"The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart."

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

I woke up in Greece with the left side of my face numb.

It took my brain a few minutes to process I was most definitely not in Greece but staring at my laptop's screensaver of the ancient country. Pushing my chair from the desk, I started to straighten and let out a yelp when a sharp pain shot down my back. I touched at my face, then looked down to my keyboard where a small pool of drool had formed on the trackpad. I extended my hand to shut the computer, rubbing my other against my cheek until feeling returned.

"Cami!" Mom's distant voice rang from somewhere in the house. "Come on! If I have to come up there and wake you again, I'm leaving you here!"

Confused, I blinked a few times and slowly turned around. Within milliseconds I was on the floor beside my computer chair and crab walking to the security of under my desk.

The room, my bedroom, looked as if it'd been completely remodeled overnight. Sure, I still sleep-walked every once and a while, but that usually resulted in waking up with melted chocolate between my boobs and all over my sheets-not an entire makeover of my room.

The disheveled mess that was my twin was now a perfectly made Queen sized bed, with sheer pink curtains hanging from the bedposts extending toward the ceiling. It was a bed right out of a fantasy novel-and I was in love with it. My white sheets had been replaced with a pale pink to match the curtains, and my pillows were all ruffly, glittery-and absolutely everything my mother hated and refused to buy me the last ten years.

"What the hell?" I breathed, finally coming out from my hiding spot and grasping the edge of my computer desk to keep my knees from buckling beneath me.

The more I looked around the room-the less it looked like mine.

In the far corner, to the left of my bed and adjacent to the window looking out over our vegetable garden, was a towering mahogany bookcase with hundreds of books lining its shelves. Where my old, chipped dresser had been opposite of my bed and to my back, was a beautiful white vanity with makeup and school supplies a mess across the top.

"Cami!" Mom repeated, her voice much closer this time. "I told you—good God, Cameron, what happened to your face?"

I lifted my head and turned to my bedroom door as it creaked, and my mother stepped into view. All coherent thoughts vacated the moment my eyes fell on her.

The only resemblance the woman in my doorway bore to my mother was her dark green eyes. Gone were her long, thick chestnut waves, in its place bottled dyed blonde hair that aged her at least ten years and washed her out about as much as the red lipstick on her lips did. She wore twice the amount of makeup my best friend did-and Xan woke up at four every morning to ensure she had enough time to apply it all. Even Mom's appearance was different, much less professional, and much more free spirit. She was wearing a shirt that could have passed for one of my crop tops and a pair of skinny jeans that I was pretty sure had come from my closet.

"It's seven, Cami." Mom, oblivious to my staring, touched a hand to my forearm. "Unless you want to be late, you better get yourself dressed and out the door in ten minutes."

"Late?" I finally mumbled. "Late for what?"

She eyed me in concern. "School? You know, the educational institution you inhabit for seven hours, five days a week?"

"It's Saturday."

"It's Monday." Mom leaned forward and rested the back of her hand against my forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

There was no way in hell I slept for two days straight-or managed to not be stirred awake in the middle of my bedroom remodel.

"Come on." Mom clapped her hands. "Cami, we don't have all morning."

I nodded slowly, tempted to ask about her sudden change of wardrobe and hair, but decided to leave it be and turned my back to her. She muttered incoherently under her breath as I opened my closet and threw my hands over my chest in shock.

My entire closet was full of designer clothes and shoes.

I pulled a Skims bodysuit from a hanger and a pair of jeans to accompany it. I waited until I'd slipped into my clothes-clothes I had no memory of purchasing but fit perfectly-to start digging through shoes. I eventually decided to not risk my luck with heels and slipped into a pair of pink and white Jordans Antonio would have an aneurysm seeing being worn.

Once I'd stuffed all my school supplies into my backpack, I leaned down to scoop a jacket from the floor, but stopped midway when I caught sight of myself in the mirror of my vanity.

I dropped my backpack in horror and fell back a few steps, tripping over my own foot and hitting the ground hard, all in the matter of a minute.

Like my mother, my auburn hair had been dyed-only I'd went the opposite end of the spectrum, and it was a raven black, falling in thick waves longer passed my shoulders and down to the middle of my back. My hand shot up to my eyebrows the moment my eyes found them in the mirror, perfectly threated and waxed eyebrows that were far from the bushes I had to tend to two times a week.

"Cami!"

I scurried back across the floor to grab the jacket and backpack before throwing myself out the open door. I made a stop to brush my teeth, then ran down the hall, only stopping when I ran into a hard chest, and it sent me flying back like I was a character in a video game.

