“Is Sawyer here?”

She doesn’t answer at first. Maybe she’s trying to think of an excuse. “I’ll check,” she says finally. She goes to the nearby swinging door and opens it a crack, never taking her eyes off me. “Sawyer,” she calls out.

“Yeah, Ma?” I hear, and I look down at the carpet. What the hell am I doing?

“There’s a young lady out here to see you.”

He doesn’t say anything. I imagine him pausing, wondering what amazing babe it could possibly be coming by to see him. Picturing how disappointed he’ll be to see me.

He comes out and slides past his mother. His eyes open in alarm when he sees me, and he comes over. “What are you doing here?” he whispers. He looks over his shoulder at Mrs. Angotti, who is watching us very closely.

“I have to tell you something. It’s really important,” I say.

“It couldn’t wait until school?” he asks, incredulous. “You had to come here?”

And now I start doubting myself again. But then I glance outside and see snow falling. Across the street, the Walk sign blinks an exploding truck. It’s now or possibly never.

“It can’t wait,” I say simply, and look up at him.

The alarm in his eyes turns to concern. He keeps his voice low. “Let’s step outside.” He looks over his shoulder again at his mother and says gruffly, “I’ll be right back.”

I don’t look at her. I don’t want to see what she’s thinking. I don’t want to know the degrading thoughts she’s had about me since before I was born. I reach for the handle and go outside. Sawyer follows me.

When the door closes, he keeps his back to the restaurant. “What the hell, Jules?” There’s anger in his voice. “You can’t just show up here. Not wearing that. Not at all.”

I can understand why he’s upset. I don’t know exactly what sort of mess I’ve just put him in, but I can imagine the scenario in reverse, and it makes me cringe. I didn’t even think about the hat. Maybe I should have called. But he was on deliveries tonight, so that wouldn’t have helped. I don’t have his cell number. It’d be the same mess. I take a deep breath. “Look, Sawyer. I’m sorry to do this to you. I know I’m probably causing a problem, but here’s the thing.” I pull off my cap and comb my fingers through my hair, trying to think.

When I don’t continue, he folds his arms against the cold and shifts his weight. “Well?” he says after a moment. “Kinda cold out here.”

I look at the Walk sign once more to gather strength, and then sigh and close my eyes, remembering the scene in my mind, frame by frame, landing on Sawyer’s dead face. And I look back up at him, into his eyes. “You see,” I say, and it sounds very grown-up in my ears. “I . . .”

“What?” he says, but the edge in his voice is fading.

“I’m just . . .” Oh, shit. What was I thinking? What am I supposed to say here? “I’m worried about your restaurant. I think . . . I mean, I have a weird . . . feeling . . . like something bad is going to happen. To it.” To you.

In my best-case scenario, this is where he thanks me and gathers me into his strong arms, and his face hovers near mine, and we kiss for the first time.

In my probable-case scenario, this is where he calls me a nutjob and tells me to go away.

In my worst-case scenario, this is where the restaurant explodes and I’m in one of the body bags.

None of those three things happens.

Sawyer just stares at me for a minute. And then his voice comes out cold. “Is your father going to sabotage us?”

“What?” I exclaim. “No! No, Sawyer.”

He pulls out his phone. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters.

“What are you doing?” I ask, grabbing his arm. “No. Listen to me.”

He pauses. “Then, what? Are you delivering a warning from him, or a threat?”

“Oh my God,” I say. “This is not happening. It’s neither one, Sawyer. I’m saying everything all wrong.”

“What is this, then? What’s going on? Is he suing us? He doesn’t stand a chance, you know.”

“Sawyer,” I say, and nothing is making sense. “Stop. Just hold on a second. This has nothing to do with my family! I—I have this vision . . . thing . . .” I trail off. It sounds absolutely ridiculous saying it out loud.

“What?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles.

But now I’m committed. “I keep seeing a vision,” I say, trying to sound authoritative and not insane. “Over and over. You have to believe me, Sawyer, just listen. Please.”

He stops fingering his phone, gently pulls his arm away from my grasp, and takes a step away from me. “A vision,” he says sarcastically.

My heart sinks. I look away. In the window of the apartment across the street, I watch the scene and explain it as it happens. “Yes,” I say in a quiet voice. “It’s snowing pretty hard. A snowplow comes careening over the curb into your back parking lot. It hits the restaurant. There’s a huge explosion.” I turn back to him. “People die.” I close my lips. You, you, you, Sawyer. You die.

He doesn’t react, waiting for more.

“Obviously I’m aware that I sound crazy,” I say evenly, realizing my life is now over. “I can’t explain why it’s happening. I don’t ever have visions otherwise, and I don’t think I’m insane. I just keep seeing this—on billboards and TVs and stop signs and . . .” I trail off and face him once more, trying to keep my stupid quivering lip from betraying me. “I just felt like I had to tell you, because if I didn’t, and something happened to you . . . your restaurant, I mean, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” And by the way, I love you.