"Omar, I don't want to go back," I mumble. My eyes are shut, and I'm barely aware of the place I'm in. I finally let my eyes flutter open and take in the bedroom around me. It was just a dream.

I keep my head glued to the pillow as I try to narrate the dream to myself before it is too late. "Omar," I whisper. It's all I remember. One name, and maybe the faint traces of one face. But it's fading, and fast.

I jump out of bed and across the room. After digging behind a few books, I pull out a barely-worn notebook. The words "Dream Journal" are scrawled across the top in fancy yet messy lettering. I opened the journal to the first page. After a few minutes, I found myself smiling at a dream I'd written when I was only 13. So many years ago. Back when my life was happy and my dreams were, too.

The very next page of the journal is completely blank. I grab a ballpoint pen sitting on my nightstand and scribble the date on the page. Below that, I write four letters very carefully: O-M-A-R. I stare at the word, doing my very best to commit it to memory. At least now, if I happen to forget, it'll be written down here.

* * *

My day is just like any other. A few long hours of struggling to take in and comprehend any subject of information. My old friends trying to be nice to me, but unknowingly failing.

When the final bell screeches, I'm the first to get outside to the parking lot. I jump into my car and drive away before Olivia or anyone else can catch up with me. I desperately need an afternoon to myself.

Just as I pull into my driveway, my phone rings. I pick it up, sending up a prayer that it won't be Olivia.

"Hey, Luce?" I sigh with relief. It's only Mom. "Just wondering if you could stop at the store and pick up some bread and tomatoes for me on your way home from school? We're having some last-minute guests over for dinner and they should be here any minute..."

I clench my phone harder in my fist at this information. So much for some alone-time, I think to myself. "Yeah, of course."

* * *

Mom's "last minute guest" turns out to be some tall old businessman who I've never seen before. He introduces himself in a prideful manner as Dr. Grantley. His wife accompanies him. Compared to her husband, she's relatively petite—and quiet. The man chatters on and on as we eat our meal. I manage to tune out most of the dinner table dialoge—that is, until he addresses me.

"So, Lucinda, how would you like to meet him?" Dr. Grantley asks, with a huge smile.

"Sorry, meet who?"

"My son. I'm sure he would love to meet you, and help you out, too."

My heart skips a beat. Help me with what—is he a psychologist or something of the sorts? I don't need psychological help. "No thank you. I think...I think I'm doing fine on my own," I reply.

My Mom almost drops her fork at my response. What? I mouth in her direction.

She stabs a piece of lettuce from her bowl of salad. Before putting it in her mouth, she tells me, "Luce, I think you should really consider this. It would help your grades extensively. I'm sure he wouldn't bite."

I'm relieved to know, at least, that it's not psychological help they're referring to. "Well..." I ponder the possibility for a moment. Before I have a chance to speak up again, my mom nods in the man's direction.

"Let's say your boy can come tutor her one afternoon. If she doesn't see it fit after the first session, he doesn't need to come any more on a regular basis. How does that sound?"

"Well—"

"That sounds perfect," says the man. "I'll arrange for Oriel to come tomorrow afternoon right after school."

Oriel? What a strange, out-of-place name for a guy. I secretly wonder if he's ashamed of bearing such a weird name.

I excuse myself and hurry upstairs to my bedroom with clenched fists. It's almost as though Mom doesn't want me to have free time. She doesn't want me to spend time alone. Doesn't she understand? I need to be alone! I've never needed something so much in my life.