Once I'd regained my train of thought, I tilted my head back to get a good look at who I'd run into. The man was a beast-a very familiar one at that. Even five years and a bald head later, Coach Reynolds hadn't changed a bit. He still stood in front of me with his giant arms crossed over his broad chest, his cheeks as red and blotchy as his glistening head, and those beady little brown eyes narrowed at me between his feet.

"Honey," Mom entered the room from the kitchen, touching her hand flirtatiously to his shoulder. "do you think you can load the dishwasher while I drop Cami off?"

I shot back to my feet and looked between the two of them. "First of all, eww. Second, where the hell is Dad?"

My eyes finally drifted from the man and my mother and took in the living room.

A once, cozy modern styled living room had been infiltrated with the New England Patriots. Where our gray couch and loveseat had been now sat a leather recliner and matching sofa with Patriot pillows tucked in the nooks and crannies, a throw to accompany them had been tossed over the back of the recliner and appeared to have seen better days.

Our once nice, Persian rug under our glass coffee table had been replaced with an NFL rug and an ugly marble coffee table with a stack of Sports Illustrated dead center.

The room reeked of Alpha Male.

"Are you okay?" Mom asked, looking about as concerned as she had the first time she asked it in my bedroom. "Cami, honey, your father is on his way back from his trip to Bali with Haven."

I wasn't sure what was more shocking-the fact that my father was in Bali, or that he was there with another woman.

"Why. . . why isn't he here?" I sputtered over my words, then jerked my chin toward Coach Reynolds, "And why is he?"

Why the hell did my living room look like this? Why was my hair black? Why was mom looking as though she'd walked straight out of a magazine article on mid-life crisis?

"We need to go." Mom said shortly, though the concern still lingering in her eyes as she grabbed her keys from a small table beside the coat rack in the corner of the room. I about threw up when she planted a kiss on my middle school gym teacher's mouth and all but catapulted myself out the door and rubbed at my eyes as if it would erase the scene from memory.

I made it about halfway down my driveway before the sound of a revving engine echoed through our silent neighborhood. My head whipped across the street to the Reed's house but was surprised to find Carson with half his body inside a sleek, black Mercedes. The other half of his body, his legs, and feet, were planted on the ground, and after a second, he poked his head back out and straightened so all six-foot-two of him was back in the open.

A surge of relief washed over me at his appearance. He looked the same; and upon seeing me in my own driveway, his expression twisted in disgust, and he dipped his head back into his car to avoid having to look at me any longer.

It filled me with an overwhelming amount of happiness.

The only thing that felt wrong was that the Mercedes had magically appeared over the past two days.

"I still don't understand why you don't talk to him." Mom commented once I'd joined her in her Nissan. She pulled her visor down to check herself in the mirror as she continued, "You two act like you can't stand each other, but that's not the truth. Not really."

"What do you mean?"

She laughed quietly and turned the key in the ignition. "I mean that you spend more time fighting with that boy than you do your own friends. I bet you know more about him then you do them."

I opened my mouth to deflect the comment but found the words falling dry on the tip of my tongue. Because she was right. I loved Xan and Tony with all my heart, but most days I spent with them, I was dragging my lip and complaining about my anger and irritation with Carson.

In my defense, it wasn't fair. It wasn't right that the idiot could miss days of school and still end up with As and Bs in every class while I struggled in a few being punctual, studying, and asking for help any time I needed it. It wasn't fair that he was able to walk his happy ass through school and be loved and adored by everyone-not a single person outside of me had an issue with the imbecile and it drove me nuts. It was like nobody else could see the arrogant, selfish jerk he was and always had been they all saw him through rose colored glasses and refused to take them off.

"How's Lila doing?" I asked, touching a hand over my chest at the very thought of my Volkswagen Beetle being stuck in a mechanic's car garage for two weeks.

Mom's dyed right brow quirked, "Who's Lila?"

I stared at her for a few minutes, appalled, hoping that she was joking.

"Is she a friend?" Mom asked when I didn't say anything.

"No, Mom." I shook my head. "My car? My baby?"

Mom cocked her head to the side a fraction as she slowed the car at a red light. "Honey, you don't have a car yet. It's why you've been working at the Reed's shop. So you could save and buy one before you leave for college this summer."

I swear I heard my heart breaking through the ringing in my ears. "What?"

"Sweetheart, do you want me to drive you to your doctor? Or maybe call your Dad? Are you concussed?"

Am I concussed? I was the only one acting normal! From the second I'd opened my eyes in my room everything felt as though it'd shifted straight into a movie-and I'd been left out of the script.

"Cami?" Mom extended a hand and squeezed my index and middle finger. "I know the divorce has been hard on you. I thought you were handling it well considering, but maybe we need to sit down as a family and talk about this."

