*Sydney Roswell's POV* --- "What happened to your face, Syd?" Kevin Ramirez, my only gay cousin who is sitting on the driver's seat and waiting for us to arrive, asked with his raised eyebrow in curiosity, and I didn't bother to answer him as I go halfway around his car to sit shotgun. "Don't ask her, Kev. She's not in the mood." Answered Vidia Logan, the academy's women's swimming team captain and my best friend since diapers, and she went inside the backseat with Emma York, my very nice neighbor. "When was she in her mood before? Well, anyway, I will just ask her face. Hey, face, what happened to Sydney?" Kevin muttered, but I heard it clearly, and he asked while examining my rosy left cheek that definitely still has the handprint of the meanest person in the universe. The gorgeous goddess, Olivia Jillian Hunters. I just don't know about her claim that I have stolen her boyfriend from her behind her back. I mean, da

*Sydney Roswell's POV* --- I received another text message from my best friend after she had called two times, but I didn't pick it up, and I opened it. I just don't want to talk or have any type of conversation with her right now. Not that I am mad at her for wishing my greatest foe to have a worse condition, but I don't want to hear anything that she will say about OJ. I'm not ready. I let out a sigh of relief when I read what she sent me, "Sydney, it's not purely about OJ, alright? I have no other news about her for now. It's about you. Mostly. And it's so damn important." Well, for me, nothing is more important than OJ being okay. When Vidia redialed my number, I rejected it and turned off my phone. There. Some peace.

*Sydney Roswell's POV* --- I run my left fingers on the rough surface of the canvas of the painting that I have been working on since last week. It's something that I cannot finish in a short period because of the number of details that I want to put on it, and I have to go to school and do some other things. I always find time to paint every time I feel sad and happy. But right now, I am miserable. I might as well work on this one. A small sigh escaped my mouth as I thought of the girl on the incomplete painting I was facing. It was still her face that I have finished, and I have a perfect idea of what kind of dress I will supply the missing picture. It's going to look perfect as she has always been. After sketching some details that would be my guide, I poured a few red, black,

*Sydney Roswell's POV* --- "Eeeeep! Sydney, Sydney, Sindeeeey!" Emma screeched in enthusiasm as she finally went out of the classroom after talking to Ms. Valerian, our lovely History teacher, about the assignment for next week. And I have been waiting for her right at the side of the hallway near our classroom. "Why so excited, Ems? Bad news?" I asked her, expecting that she got some good news to tell, and she gripped my left arm tightly with both her hands as we began walking. She excitedly answered, "Well, since OJ can't make it for that class activity, Ms. Val will just give her a special work if ever she will finally be back, while meeeee--- I will work with you!" My eyebrows met, puzzled by her news, and I asked her in curiosit

*Olivia Jillian Hunters' POV* --- A month and three days??? That damn long? Wow! Now, I wonder where the heck on Earth my body is? Which room? I need to find it badly. I want to wake up now. But what if... No. I do not believe that I am... D-dead. No. There's no effing way. I couldn't. Right? Fuck. I anxiously sat on the couch to think of the first thing that I will do now that I found out that I was unconscious for a couple of weeks and could possibly be gone from the world of the living. But, no, I am hella sure that I am not dead. I should think optimistically. Then I wondered as to why I could sit on the couch, but I couldn't touch anything? And I just noticed that I am not even sitting. I am damn floating a few inches above it.