I'm not an idiot anymore, and I know that matches are definitely not soulmates. A lot of people call them that, but it's not true. Matches can be soulmates, or whatever anyone wants to call them, but really all it means is that they're compatible somehow.

Even though most people don't find their matches, they live happy enough and die happy enough. I only know two people who actually ended up marrying their match, my grandparents on my dad's side. They lived happily ever after, sure, but so did my grandparents on my mom's side and they weren't a match, according to the rubbish on their arms. Both of their matches died before they hit fifty.

The whole thing is treated like a lottery that you couldn't know if you'd won. Every other day, it's "Congratulations, you found someone that you can tolerate at least a bit. Marry them."

I don't want to marry anyone, I have no motivation to go looking for some made-up 'soulmate', and I'm happy just as I am. Well, maybe not just as I am.

"Berry! Pick up your feet!"

I struggle not to roll my eyes, knowing that Coach Briskley will only make me run more laps if he sees. Even though PE is stupid, it's easier to just do what Coach says, even if it's running laps for a crime I most certainly did not commit. Anything for friendship, I guess.

Hana, the only other person in my PE class I can stand to be around, asked me to cover for her. She thought that since Coach was a few minutes late for class, she could get away with running back to the locker room for her water bottle. Unfortunately, she underestimated how much time she had. I ran back for her as she was coming in and Coach caught me sneaking back instead of her. Now I have to run laps, and Hana gets to play volleyball with the others. Unfair, but not worth arguing over.

It won't be too long before Coach Briskley blows his whistle, anyway. Thank the heavens, I only have one more period left before the weekend. After English I'll be free.

"Fucking yes!" I can hear Hana all the way from the other side of the field. She probably finally got around to actually scoring a point. "I mean, um, yay."

As the other students file off of the volleyball court, I dare to go ahead and stop my run. I've had enough of this, and if class is dismissed then Coach basically has to let me go. Just like I always do for her, Hana waits for me before we head back to the locker room.

I can tell that Hana's waiting for me to chew her out for getting me into trouble as we head back onto the crime scene. The crime itself? I was framed. Instead of saying anything, I just huff and change out of the PE clothes.

"Hey, come on, Jasmine. You could've turned me in. Better that than giving me the silent treatment. What are you, four years old?" Hana asks, leaning against the locker next to mine. She's going to stare me down until I answer her, I just know it. I'll give her one thing, for her foul mouth and disrespect for the rules, she was persistent.

I groan. "I wasn't going to turn you in, moron. But you owe me one."

"One what?" Hana raises her eyebrows in mock seduction.

I honestly don't know how I put up with Hana, aka the walking, sentient form of pure innuendo. Luckily, she also happens to be a halfway decent person, unlike some others I know. Half of the kids here I could accurately describe with a few choice words from Hana's vocabulary, if it were something I felt like doing.

"Screw you," I tell Hana, and she snorts.

I need to get to my next class, and I know that Hana does too. The only way we'll get to English on time is with me rushing us, so that's what I do. Every single day. I slam my locker door, clicking the lock shut before grabbing my backpack with one hand and Hana's arm with the other.

"Hammond will flip if we're late," I remind Hana, tugging her toward the door. She slips my arm and jogs over to her locker, changing in a matter of seconds before rejoining me. "Come on, Hana. Time management."

"What's got his panties in a bunch lately? Almost end of the year, and he never has to deal with us again. Shouldn't he be happy?"

"Nah, he hasn't escaped us yet. Bet he thinks someone will fail their finals and have to stay here another year."

Hana readjusts her backpack in preparation for running straight up the hill. The PE building is situated in the worst place on campus, right between a giant chainlink fence and the armpit that is our school's chemistry building. When they built the chem labs, they were supposed to be well-kept and help with the "learning experience". Instead, they got trashed and never really cleaned up again. Now they smell like an experiment gone wrong which, conveniently, is what they are.

The hill that runs up from the valley of the PE building to the main part of school is steep and a wrong step will definitely end you rolling halfway down. I don't know why Hana always runs. She's up at the top before I'm halfway there.

"Well," she calls down as I make my way up. "I don't know what Ham's talking about. I'm getting my diploma if I have to wrestle a damn bear for it."

"Sure, Hana."

The only way I know we'll make it to class in time is the fact that no one loitering around campus seems too hurried to get to their classes. A couple of the girls from my elementary school are sitting outside of their classes. I might be sitting with them if I had been a bit less lucky.

I run a finger over the blank skin of my forearm. Birds of a feather tend to hang out, and at my school, birds divide by whether or not they have their final words yet. Most don't, lucky us, but the ones who do clump together and make their own little cliques. I don't mind. No one without their words will date someone with them, not at this age.

I feel a little bad for Bami, Bambi as everyone calls her, who has already been kicked out of the running for finding a match. I understand why no one will give her a chance, though. Why settle for a girl with words down her arm when you can hold out for your real soulmate? It's nonsense. I'm glad that Kailey, one of the others whose matches has come and gone, found a match of her own in Bambi, even if it's not the real deal.

