A Beautiful Dark

climbing into my car when something else caught the corner of my eye. I jerked my head around, but it was gone. I could have sworn I’d seen a shock of blond hair, blue eyes.
    I turned the key in the ignition, promising myself I would officially banish all thoughts of the two guys from last night the second the car roared to life. They were probably just what Ian had said they were: tourists. I’d never see them again.
    On the drive home, I kept the windows open. I hoped the freezing air would make everything vanish into the white sky.

Chapter 4

    T he next morning, I woke up floating.
    My eyes were closed, even though it didn’t feel like I was asleep anymore. It was hard to tell. I must have been in that weird state between dreaming and waking, where dreams could be memories and the real world could be a dream.
    It felt like my body was suspended above the mattress, though how far above it I couldn’t tell. And suddenly, I didn’t want to open my eyes at all. I stiffened in panic.
    I was floating?
    I counted backward, still unsure if the counting was happening in my head or if I was saying the words out loud.
    Three. Two. One.
    I opened my eyes.
    But I wasn’t floating at all. The sensation of being in midair had vanished, and I lay in bed, the comforter tangled tightly around my body as if I’d been tossing and turning the whole night. It was morning. The only thing that floated in the air was the occasional dust particle caught by the weak winter sun. The window was open, and the cold air blew my curtains back to let in the gray light of the early day. Was the clasp broken?
    The alarm on my nightstand buzzed loudly, and I fumbled to snooze it. When I saw what time it was, I froze. Seven thirty. School started in forty minutes. I was late. I was never late. How many times had I hit Snooze?
    I forgot everything as I scrambled to pull myself together. I burned through my morning routine, pulling on a pair of dark jeans, a couple of long tanks, a chunky cardigan, and a long necklace or two. In the bathroom, I washed my face and rubbed in some tinted moisturizer, brushing my teeth as I frantically scrambled to apply two coats of mascara with my left hand. I swept my hair back into a loose knot, stepped into my boots, grabbed my backpack, and pounded down the stairs.
    By the time I blew through the kitchen, Aunt Jo was already sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in her hands. “I’m leaving on a mountaineering trip to the Collegiates this morning,” she said offhandedly, narrowing her eyes to study me. I really wished I didn’t look so harried. It ruined the image I wanted to project: that I was fully capable of taking care of myself.
    “I’ll be back late Saturday,” she continued. “I’ll have my cell, but if you can’t get in touch, call the office. They can connect with satellite.”
    “I know the routine.” It was always the same whenever she took a group out. I poured coffee and about half a box of sugar into a travel mug. The Collegiate Peaks were a spectacular section of the Rocky Mountains. Looking at her small, wiry frame, you’d never picture her trudging up the side of a mountain underneath a forty-pound backpack, but she was deceptively strong. And, as she liked to remind me when the question of breaking curfew came up, a pro with an ice pick.
    “I’m trusting you to behave while I’m gone,” she said.
    “I’m trusting you to come back and bake me some cookies.”
    She laughed. I knew she felt guilty about leaving me alone so much, so I always tried to make it seem like it was no big deal. But the truth was I really missed her when she was away. But then she’d probably miss me when I went off to college, and I didn’t want her making me feel guilty then. So I was paying forward.
    I grabbed a cereal bar from a box in the cabinet and kissed her on the top of her head. “See you soon,” I said. “I love you.”
    “Love you, too,” she replied, smiling after me. “Don’t forget. Call the office if you need anything!”
    And then I was in my car and flying to school. The snow hadn’t stuck very much, aside from forming some weak piles along the side of the road, and the roads themselves were already clear. The trees were a green-and-brown blur on both sides of me. I had a perfect, tardy-free record—there was no way was I going to start off the semester being late for homeroom.
    Just as I pulled in to the parking lot, my cell phone rang in my backpack. I pulled it out