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

Holy shit. I’m a Smurf.

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.

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.

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

“Yeah.”

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

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.