Maybe it was just a fluke, Bella. No need to jump to any conclusions. I mean, it must be a good thing you couldn't hear them. All you've ever wanted was quiet. You should be grateful you don't have to listen to whatever they drone on about in their head.

But what if this means I'm losing my ability? Is this just the start? How many others will quiet after this? What if this means I'll start having seizures again? Charlie will be so disappointed in me. I'll never be able to eat a McDonald's breakfast sandwich again.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts, I don't even realize I'm aimlessly walking down the hall instead of finding my next class.

Biology, D16. Damnit, I'm on the completely wrong side of the building. No use in running. The bell's ringing in three...two...one…

Brrrriiiiing!

I make a U-turn and find the classroom easily. Mr. Banner is already standing and passing around the syllabus.

"Nice of you to join us, Isabella." He snags an extra sheet and hands it to me as I walk into the room. "Welcome back. You may take your seat next to Mr. Cullen."

I can't help but smile as I pass him. Mr. Banner secretly loves me, despite my lack of participation. He thinks I'm a genius. I just know he makes every third answer choice B on all of his tests.

Finding "Mr. Cullen" wasn't hard, considering the chair next to his was the only seat left in the classroom. Oh, and also, the blood-curdling glare he was giving me. Definitely can't miss that.

I pause, giving Pretty Boy my best go-fuck-yourself expression, but his stare is unwavering. He hasn't even laid eyes on me for a solid minute before he started treating me like the circus freak the whole school knows me to be. Word must travel faster than I thought.

On my way to my seat, I easily step over Lauren Mallory's foot as she attempts to subtly stick it out to trip me. She's hoping I fall and make a fool of myself in front of Pretty Boy who she knows by the name of Edward.

I can also see her remembering a time in my freshman year when I'd pissed myself while having a grand mal in the gymnasium. She snickers to herself, and I fight hard not to dump the can of soda on her desk all over her fake hair extensions.

There's an upside to this infuriating ability, I remind myself. I know everyone's deepest and darkest secrets. Lauren Mallory's? Alopecia. Although, I'm sure exposing her as a balding bottle blonde won't rid me of my title of World Class Wackadoodle.

Finally, in my seat, I allow myself to get a good look at Pretty Boy. He's still trying to burn holes into my skin with his eyes, which is extremely distracting. I wish he'd stop so I can focus on listening. I watch Lauren sift through her closet by memory to find what she wants to wear to a party this weekend. I pick up on Eric Yorkie sorting through possible headlines for the school paper. I can even catch Angela's train of thought as she reads The Great Gatsby in her AP English class down the hall if I concentrate hard enough.

Why can't I hear the one who's right next to me?

I realize that Pretty Boy has been holding eye contact the entire time, and I quickly avert my gaze and feel my face burn hot with a blush. I let my hair fall over my shoulder to act as a curtain.

I can't believe this guy. Who does he even think he is? He doesn't even know my first name, yet he already hates my guts? I hate this school and its shitty social structure. I hate these kids for always making fun of me for things I have absolutely no control over. Everyone in this room is a privileged, snotty, uncultured—

The lab table in front of me begins to shudder as if the ground beneath it is shaking.

I force myself to take a deep breath. Calm down, Bella. You can't lose your cool in front of these people. Get your shit together before you hurt someone.

My face is still flaming with rage, but the blood rushing in my ears is slowing. The table settles down. I think I'm finally in control when the soda in front of Lauren suddenly explodes and drenches her in cola.

"What the hell?!"

A loud, boisterous laugh escapes me before I can stifle it. I quickly cover my mouth as everyone turns to stare at us in a mixture of shock and amusement. Lauren snaps her head at me, daring me to laugh again.

"And that my friends," Mr. Banner begins, "is why we leave the food and beverages in the cafeteria. Lauren, there are some paper towels up here in the closet. I'm sure you wouldn't mind cleaning up your mess, huh?"

She rises out of her seat slowly, and flicks the excess of the fizzy drink in my general direction, but I'm too busy choking back my giggles to care.

You'd think after that fiasco, it'd be an incentive for Pretty Boy to lighten up a bit. He doesn't. His heavy scrutiny is persistent. However, with determination, I successfully make it through the rest of the class without any hiccups. I do not allow Pretty Boy Cullen to even show up as a blip on my radar.

When the final bell rings, Angela meets me at my locker as promised. She's barely there a full second before I'm latching onto her hand and dragging her towards the front entrance.

"Oh, are we in a rush?" Angela laughs as she struggles to keep up with my pace.

I can't resist the smile that stretches across my face. "You'll never guess what happened in Biology."

"Dear, God." Angela stops moving and forces me to face her. "What have you done?"

"Don't you have any faith in me?"

No.

I give her an exasperated look. "Oh, come on. It wasn't even my fault. Not completely anyway."

Angela shakes her head at me, but she's smirking, so I continue walking us through the crowd. By now we're exiting the building and heading toward the parking lot. "Lauren Mallory got drenched in coke today."

"I'm assuming you mean the carbonated drink and not the stimulant drug."

With a chuckle I say, "Unfortunately, my talent does not include connections to the local dope dealer." Just picturing the can exploding in my head sends me into a fit of hysterics. I'm laughing so hard, Angela is half carrying me to the car.