Maybe I'm not looking for anyone, but I could see the anger in Bambi's face when she got her words back in sixth grade. She had to deal with that, and I have a match somewhere out there that I don't even want. Doesn't seem very fair if you ask me.

"Hey, Finn," Hana says to one of the boys near the door. She blushes when he jumps from where he's leaning to come over and greet us, pressing a kiss to Hana's forehead.

Finn is not Hana's match. She is eternally convinced otherwise, but there's no way. It's just like what I was saying before: Everyone jumps to the "soulmate" conclusion if you can find someone that you get along with even a little. If they're happy, though, whatever, just as long as they keep it to themselves.

"Oh, Jas. Did you ever figure out what you're doing after graduation?" Finn asks. I groan.

The deadline is soon, I know. Everyone else had to choose a while back, but two places have agreed to keep their doors open until I make my final decision. That's the upside to spending too much time on schoolwork, I suppose.

My biggest problem is distance. I've narrowed down to either a school in-state, or the one way across the pond. Stay close to my mom and dad, or travel over to a new continent.

"She'll get the papers in. When has she ever turned something in late." I know that Hana isn't laughing at me. Even if she were, she isn't exactly wrong.

"Yeah, don't worry about me. What's your plan?" I need to stop myself from being the topic of this before I have to admit just how lost I am.

Finn smiles at that. "I placed into the class of 2092 at the school of matcheneering at the military academy. I already sent my confirmation."

Well, dang. Finn already knows his school and major. Matcheneering. I might have tried that if biology were my thing. Figuring out how to use matches and all that for the betterment of society and all of that is interesting to say the least. However, that sort of thing isn't my forte. Plus, I would never go military.

"My mom wants me to go to QuizOps," I say.

I know that it's a pretty good school. The Academy of Quizzical Operations mathematically traces the pairings that are known of the world's matches. It's not really a school, though, as much as a four year internship that turns into a job once it ends. It fits with my major class too, seeing as I'm going into math of some kind.

Hana raises an eyebrow. "Why don't you go, then?"

"I just... I don't know. It's all the way over in Britain. Wouldn't want mom and dad to miss me." Or Iris. I'm more worried about Iris being over here while I'm holed up in the academy.

A few kids her age have shown up with words on their arms and no heartbeat recently. Not something that makes me want to leave her alone, even with mom and dad. I know it's dumb to think I could actually do something to help her even if whatever psycho that's doing all of that decided to go after her, but I can't help but feel a bit nervous about leaving.

The door to our class opens before I have to say anything else, and I let out a deep breath. Finn says goodbye and heads across the hallway to his own class. Hana drags me into the classroom by my right arm, barely giving me enough time to grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder before we go inside.

Hammond is already sitting at his desk, bony arms crossed as he watches us file in. His back is straight, but not in a way that suggests good posture, but strictness and a bit of frustration with everything around him. I don't know why he always gets like this.

"Heya, Ham, how's life?" Hana asks as we take our seats. Our teacher doesn't dignify her with an answer. Honestly, I probably wouldn't either if I were him.

I elbow Hana from my seat next to her and flit my eyes over to the wall on her right, just enough that she will notice and look. Stationed there with wall putty is one of the terrible motivational posters that Hammond keeps stowed on every surface of his room. This one is new, a black cat with white lettering across his back that says "Belive is yourself".

The quality Hammond's posters has been going downhill recently, and Hana has the theory that it is because he has already bought every quality one on the planet. I'm almost tempted to agree, when confronted with this kitten and his misspelled message. What does a black cat even have to do with "beliving is" yourself? That would be a question for Hammond to answer, preferably to stall him passing out a homework assignment.

"Belive is yourself, Hana. Belive." I try to avoid Hammond's glare as he catches me whispering and turns to look at Hana and me.

Class probably already started. I know that most students don't even try to get here on time. I also know that Hammond is in a bad mood. I probably should not have said anything.

"Oh, shit," Hana whispers next to me. I look up to see Hammond pacing over to our desks, laminated seating chart in hand. He has a permanent marker.

"Hana, you will be remaining in your current seat," he says.

Hana smiles as sarcastically as is likely humanly possible. "Goody."

"Jasmine, you'll be switching seats with Kieren Morse," Hammond continues, barely missing a beat. I glance over to where Kieren's seat is, all the way on the other end of the classroom. Well, this is superb. I refrain from groaning as I gather my stuff back up. Hopefully this won't be a permanent thing.

Hammond crosses through Kieren and my names and switches them with his official black permanent marker. Honestly, it's still probably not permanent. Hammond just likes to make us feel like things are important. They rarely actually are.

"It's okay, Jas," Hana snickers as I leave the row. "Just belive."

It could be worse. I could be sitting in the same row as the boy band. All of the boys from Birch Junior High that have their final words are a creepy kind of inseparable. Even Hammond lets them sit in the back of the classroom with their matching jackets and don't-give-a-crap attitudes. Kieren is technically one of them, but he doesn't usually sit with them.

I don't know why Hana and I call them the boy band. All I know is that whenever I am too near them, I am far too tempted to join in their slacking off. Just a couple weeks off from finals and I cannot have that.