Well, yeah. Because last night my parents had been blubbering messes as they hugged and kissed one another as they had reminiscence in their high school days. Today, I'd watched my mother kiss my old P.E teacher without a second thought and my father was in another country.

"Oh, look, there's Beckham." Mom exclaimed, then honked the horn.

Horrified, I threw both hands against my cheeks and started to slide down in my seat. "Mom! Stop!"

She tore her eyes from my window as she put the car in park along the curb. "What? Why are you hiding?"

"Are you trying to embarrass me?"

Not that she'd have to try too hard. After Friday night, I was sure this wouldn't even brush the tip of the iceberg of self-loathing I would have for myself by the end of the day.

"Sweetheart, Beckham was at the house last night." she laughed quietly, but I could see the worry starting to darken her eyes. "I'm sure after three years, he's grown used to my showering of love for the both of you."

What?

Before I could question my mother's words, the passenger door was opened, and I nearly toppled out of my seat and on to the ground. My only saving grace was my seatbelt locking against my chest and preventing me from eating Beckham Young's sneakers.

"Hey, Cheyanne!" Beckham's breathy voice filled the car as he rested one of his arms on the hood and leaned down to poke his head in. "How are you doing this morning?"

Oh My God, why was Beckham Young on a first name basis with my mom?

"I'm great, honey." Mom answered with a smile, then returned her attention to me. "She's been a bit out of it today, though. I think she was up too late studying last night."

I wanted to sink into a giant hole in the ground. I think I held my breath as Beckham leaned across me, his toned chest flush against me as he unbuckled my seat belt. He was so close that I could smell the oceany scent lingering on his black v neck. As he pulled back, he paused and caressed my right cheek with his thumb. "You okay?"

Absolutely, one hundred percent, not okay over here.

A loud horn behind us shook me out of my paralysis and in a zombie like state, I allowed Beckham to help from the car and he shut the door with a salute to my mother. She laughed and sped out of the parking lot without another word, leaving me leaning into the Varsity Quarterback.

"Babe, breathe." Beckham brushed his thumb along my bottom lip as I stared into his bottomless brown eyes, currently amber in the direct sun. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Babe?

"I. . . is this a prank?" I glanced around us, a few girls from the cheer squad waving at me from their perch in front of the doors of the school. "Did Carson put you up to this?"

"Reed?" Beckham asked confusedly. "Man, I haven't talked to that dude since fifth grade."

As if on cue, the revving of an engine cut through our conversation and both of us looked to Carson climbing out of the black Mercedes.

He threw his backpack over his left shoulder and headed straight for us. Given what happened last night, I wanted to say something, anything, in hopes it'd prevent him from embarrassing me further, but his words had my brain lagging.

"Oh hey, there's a person under there." he commented, slowing to a stop beside Beckham.

"Bro, shut up." Beckham rolled his eyes as if this were a daily occurrence. Which, it was, but he wasn't and wouldn't know that.

Carson snickered as he eyed me, "What? Did Daddy forget to buy you makeup?"

"What?" I snapped. "What the hell crawled up your ass?"

Carson shrugged, "It's weird. Seeing you without that mask on. Kind of giving troll today with that hair though."

I lurched forward but Beckham's hand found my chest and he gently nudged me back and straightened so he was eye to eye with Carson. "I told you to cool it, man."

"Whatever." Carson fell back a step, but his eyes found mine again. "See you in English."

As much as I wanted to chase Carson down and beat him upside the head with my backpack, I couldn't deny that it was relief hearing the way he talked to me. I was relieved to hear we still had English 12 together. Whatever strange dream this was had at least left that alone.

"Come on, we should get inside before the bell rings." Beckham circled his arm around my waist and hugged me against his side. I waited until we'd stepped through the front doors to approach my locker, nearly sobbing when I found Xan leaning into her own.

"Xan!" I breathed in relief, grabbing her elbow. "This morning has been—"

She shoved my hand off with a scowl. "Get your hands off me."

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes and closed the distance between us, the tension in the air rising with every word she spat. "I thought I taught you your lesson years ago, Ford. Stay the fuck away from me."

I staggered back-right into Beckham's expectant arms as my best friend eyed the two of us in irritation and took off down the hallway. I could hear Beckham trying to reassure me of something, but soon his voice was tuned out and time had seemingly frozen in that hallway, Alexandra moving in slow-mo as she rounded the corner to the next hallway-as far away from me as she could get.

I pressed my forehead into the locker, pinched my arm, and cried out a little in pain when I felt it. Somehow, even with all that happened last night, this was worse. A nightmare I needed to figure out how to wake myself up from. Even if it meant changing my name and moving to another country to prevent the lift-altering embarrassing mess that Friday night had been.