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Amber Blake is having dreams, and they just might be the key to saving her best friend, Mark.
Unfortunately, she's too preoccupied pretending to hate the boy next door, Carter Hayes. Secretly hoping to rekindle what once was, Amber atte...
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After the incident with Brynn, I couldn't bear to face Carter.
I holed myself up in our bedroom, pushing my face into the mattress so he wouldn't hear my sobs. I laid there all day, sleeping on and off, not leaving even to eat. Around mid-afternoon, I heard the door open, but Carter didn't say a word. Once sure he was gone, I peeked from under the covers and found a tray filled with my favorite foods. I let it sit there until everything was cold.
That night, Carter didn't try to get in bed, saving me a very awkward conversation. He only came in once, presumably to grab clothes, which tempted me to break the ice and talk.
Instead, I burrowed deeper and pretended to be asleep — fake snoring and all.
Waking up today, I'm tempted to stay curled up in bed, especially when I hear sounds of Brynn crying somewhere in the apartment. But I can't afford to not be productive, regardless of how I feel. If I'm going to avoid my husband and child, the least I can do is work on remembering them.
Carter must've had the same idea; when I roll out of bed, I find a piece of paper on the bedside table under the calculator phone from last night. The note reads, "Amber's Spots," followed by a list of different locations around the city and their relevance to me. I skim over it in hopes that a name will ring a bell, but I come up blank. Eager to get out of the apartment, I bypass a shower and head out in the clothes I'm already wearing.
I creep down the hall, praying not to run into anyone. Luckily, the apartment is silent when I walk down the stairs. My stomach growls as I pass the kitchen, but I beeline for the elevator instead. The first stop on the list is a place called Big Ben's Diner, so I assume I can grab something there.
When the doors close behind me, I'm met with my new reflection again. Mirrors line the walls of the car, and I check myself out from all angles. I lift a hand, and my reflection follows. I stick my tongue out; mirror me does, too. The mature features aren't as jarring this time; I can see me in the face that stares back.
I zip up my coat just as the elevator stops and opens on the lobby level. People float in and out the revolving door, letting a steady stream of cold air filter through the entryway. As I pass the front desk, I'm met with happy smiles. I stare blankly before remembering I'm supposed to know these people, then throw them a halfhearted wave.
