I tell myself I have time. But the itch forming along the back of my neck and across my shoulders says otherwise.

I hate this. It’s like I’m racing a clock ticking down to doomsday without knowing how much time I have left.

Holy shit. I’m a Smurf.

I’m getting used to the fact that you find me incredibly forgettable.

The light show when she picked up the statue was insane. Blue cracks spread from her hand, up her arm, and across her entire body in less than a second. When she dropped it, I thought maybe she’d seen what was happening and would leave the statue alone. Or throw it at me—it kinda seemed like she wanted to throw it at me for a second.

I see the glow before I see her. The orange light is so strong it’s hard to believe the house isn’t on fire, but when feet appear at the top of the staircase, I can finally see that the light isn’t coming from the house. It’s coming from her.

My heart beats so fast I can’t tell the pulses apart—it’s one harsh thrum inside my head. If I’m a Smurf, this girl is an Oompa Loompa. No. Not even. It looks like she walked out of a horror movie. She really is on fire, burning from the inside out.

I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Everyone would be staring if they could see what I see.

You know the phrase ‘hard to get’?” K.T. asks.

“Yeah.”

“Forget hard to get. Chasing Mari would be like Mission: Impossible.