AUTHOR’S NOTE: I definitely forgot to mention that this is a sneak peak chapter. The first chapter was accidentally deleted, so I am working on getting that back up. It will probably be after the holidays. Read and review.

The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock were too bright. The owl outside was hooting too loud. The couch was too lumpy.

Those were just a few of the reasons I gave myself as to why I couldn’t sleep. My senses were suddenly equal to anything Bionic Woman could have managed. My eyes took in every detail of the dark living room. My ears strained for every small sound. My fingers traced the stitching on my blanket, and brought an image of the sewing to my mind. But why?

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have an idea. When my mind did manage to settle down a little, a clear scene played out in my head. I pictured the sun-scorched soccer field where I had walked with Graham, Cleigh, and Luke while Bubba was in summer school. I could smell the dry heat, and hear the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Then, the peaceful scene was interrupted by the pounding of feet on the hard ground. I could still hear Cleigh’s exclamation of, “What the-?” Then, he ran by. He dropped the blue bag he was carrying. His face turned to me. Breathtaking.

His face, when he had turned back to me, was burned into my retinas. The perfect, pale skin, the dark-lashed, tilted electric blue eyes; and his lips that were stained that odd purplish color filled every corner of my mind. My mental image was so perfect that I could have counted the blue and purple dots on his jacket.

That was where my perfect memory stopped, because my senses went haywire. My eyes snapped open and I sat up. My heart was pounding in my chest, the same way it had when the incident had actually happened.

I was suddenly full of nervous energy. The clock said it was seven minutes past midnight, but I rolled off the couch anyway. I dug through my bag at the other end of the couch, pulling out clean pajamas and my bathroom supplies.

My steps were painful because of the tension on my muscles, but I practically ran down the hall until I reached Bubba’s room. His door was cracked and the light was on.

I stuck my head in the room and found him. He was sprawled on his bed, remote in one hand and a two-liter bottle of Coke in the other.

“Hey, Bubba, I’m going to take a shower,” I said.

He looked away from the television, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “Okay.”

“Um…,” I stepped into the room,” Bubba, maybe you should go to sleep. You have summer school tomorrow…”

Bubba ran his hand through his sandy –blonde hair that was already standing on end. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” He took a gulp of the Coke, but missed his mouth. It poured onto his sheets and pillows, soaking his t-shirt brown.

There were a few seconds where his sleep-deprived brain didn’t seem to be able to comprehend what had happened. Then he groaned, tossing the now-empty two-liter onto the floor. I grabbed Bubba before he rolled off the bed.

“Bubba, go sit in the living room and watch television, okay?”

He struggled to his feet and nodded. “’Kay.”

I watched him stumble down the hallway, and then stripped the wet sheets off his bed. After I put them in the washing machine, I went into the bathroom and locked the door.

When the hot water had filled the bathroom with steam and the smell of rose soap, I sat on the floor and pulled my clothes toward me. A flash of blue caught my eye. The bag… My heart started pounding again. I reached for it, my fingers trembling. That little blue bag belonged to the boy. It was inches from my fingertips, unopened, and maybe, just maybe, it held the secret to the boy’s identity.

I blinked, and his eyes were piercing my skull, leaving me with cold guilt in my stomach. My hand fell limp by my side, and I pushed the bag away with my foot.

I climbed into the shower, and found that I was finally tired. The smells of rose-scented soap and steam were making my mind hazy. My shoulders slumped and I leaned against the shower door, barely able to comprehend my own motion of reaching for the shampoo bottle. The water swirling down the drain caught my eye, and I stood motionless, watching it go around and around and around…

Three loud knocks on the door woke me from my stupor. At first, I thought it was Bubba knocking on the bathroom door, but then the knocks sounded again. They were coming from farther away: the front door.

My heart started racing. Apparently, after a long period of immobility, being excited isn’t healthy. My knees collapsed and I fell over the edge of the tub and onto the tile floor.