Kieren—lanky, blonde, and very Canadian Kieren—gives me a nod as I walk over to him. He starts to collect his stuff to swap seats with me, so I just toss my bag against the wall by his chair and wait, leaning against the whiteboard up front. The class already started, but it doesn't start start until at least quarter after.

I flash as murderous a smile as possible at Chris Ainsley when he kicks my foot. If I were Hana, I'd flip him the bird, but Hana also calls Chris by the oh-so-creative nickname of Crisis, so I try to think about what I'm doing before just copying her. Chris just grins back, drumming his hands on the desk with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrows. What a weirdo.

Wait, what the hell? I shake my right arm, trying to get rid of the tingly, pin-and-needles feeling that has suddenly swept over it. I think Chris is staring at me, but I'll deal with him later. Honestly, the whole class is probably looking at me. I'm shaking my arm around like a psycho.

"Holy shit!" I can't help but shout. I really, really can't because suddenly there's this searing in my arm, like someone took a brand and is pressing it against my skin only not hot. It's not burning. It's like a bad burn, minus the heat. I think that makes it worse.

I sink to the ground and sit on the floor, arm pinned as closely to my chest as I can bring it. And then Hammond is standing over me, arms crossed and an expression like he figured out a trick. I don't lash out at him because I'm too busy with other problems. I really need to look at my arm, to see what I managed to do to it.

"Berry, I don't have time for this. You'll be able to move back to your friend next class period," Hammond is saying.

Hana shoots me a look across the classroom, holding up her right arm and pointing to the tan skin there. I'm not sure what she thinks she's doing, but then Kieren kneels down next to me. He isn't wearing his stupid boy band jacket, so I can see the words across his inner arm, and... crap.

I run the fingers of my left hand over my right arm, not pulling it away from my chest. I brace myself and let my arm fall down into my lap and I immediately regret it.

Kieren lets out a small sigh when he sees the black letters on my arm. I'm not quite sure what to do. I never really believed in this stuff being important, but the words being there now still hurt, and not just physically. I hide my arm back against my chest before anyone can read them, including me. I don't want to know. Hammond isn't trying to get me to move anymore and Hana races past him to my side.

"I'm so sorry, Jasmine." There are tears in her eyes. She looks more distressed than I am. I really just can't think very well right now.

Even though I need to get up and back to my seat, my legs won't move. My body seems inlined to stay where it is, curled uselessly into a ball around my arm. The skin is still searing, though maybe a bit less than before.

"Morse, Kim, bring Berry up to the nurse," Hammond says, and both Kieren and Hana nod. "One of you grab her bag."

I have no clue how they intend to move me anywhere, because I have an overwhelming feeling that uncurling from around my arm will somehow end in my premature death. I know it's irrational, but that's not changing anything. I think they told us about this before—the protective instinct around new marks. Doesn't really matter now, either way.

Will Hana still want to hang out with me? Probably, but everyone else will expect me to join the word cliques. I was happy. I don't want anything to change.

Hana taps me on the shoulder, and maybe I've had my eyes closed for a while. "What?"

"Is this all your stuff?" She's holding my backpack and notebook, everything I really need for classes. I nod. "Can you get up?"

Honestly, probably not, but Kieren interrupts before I can answer. "She's in shock. Will be for a few minutes. None of the other guys could move at first either. Lucky for you," he nudges my shoulder and I frown. "It's probably less weird for me to carry you than it was for Justin to carry me."

With that, he picks me up. If I were in a better position, I would complain that I can walk myself, thank-you-very-much. Trouble is that I definitely cannot walk right now, so I don't complain.

"It's not the end of the world, I promise," Kieren says as we make it to the staff elevator. Technically, it is off-limits to everyone but teachers and staff. Either this is a specific special situation or Kieren and Hana just don't care. Actually, likely both.

Kieren is right. It's not the end of the world. It is the end of someone's life, though. Someone, probably my age, is now dead, and their last words are now biologically tattooed onto my arm. Fun thoughts.

Hana rubs my shoulder as we wait in the elevator.

"That looked like it hurt like a bitch," Hana tells me, and I almost laugh. Laughing would probably just make the burning worse again, though, so I push it back. Instead I smile and shake my head.

"Still does," I whisper.

My legs are starting to cooperate a bit more, and I can force my left hand to loosen its grip on my hurt arm. I grit my teeth as I pull my marked arm out just enough to read the first word. I stop dead at the calligraphic writing.

Jasmine,

"It says my name," I say.

Who the hell am I even talking to? Kieren freezes just outside of the elevator, and Hana bumps into him from behind. We're only a few feet from the nurse's office.

"Your name?" he asks quietly, sounding more than a little skeptical. He's right, it's weird. No one knows who their match it. Maybe whoever it was decided to guess a name to mess with me, and happened to guess right. That's some sick joke. Plus, what are the odds?

As I peel my arm back the rest of the way, I can only frown again. What the hell?

Jasmine, the Connection is strong. Run.

Help them find 39812.