No one in their right mind could have forgotten all the cataclysmic destruction that seemed to have rippled across the world. A water cyclone had wiped large chunks of the North Carolina coast off the map. Volcanoes, large-scale earthquakes, tsunamis—entire cities had been destroyed. Countries had been on the verge of World War III. It really had seemed like the end of the world, and there had been a teeny moment when I’d been afraid that maybe my mom had been right all along, but then it all had stopped, simply just stopped, and since then, everyone— the whole world—was all let’s-hold-hands-and-love-one-another. Even countries that’d been fighting with one another since forever had stopped their bloodshed, and peace now prevailed and all that good stuff.

It took millions of people to die to wake everyone up, but it hadn’t been the movie 2012 coming to life. The world hadn’t ended. It had just been Mother Nature bitch-slapping humanity into its place.

“Mom, the world’s not ending.” I grabbed another bangle, this one a more dirty-gold color, and slipped it onto my left wrist. “Everything is fine. I’m okay. And you’re okay, right?”

“Yes, baby, but I just…I have a bad feeling,” she whispered into the phone, and that poured the tension back into my shoulders. “You know, a real bad feeling.”

It was hard to drag in the next breath as I closed my eyes. A “bad feeling” was our code word for relapse—for auditory and visual hallucinations, for her slipping away from my grandparents and inadvertently putting her life in danger. My heart started pounding fast. When I turned, Erin was sitting on her narrow bed, kicking off her shoes. Concern pinched her downright gorgeous face. “What kind of ‘bad feeling’ do you have?”

Mom started talking about how she was having dreams about my father. “A great change is coming. Everyone is going to…”

As she spoke, Erin mouthed is she okay?

I shook my head, feeling heartsick. By the time I got off the phone, I knew I was going to be late for Abnormal Psychology if I didn’t book it, but all I wanted to do was climb into my bed and pull the patchwork quilt my granny had made me over my head.

“Is she relapsing?” Erin asked as she tugged her hair free. Black, loose curls fell around her shoulders. There wasn’t even a crimp in her hair from the ponytail.

Erin was perfect.

She was also a sweetie.

“Yeah.” I flipped my hair—my heavy hair that never held a curl, but sure as hell showed a crimp if it were up in any ponytail for a second—as I grabbed my backpack off the floor. “I’m going to call Granny after class. They probably already know, but didn’t want to worry me.”

She rose to her feet gracefully, showing off incredibly long, incredibly smooth, dark legs. I was convinced that hair didn’t grow on her legs. Seriously. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Sneak me some tequila tonight?” I slugged the bag over my shoulder.

Her full lips curved in a grin. “I always know where to get the good shit.”

That she did. It was kind of odd, since she was only twenty, like me. I had no idea where she got the endless supply of alcohol. I swear she could just walk into a liquor store, flash those killer legs and beautiful smile, and they just handed over anything she wanted.

I, on the other hand, would get laughed right out of the store.

“I’ll also get us some junk food—like rocky road ice cream, dill-flavored potato chips, and—oh—those chocolate-covered pretzels.” She opened the door for me. “How does that sound?”

“You’re amazing.” Springing forward, I hugged her quickly and then pulled back, flushing as I backed away. I was such a dork, it was embarrassing.

Erin simply allowed me to be on the receiving end of a stellar smile. She didn’t get it, though. She grew up outside of DC, in a big city, in a big family, surrounded by friends she’d made on the track team. Me? Growing up virtually friendless in a town that saw the kid of an unwed mother as the devil’s spawn made me truly value the friendship I had with her.

Before I made things even more awkward by throwing myself at her feet and thanking her for being my friend, I wiggled my fingers in a wave and hurried out of the room. As I all but raced down the hall, I had to compartmentalize, placing what was happening with Mom in the corner of my mind to revisit after class. I needed to pay attention today. This was our last lecture before the exam on Friday.

I stepped outside Muse Hall, tugging the loose cardigan close as my feet hit the paved walkway. Spring was in the air and tiny leaves were sprouting from the branches, but the chill of winter hadn’t left the campus yet. The dorm was great—co-ed, fun, had its own dining hall—but it was a heck of a walk to Russell Hall, where the Ab Psych class was held, and I had a feeling I’d be blown into the trees before I reached the building.

The wind was whipping down through the valley, tossing my hair back from my face. I hunched my shoulders, keeping my chin down as I stepped out from under the stone awning, not paying attention to the array of students hanging out at the entrance or lounging on the benches. On a good day, I was easily distracted, but when I became nervous or stressed, everything was a bright, shiny object and I had the attention span of a goldfish. I couldn’t afford getting lured into a conversation and inevitably missing class.

I followed the path around the neatly landscaped park. On nicer, warmer days, I’d spent time studying under the large, black oak trees. The campus was truly beautiful. It was one of the reasons why I’d enrolled.