My nerves are in a jumble as I enter school the next morning.

It's not just that I'm stressing about the group project due in two days for chemistry, or that snippets from my conversations with my mom and Amber keep playing in my mind. No, I have bigger troubles at the moment, soon to be boy troubles.

Zoe, Priya, and Autumn march through the school's foyer, and somehow, the students milling about seem to part, providing them with a clear path to me. Maybe I shouldn't have told them yesterday that I've been matched with a blind date. Sneakers squeaking on the floor, I try to round the corner and join the flow of students down the hall.

If I can just make it to class...

"Madelyn!" Zoe squeals.

It's futile. I've already been spotted. I slow my pace as my three friends approach.

"So when is it?" Zoe gushes. "When's the big date?"

"It's not a big deal," I say, forcing a laugh.

"Of course it is! We want to help you get ready."

"Ooh, I can already picture the perfect outfit," Priya says. "How about that knit, matching sweater and skirt?"

"Or your wide-leg houndstooth pants, white tank, and black jacket?" Zoe chimes in.

"I think I'll skip the fashion show," Autumn says. "Just tell when it is. I have to keep you accountable."

"The app should do that for me," I murmur. After all, Autumn watched as I set the auto-generate feature to five dates.

"I'd rather not place all my faith in technology," Autumn quips.

"So when is it?" Zoe asks.

I shrug. "Haven't done too much with it yet." When I got home from the coffee shop yesterday, all I wanted to do was distract myself with homework and a TV show, not deal with incoming boy troubles.

"Well, let's see it."

The three girls crowd the space around me, surrounding me with the familiar scents of flowers and spices, with just a hint of paint from Zoe. When I turn on my phone, the same heart-shaped icon catches my eyes in my notification bar.

"Congratulations! You have a match."

"There's the grand announcement," Autumn states. "Hear, hear, everybody." She says it flatly, though her grin reveals how much she's enjoying this. But I'm not fully paying attention to her, or what one of the others says in response.

I thought I cleared all my notifications last night.

Brushing the thought aside, I click on it, unlock my phone, and watch as a red heart pulses on the screen. Below it are the words "SoulDate" and a loading bar that all too quickly gets to one-hundred percent. I glance at the time, asking myself why I had to be fifteen minutes early to school today.

"Maybe we should do this during lunch," I say. "I mean, we don't want to be late to—"

Priya gasps. "You already have a message."

"Open it! Open it!" Zoe chants.

I tap the red one in the upper right corner, pulling up my messages. It displays two chat bars, one that displays part of a message, the other that just says, "deleted." I click on the first one.

"So, how quickly do you want to get this over with?"

It was sent an hour ago. I angle my phone toward me, trying but failing to hide it from the others.

My reply is short and to the point: quickly.

"How about you meet today?" Zoe asks.

"Yes, meet today," Autumn agrees. "I've got band practice tomorrow and Friday night."

"How about after school today?" I type.

"But what about her outfit?" Priya says. "That's the whole fun of it."

"Not entirely..." Zoe wiggles her eyebrows, and I elbow her.

Priya surveys my black-and-white pinstripe shirt and blue jeans. "Then again, you look cute today. I'm sure it will be eye-catching." She winks.

I just roll my eyes. "Really, there's no reason to make a big deal over this."

The warning bell rings overhead, and I'm almost relieved that I have to say goodbye to them. I flop into my chair in first period, and as I make sure my phone is on silent, a new message has popped up. I glance over my shoulder, first at the guy absorbed in conversation beside to my left, then at Brooklyn quietly reading on my right. Neither seem to be looking, so I open SoulDate once more.

"I'm free tomorrow. Meet me on the auditorium stage at five p.m."

***

My eyes stray to the analogue clock on the library wall, then I double-tap my phone screen. It brightens with the numbers four forty-nine. I rest my chin in my palms, trying to return my attention to my textbook.

It's pointless. The many chapters I must get through for history class must wait until tonight, after the big date.

It's not a big deal, I remind myself. And yet, I still feel nervous, even though all this is on account of a dare.

Just get it over with.

I haven't really had time to sort through the complex emotions flailing inside me surrounding the dating app. Every spare moment that isn't dedicated to homework gets spent wondering about Mom's email, the mysterious convention, and the fact that I've roped myself into going to it. Am I ready for such a step? Perhaps Mom's right. Maybe I shouldn't concern myself with such things and just be a teen, do what teens do.

What do normal teens do? I guess they go to school, go out with friends, go on dates... which is where I should be right now. I tap my screen again, and this time, it's four fifty-three. At long last, it's time to head to the auditorium, to meet whoever this app has deemed right for me.

Perhaps this will be a good distraction. I might even have fun.

I scoff at the idea, though a smile does tug at my lips. Either this will be laughably awkward or cryably awkward.

The heavy library door loudly clicks into place as I leave. My sneakers squish on the floor, the sound magnified by the silence. Students were dismissed an hour and a half ago and have long since cleared from the halls and classrooms. So now, I stroll through halls that seem so much larger than usual, so much quieter, too. A jittery feeling swirls in my gut, and I can't quite tell if I'm excited or nervous.

I guess I'll find it t-minus five minutes.

A stairwell opens at the end of the hall, curving down to the school's foyer. The arching ceiling casts bright, white light onto the shiny, newly cleaned floors. It feels too artificial for the end of a school day, far more sterile than when students are milling about. It has a performative quality, like how the academy is staged when potential students tour the grounds. The churning in my gut spikes, but I try to focus on walking down, down, down.

As I cross the foyer, headed for the auditorium, I wonder if the massive double doors are even open. I wonder if this whole thing is also a setup.

This is a setup, I remind myself. Only the setup is for a blind date.

My hand finds the cold metal handle, and when I turn it, the left door creaks open to an amphitheater lit only by the lights closest to the stage. Cold air blasts as I enter, sending goosebumps up my arms. I wish now I had my jacket on, instead of stuffing it inside my backpack.

A tingling, warmth creeps over my skin. It isn't fear or more goosebumps. It feels like life, energy — another person's presence. My heart pounds in my throat, but I force myself to take one step after another inside.

"Hello?" I call out. "I'm here."

There's no response, unless my voice's reverberation is counted.

I'm here. Here. Here.

I glance around the empty seats. This seems like a terrible idea now. I should've begged someone to join me, even though Zoe is working on a big art project, Priya has cheer practice, and Autumn is beat boxing. With a jolt, I realize just how alone I really am.

You can do this. Everything is fine.

I force myself to start down the aisle, to approach the stage. Weirdly enough, the warmth that I just felt seems to fade into darkness. A chill runs down my spine.

Is that my date who's disappearing? Or is it someone else?

As I step down the aisle, my view of the stage curves, and from the sharpening angle, I can see into the stage's wings. So far, I still don't see anyone in view. I glance at my phone. It's already four minutes past five, and the warm feeling of life is completely gone.

Did my date slip out? What happened?

I'm about to turn around, to leave the eerie theater, when I glimpse something in the wings.

My legs freeze. All my muscles turn to stone.

I can't quite process what I'm seeing. I've never seen anything quite similar, nor do I recall anything so awful. So I just stand there blinking for several seconds until my brain catches up, until comprehension dawns.

There's something dangling from the stage.

No. There's someone dangling from the stage.

A boy swings back and forth, his khakis and sneakers high above the ground. Thick, tan rope constricts his narrow neck, and his face is pale, though the dim lights cast a yellowish glow on his skin.

He is very much dead.