November 3, Sunday. 6:37 a.m.

If this is because of what happened Thursday night I'm really sorry.

November 4, Monday. 8:51 a.m

Please say something.
Please answer.
Don't ignore me.

November 5, Tuesday. 12:46 p.m.

Just say something.
Anything.
Anything to let me know we're still okay.
Anything to let me know YOU are still okay.

November 6, Wednesday. 4:20 p.m.

Still not answering, huh?
What if I call you?
Will you answer then?

4:30 p.m.
I am going to call, so
pick up your phone.
Answer me.
I just need to know everything is alright.

November 7, Thursday. 5:47 a.m.

Look, I know I haven't been easy to deal with lately, but
I'm really worried about you and I just want you to
respond and let me know you're okay.
Please don't shun me...

After sending this message, I turn my phone over, feeling desperate and knowing he will never respond. It's too early in the morning, and besides that, he hasn't shown up to school all week, nor has he answered my calls or texts. I just want to know everything's fine, that this isn't my fault. Because right now, everything feels like it's my fault. The bullying has grown worse as the week wears on. I still feel horrible for the way I treated him after the vandalism incident. He was so kind, so patient. And like an idiot, I went and threw it in his face when all he wanted to do was help me and be there for me. Why am I such a mess? Why can't I do anything right? Why can't Daddy just come home? Where is my cat? Why won't Adam respond? What's wrong with him?

I bite my lip to keep from crying and my phone vibrates with an incoming call. An unknown number shows up on the screen. Heart thudding, I answer it skeptically.

"He-hello?"

Dylan's timid voice enters my ears. "Hey, uh...it's Dylan. I don't know if you can, uh, hear me..."

"I hear you. Hi Dylan. What's up?"

"Um, just called to let you know that I found Adam."

"Is he okay?"

"He's home. So, uh, yeah, I guess he's okay."

"I've been trying to contact him all week. He won't answer."

"I know. I told him that. He told me he was giving you space. Said he felt like that's what you two need right now."

   I cover my mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Adam's wrong. We don't need space.

   "Why would he say something like that?"

   "Look, I can't tell you. I'm sorry. He feels it's best. But I've got to go. See you tomorrow?"

Do I detect some hesitancy?

"Sure," I let out a shaky breath. "Thanks for calling."

   "Uh, no problem. Take care."

   "Wait, Dylan—?"

   The line goes dead. Quickly, I add his number to my contacts list. Just in case.

   I was going to ask him if he knows why Adam is acting strange all of a sudden. Past week he seemed rather normal. In good graces. Supportive, determined to keep things upbeat and positive. Then he got that phone call, left my house in a mad dash. Didn't take time to explain or say goodbye.

Was it something I said? Something I did? Who called him? Why was it such a big deal? Is he mad at me? Am I mad at him? What's he going through right now? Have I been too self-absorbed to notice that he's getting worse?

   Though I know he won't answer, I hit the call button. At the same moment, there's a startling knock on the door. The harsh, business-like structure of the knock brings my mind back to the day that guard showed up to give me a message from my dad. I haven't told anyone, and frankly I've pushed it from my mind, too preoccupied by other nonsense. However, now it comes flooding back.

   Daddy's message was a short, cryptic warning of sorts. He says something is happening to the air. It's going to happen subtly so no one notices. He's working to get it exposed, which means we will not be able to have contact until further notice. He won't be able to come home.

   Frankly, despite all my hopes and wishes, I've never quite believed he'll be able to anyway.

   The dull ringtone in my right ear serves as a backdrop to my torrent of thoughts, mingling with the forceful bangs on the door, freezing me in place because there's just too much happening at once.

Breathe. Just breathe. You can do this. Remember what Dylan and Adam taught you about keeping calm. Breathing is the only thing that matters. Clear you mind.

A shadow moves off the porch.

Phone slipping from my hand and crashing to the floor, somehow my body propels forward to fling the door open. Lying stiff and lifeless on the doormat is Mackerel, a length of barbed wire coiled around her neck. There's a tag attached. Shaking, I sink to my knees and stroke the baby's soft fur with trembling hands. She's stone-cold, drenched in blood and rain. It's clear she's been dead for some time.

   Taking and opening the note, my teary eyes scan over the violently scrawled message:

GIVE UP, AND MAYBE YOU'LL GET TO
KEEP ALL NINE OF YOUR LIVES.

   It's written in the same handwriting as the death threat. The words send chills through me, accompanied by the damp November air.

   Nine lives. There's got to be an alternate meaning to that. It can't just be because they killed my sweet kitty.

   Let's see... My life, Adam's, Dylan's, Algie's, Sydney's, Mia's, Davy's...that's only seven. Am I forgetting a few? Maybe Daddy's life is the eighth. If so, whose is the ninth?

   Maybe it's Tom, Adam's boss. Maybe it's someone we have yet to meet.

   Goosebumps forming on the freckled skin of my arms, I reach for my phone and call Adam. I call him over and over, leaving message after message. Each time, he does not answer, doesn't call back. Tears threaten to spill over and blur my vision like the anger that threatens to spill over and cloud my mind.

   Daddy should have known better than to leave his girl to live alone in a city full of Vandals and enemies. He has always said that my world is the reason that he does what he does. He says he wants to keep my world safe, to protect it.

   Hurts to say, but I don't think he's doing a very good job. Here I am, being attacked nearly every day all because he can't keep his nose out of what the government is up to.

   Unuttered, a strangled scream festers in my throat. Fists clenched, jaw tight. Body rigid and tense, shaking with anger and terror. Somewhere in this mix, tiny wisps of concern and sadness mingle like pale ghosts, and a single thought enters my mind: I don't want to be alone anymore. Something has to change.

