Your head throbs. A dull, pounding ache that pulses behind your eyes with every heartbeat.

You push yourself up slowly. The locker room is empty. Silent. The air feels thick, almost heavy.

You stumble toward the door, your hand going through the metal handle before your brain can register what just happened.

You pull your hand back. Stare at it. Try again.

Your fingers pass through the handle like smoke.

You spin around.

A boy stands by the lockers. He's wearing a letterman jacket, and there's a confidence in the way he leans against the metal—like he owns the place. Light brown hair, sharp jaw, a smile that's equal parts charming and knowing.