"Get in and tell me all about it." She unlocks the doors with her remote and I duck inside. As Angela pulls out of the lot, I'm faintly aware of a reflection of Pretty Boy in the side mirror of her car. He's staring after us from his silver Volvo across the way.

Angela ends up spending the afternoon with me in my room after Charlie's finished playing twenty questions. How was school? How am I feeling? Did I have any accidents? Blah blah, freaking blah.

"I don't want to hear any complaints from you," she says, bringing me out of my head. For a moment, I wonder which one of us can actually read minds. She's leaning against my headboard while I sit proudly on the space of floor that I've cleared of trash and dirty clothes only the night before. "You know how I feel about your secret."

"How can I forget when you remind me every chance you get?" I'm teasing of course, but Angela is giving me a look that says she's deadly serious. "What do you want me to say? 'Hey, Dad, you should probably know that I've been lying to you the past ten months. That car crash that almost killed us has cured me of my epilepsy and, oh yeah! I'm also a devil-worshipping hippie just like Grandma!"

"I'm pretty sure a devil-worshipping hippie is a contradiction." She lifts a brow. "Unless there's something you need to tell me?"

With a groan, I throw a pillow at her. "You're completely missing the point, Ang. Charlie doesn't do well with this kind of stuff. He'll have an aneurism trying to process all of this."

"C'mon, B. You told me and I came around. Remember?"

I sigh audibly as I recall my father ushering my mother and me out of the house after finding what I now know were tarot cards on the coffee table. "You were never raised by religious parents like my dad was."

"Well, it's not like he's the sharpest Christian in the Bible." She shifts on the bed and pats the spot next to her. "Sit next to me."

I hop onto the bed next to her and cross my arms in front of me. "I don't know. After years of working on the force, he's developed some pretty black-and-white views of the world."

"Can you grab my bag, over there?" she asks suddenly. "I got you something that I think might help."

I reach over the side of the bed and grunt as I lift the tiny blue backpack. "Jesus, what do you have in there? Dead bodies?"

"Very funny." She pulls out a pamphlet that's been folded over and over again and places it in my lap.

"A Resource Guide to Coming Out," I read aloud. "Are you serious? How have you managed to keep this little secret from me when I'm in your head all day?"

"When your best friend is psychic, you learn a few tricks."

I cringe. "I hate that word. It makes me sound like a voodoo queen."

"Look," she opens it up to a sample conversation, "I know it's not ideal, but some of these have potential."

Unable to hide my irritation, I snatch the paper and read off with as much sarcasm as I can, "Dad, there's something you should know about me. I'm psychic. Now, I know you must have a lot of preconceived notions about being psychic. You may not be comfortable with this new information, but I'm here to tell you that I'm still me. And that I was born this way. Oh, wait I'm sorry. I was resuscitated this way."

I know I've messed up when Angela swipes the pamphlet from me tosses it in the bin by the door. "Fine, forget it. I was just trying to help."

"Shit, I'm sorry." I nudge her gently with my foot to get her to look at me. "That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you. Honestly, I'm just not ready to talk about it yet."

She offers her pinky to me and I lock mine with hers. "Well, I'll be here when you decide you are."

Soon after that, Angela leaves to go home instead of staying for dinner. She makes me endure Charlie's company alone as he blatantly counts the carbs on my plate. That traitor! However, I get Charlie to let me go to my room early after making an excuse about needing to finish up homework.

I lay there on top of my bed sheets and look up at the ceiling. I'm not sure how long I stay that way. It doesn't feel like an obscene amount of time has passed, but the light from the cloud-covered sun moves away from my window and lowers to the west. Is it really sunset already?

Dark heavy storm clouds roll in, squashing the last of the sun's rays. The room feels as though it's dropped several degrees and I've got goosebumps all over my body.

Suddenly, I'm more tired than I've ever been in the past month. The room begins to spin and I close my eyes before I get nauseous. I get this floating feeling as if I'm about to have an episode and I wonder if I should call out for Charlie.

I feel myself drifting above the bed. I'm weightless and moving toward the ceiling, but the impact doesn't stop me. I move through the plaster and come out in the cold night air. It's raining. Funny, I didn't hear it through the walls.

I turn my head to look below me and the sight sends something cold down my spine.

It's me. Except it's just my body. I'm lying there on the asphalt, just in front of my father's old red Chevy truck. The headlights reflect off of a red and sticky substance that's trickling from my head.

As I watch my own blood pool around my figure, I realize I can't breathe. I'm desperately clawing at my throat, looking for the thing that's constricting my air flow, but come up empty.

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

And then it's as if the gravity has been switched back on. I'm free falling toward the ground, and before I get the chance to scream—

I wake with a start, sputtering and coughing as if I'd been trapped underwater. I grip the bed sheets around me, feeling for the frayed threads at the edge to prove to myself I'm really here.

Pinching my forearm as hard as I can, I decide that I'm awake. It's not the first time I've dreamt of the accident, but it had certainly been quite a bit of time since it's haunted me. Or since I've slept long enough to even dream at all. Those sleepless nights must be catching up with me.

Checking the time, it's only a little after two in the morning. There's no way I'm going back to sleep after that, so I surrender my ideas of a good night's sleep.