𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. ── 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬

EVEN BEFORE SHE PUNCHED THAT GIRL, Kori was having a rotten day.

She woke up in the backseat of a school bus, not sure where she was, holding hands with a boy she didn't know. Well, a bit more than holding hands. Kori's arms were hung over his shoulder, and his hands were wrapped around her waist. That wasn't necessarily the rotten part. The boy was cute, she he couldn't figure out who she was or what he was doing there. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, trying to think.

They were all on a dank, slightly smelly, old school bus, and a flock of teenagers were sprawled out through the sticky, leatherish seats. They were carrying backpacks and worksheets—about sedimentary rocks. Why a kid their age would need to know about rocks, Kori didn't know. But when she tried to recall how old she was, her mind came up blank, like a wiped hard drive. That was scary.

The bus rumbled along a bumpy road. Out the windows, desert rolled by under a bright blue sky. Kori was pretty sure she didn't live in the desert. She tried to think back ... the last thing she remembered... and zilch. Ok, now Kori was actually worried.

The girl in the seat behind her tapped her shoulder. "Kori, are you ok?"

She wore faded jeans, hiking boots, and a nylon snowboarding jacket. Her chocolate brown hair was cut choppy and uneven, with thin strands braided down the sides. She wore no makeup like she was trying not to draw attention to herself, but it didn't work. She was seriously pretty. Her eyes seemed to change color like a kaleidoscope—brown, blue, and green.

Kori flinched, and immediately reached for her necklace, a small, golden trident pendant daintily hung on a thin, golden chain. But something told her that this pretty girl—whoever she was—wasn't a threat. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?" She questioned, breathing heavily.

With how loud she said it, the cute boy next to her woke up. He slowly his eyes, which were a startling blue, and ran his hands through his golden blonde hair. When he saw where he was, he jolted awake and straightened his back, alert.

Kori's head hurt at the gravity of the situation, but when she saw the teen, she felt a sense of safety. "I know you," she whispered, "I don't know myself, but I know you."

He scooted closer to her, and intently stared at her face, as if trying to recollect where he had seen her before. His face contorted, and Kori noticed a small scar on his upper lip. Cute, she thought, but no falling in love. He finally answered her. "I know you too. I just can't..." he ran his hands through his hair. "I just don't know where I've seen you." His beautiful eyes widened. "Kassiopiea. Your name is Kassiopiea, but," he grimaced again, "but I call you Kori." He said it as thought it were a question.

She clenched her teeth. "I wasn't blessed with that much information. All I know is that you... you're not a threat. You're safe."

The boy rolled his eyes, "Glad to know, should I be flattered?" All Kori knew was that she wouldn't hesitate to punch him. Or kiss him, she didn't mind either. Shut up, you infatuated traitor!

In the front of the bus, a teacher shouted, "All right, cupcakes, listen up!"

The guy was obviously a coach. His baseball cap was pulled low over his hair, so you could just see his beady eyes. He had a wispy goatee and a sour face, like he'd eaten something moldy. His buff arms and chest pushed against a bright orange polo shirt. His nylon workout pants and Nikes were spotless white. A whistle hung from his neck, and a megaphone was clipped to his belt. He would've looked pretty scary if he hadn't been five feet zero. When he stood up in the aisle, one of the students called, "Stand up, Coach Hedge!"

"I heard that!" The coach scanned the bus for the offender. Then his eyes fixed on Kori and the lost boy, and his scowl deepened.

A jolt went down Kori's spine. She was sure the coach knew she didn't belong there, as was the sarcastic one. He was going to call Kori out, demand to know what she was doing on the bus—and the both of them wouldn't have a clue what to say.