“Ow,” I muttered. After I figured out which way was up and which way was down, I struggled to my feet. There was blood running into my eye, and I groaned. I wiped the condensation off the mirror, and, sure enough, there was a gash over my left eye.

Muffled voices were coming from the living room. Bubba’s voice was raised, and he sounded uneasy. I pulled my clothes on, and shoved the blue bag into the bathroom cabinet. I practically sprinted down the hallway, my wet hair now cold on my face.

When I reached the living room, Bubba was leaning against the back of the couch, arms folded across his chest. The front door was open and at first I didn’t see why. Then the tell-tale flash of blue, purple, and white caught my eye.

“You!” I gasped, stopping in my tracks, one foot in mid-step.

It was, indeed, him. His eyes rose to my face, and there was that brilliant blue, seeming to light up the summer midnight. My breath caught in my throat. Beautiful. His lips were still the color of someone’s who had been out in the cold too long, and he was shivering as if it were the middle of winter. The expression on his face was odd, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

I ripped my eyes away, and glanced at Bubba. His eyebrows were pulled together, and by the set of his jaw it was obvious that his teeth were clinched. I wondered what they had been talking about before I came in.

“Bubba, what’s going on?”

Bubba shifted his glance to me, but didn’t turn away from the open door. “He wants to talk to you,” Bubba’s eyes turned back to the boy. “She’s here, get to talking.”

“Um…shouldn’t he come inside, Bubba?”

“NO!” Bubba’s eyes were wide, panicked. I blinked.

“Okay, Spazzy,” I muttered, passing by him to get to the door. Something like sand crunched under my feet when I reached the doorway. I glanced down and saw the salt box tipped over on the floor. Typical Bubba to make a mess and not clean it up.

I looked at him over my shoulder. “Are you going to clean this up, Bubba?”

He shrugged. “In the morning.” His eyes moved up to the gash on my forehead. “What happened to you?”

“I fell out the tub,” I admitted, expecting him to laugh at my clumsiness. He didn’t.

I stepped out onto the porch, closing the screen door behind me so that bugs wouldn’t go inside. I wasn’t even entirely sure that bugs were awake at one a.m. When I turned back to the visitor, he had taken a step back and was staring down at me. The hood of his jacket was up, framing his face in blue and purple squiggles and white fur. I waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

“Um…Hello,” I was whispering. Why? Every muscle in my body was tensed, as if I were facing a bear instead of a teenage boy.

He stood still, except for the shivering, his eyes moving past me to stare at Bubba through the screen door. I could guess why. Even though Bubba was still leaning on the back of the couch, he was watching. It felt as if he were breathing down the back of my neck.

“Um…I’m Charlie, and I guess you already know Bubba…” I stammered, trying to fill the awkward silence.

The boy’s eyes snapped to me. “Ah…” He breathed out the syllable, and his breath left a little cloud. I wondered if my internal thermostat was broken, because it sure didn’t feel cold enough for breath to show in the air. “So you’re the infamous cousin.”

Infamous seemed like a strong word. His eyes were drilling me, trying to meet my own. I looked down.

His intense expression melted, leaving a half-smile. I looked back at his face, still not meeting his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just heard a lot about you.” He held out his hand. It was covered in a black leather glove. As I took his hand, I wondered how he could wear gloves and a heavy jacket. It had to be at least eighty degrees. “My name is Zach, by the way.”

The name seemed to fit. “Hi, Zach.”

He stepped away from me again. “I was wondering if you still have my bag.”

“Oh!” I felt like kicking myself. Why else would he be here? “I’ll go get it.” I turned and skipped into the house. I looked over my shoulder and called, “Hey, Zach, you can come in if you-”

“No, he can’t,” Bubba barked from the living room. I rolled my eyes. When I found the bag, I returned to the porch.

“Here it is,” I handed it to him. “Don’t worry. I didn’t look in it.” Suddenly, I was very glad that I hadn’t.