   I also need to bury my kitten. Poor baby didn't even live an entire year.

   Having something practical to occupy myself keeps me from breaking down. Even if it's my kitten, burying her helps my mind stay off other things. In the backyard under the Starflower plant, I dig a small grave. Rain rolls off my body as I wrestle the dirt out with a shovel I found in the basement. I've never been the strongest, and I'm especially not now, having been sick and then poisoned. Still, I manage to dig a deep enough grave for my little corpse and her cardboard coffin.

   The task of grave digging kept my mind clear. Burial, however, reminds me of Mama. Especially paired with the starflowers.

   What was I thinking?

   Dripping, I force myself to get past those crippling thoughts and bury my sweet kitty in the jaws of the earth. She was too young to die. Much too young. I loved her too much for her to die.

Everyone I love dies.

Choking on tears and pent-up emotions, I hurl the shovel to the ground and dash inside where I can at least escape the rain. A good hot shower and a cup of tea keep me from getting chilled.

   I stand in the kitchen waiting for my tea to finish steeping, holding my phone to my ear in hope that Adam will pick up. He never answers, and I'm sick of leaving voicemails. Dylan said Adam's home, so to Adam's home I will go. I might not be in the best state emotionally, but that's exactly why I need to see him. He's one of the only people I actually trust, and one of the only people who makes me feel safe.

After numerous failed attempts to reach him, I turn to my tea and pull the bag out, dropping it into the trash receptacle that also serves as a generator. In our city, trash is broken down to create electricity. There's no room for landfills, so people are making do with what they have. And trash is something they have a lot of.

Me, not so much.

   As the hot tea slides down my throat, it suddenly occurs to me that I've got to leave for school soon and I should probably eat something. I haven't really eaten a thing in days. Haven't had an appetite. How could I, with everything that's been happening lately? Every now and then I've sneaked a few VictualCaps, even went so far as to bringing some to school with me. It's probably not good for me, but I can't bring myself to eat any food. Especially now, with Adam thinking we need space. What happened to us? I thought we were best friends!

Pushing unpleasant thoughts from my mind in desperation, I down the last dregs of tea and swipe a set of VictualCaps from the first aid kit under the kitchen sink, cramming them into my backpack and shoving my arms into the sleeves of Ian's coat.  Fling the door open and step out into the torrential rain, instantly soaked to the skin.

7:22 a.m.

Mia runs up to me the minute I get to my locker. I've barely hauled off my wet jacket and stuffed it in with all my other stuff when she grabs me in a tight hug. Mia's hugs are always suffocating.

"Let me go, please," I squeak. As if noticing for the first time that she's crushed every bone in my body, she gasps and apologizes all in one breath, letting me go and stepping back so there's a more comfortable space between us. She may not notice, but I am wary around her, especially with the way she gets close to Adam.

"Amber, I'm sorry."

"For what?" The words almost come out in a groan as I start walking, hoping I can just get to class without further interruption. My mind is not in a good place today and I don't need her hanging around making it worse. That's a horrible way to think and feel about a bandmate, I know, but I can't help it.

"I'm sorry that you've been alone all week." Her dark-red lips form a pout, green eyes glowing sympathetically. It makes my heart ache with longing to trust her. But I know that I can't. I wish I could. It hurts that I can't. She could be like a sister if she wasn't so seductive.

   None of us are perfect.

   I don't know what to say to her, but I know she's expecting a response, so I just shrug. She cocks an eyebrow. "You know I'm worried," she says softly. "Not just about Adam, but about you. You've been very quiet and withdrawn."

   "I'm just tired," I manage to mumble, feeling like I've just lied to her even though I haven't. Why do I feel so guilty all of a sudden?

"Whoa, girl, you look stoned." Brii remarks as she and her clique file past us, causing Mia to take a closer look at my face. I'm horrified when she nods.

"She's right, love, you really do."

Don't call me "love"!

Triggered by the pet name, a thousand thoughts crowd into my head at once. They won't stop. I can't make them. They won't let me.

   Is it just me or is the air really thin in here?

   Growling, I pull away from her and scamper ahead, pushing through people as I go. Mia runs after me, heels echoing through the halls. "Amber! What's your deal?"

   All I can do is shake my head.

12:36 p.m.

The past few hours have been a total nightmare. It's hard to breathe, hard to stop thinking, hard to focus. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. But as far as I know, nothing is wrong with me. That's not what I'm feeling.

   What I'm feeling is Adam. And it's weird because I've never been able to feel him this strongly before, especially in his absence. Normally, I can feel his emotions when I'm within proximity of him. Today I can feel him from far away. He's suffering tremendously, he's confused, he wants to be alone.

   But that's not what he needs.

   Folding my arms over the tabletop, ignoring Dylan and Mia and the others, I shut my eyes and do everything I can to drown the overbearing thoughts in my mind.

9:12 p.m.

Seventh cup of tea tonight. I can't sleep. I'm restless. My eyes ache and my mind is so loud. Breathing has become easier, but only slightly. A heaviness has settled over my heart, physically making it seem weighted. The ceramic mug feels good in my hands; it's the only thing that feels good.

   Why do things have to build up? Why is there never any clarity? Why do people change? Why can't things be the way they were before? Why can't we go back to carefree times, like the band practices and concerts, or like the surprise party they threw for my birthday?

   Suddenly it occurs to me that if I'm going to be awake, I may as well keep busy. May as well do something that makes me forget about my troubles. Setting my mug down and making my way into the living room, I turn on some music and dim the lights. As the first song resounds through the room, my body synchronizes with the music and I begin to dance. Alone.