jill.
    She was flirting now, leading him on, telling him with her manner that he was more than welcome to look at her the way he was looking at her now.
    It was entirely the wrong thing to do and she felt rotten for doing it. You are a thoughtless, selfish, monster of a person, Jill Wentworth. You put Zack in danger once before and it was only a single turn of good luck that kept him from being killed.
    Now she was doing it again, in spite of herself. She was doing it again because of the way he looked at her. The way he saw her.
    “You probably think I’m using a line on you or something,” said Zack. “I swear I’m not. It was just…when you said you liked jazz…”
    She had never seen Zack like this. He was nervous.
    Even in the truly terrifying moments, like when he drove up to her house and found a vampire slave chasing her with a syringe, or when he stood face to face with a vampire in her living room, he hadn’t been this way.
    It was the first time she’d ever seen him scared.
    “Enough talk about me,”