Zach chuckled. “That’s too bad. It looks like you could have used it.”

My face fell. I wanted to drop to my knees and scream in frustration. Why didn’t I just open the stupid bag when I had the chance? “What do you mean?” I asked.

His eyes found the bloody cut on my forehead. He unzipped the little blue bag. I blinked. A lot. I felt like laughing, or maybe crying.

The bag was stuffed with band-aids, alcohol, swabs, anti-bacterial cream, even an inhaler. Who’d have thought?

“Hold this, please,” he murmured, placing the bad in my hands. I watched as he pulled out an alcohol swab, ripping the little pack open and holding it between his teeth. He gave a warning that sounded like, “This may hurt a little,” and then proceeded to wipe the congealed blood off my cut. Needless to say, Zach was right. I bit my lip, trying to ignore the fiery pain.

When he had finished that, he put the bloodied swab back into its broken container, and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“I can throw that away for you,” I offered.

Zach gave another half-smile. “It’s fine. I’ll do it later.” He took anti-bacterial cream and spread it on a cotton ball. It felt a lot better on my cut than the alcohol had.

“So, how do you and Bubba know each other?” I asked as he dug through the blue bag.

“We played football together for a while, last year,” he answered simply.

“Well, why doesn’t he like you?”

He raised his eyes from the bag. “The million dollar question, Charlie… Ah!” He pulled a band-aid half the size of my hand out of the bag. He quickly paced it and took the bag from me.

“There, looks like you’ll live after all.” He gave another little half-smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Charlie.”

“Bye,” I called after him as he jumped of the porch and disappeared into the darkness.

When I was safely back inside the house, Bubba swelled up his chest and prepared to lecture me.

I shook my head. “Before you even start, shut up. It’s past one in the morning and we’re both tired. This can wait.”

“No,” he snapped, “It really can’t. Why did you have his stuff?”

I leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “He ran into us while we were in town today.”

His eyes widened, and a vein was already visible on his neck. “Graham, Luke, and Cleigh know about this?”

I nodded, and he pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket. He practically beat Graham’s number into the phone.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME!?” he bellowed into the receiver. There were a few seconds of silence on the other end, and I could picture Graham burying his head under his pillow.

“I am not going to calm down! The whole reason I made you look after Charlie was to keep her away from Harper and his gang of freaks!”

Well, this was news to me. I wondered what on earth Graham would be saying on the other end of that phone to placate Bubba. Whatever he was trying, it wasn’t working. Bubba continued to rage, his muscles tensed and clearly visible. I pictured Graham half-asleep and helpless on the other end of the line, and I felt bad. I took Bubba into my own hands.

“Excuse me, Bubba,” I interrupted, “What do you mean: you mean you made them look after me? You told me they were just showing me around!”

He froze, trapped in his own words. “Charlie…it was for a good cause!” he whined, and I felt like we were five years old, and he’d broken one of my toys and was trying to explain.

“Bubba, I’m sixteen! Just like you! I don’t need your lackeys trailing after me all day!”

“You’re not sixteen yet! And I’m almost seventeen! Besides it’s not like my lackeys did their job anyway!”

An irritated buzz came from Bubba’s cell phone. He lifted it to his ear. “What? …Oh, sorry.”

I blinked. “What did Graham say?”

Bubba put his hand over the receiver. “He said he resents being called my lackey.”

“Oh…tell him I’m sorry, too.”

“Charlie said sorry, too…Okay…Sorry for waking you up…We’ll talk about it later…Alright, by.” He swung the phone shut, and we watched each other for a moment. At the same moment, our unsure expressions turned to sheepish smiles.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Bubba, but it’s late. Let’s go to sleep.”

He shrugged. “Don’t think my lackeys won’t be watching you, but you’re right. G’night, Charlie.”

“Night, Bubba.”

He took a blanket out of the hall closet, and went to his room. I lay down on the couch, and quickly fell asleep.