It wasn’t him.I sat there, waiting for what felt like forever.But he never came.The bell rang, and the cafeteria emptied out. Still, I sat there waiting.Maybe he didn’t care after all?*My heart broke as the final bell of the school day rang, and I stood before my assigned locker. I looked down at the combination printed on the piece of paper in my hand, turned the knob and pulled.The inside door was lined with graffiti. Otherwise, it was completely bare. Depressing. I thought of all my other schools, of how I would rush to find my locker, to open it, to memorize the combination, and to line the door with pictures of boys from magazines. It was my way of making myself at home.But somewhere along the line, a few schools ago, I stopped trying.I closed the door with a bang.“Caitlin?”I jumped. Standing there, a foot away, was Jonah.He wore large sunglasses. I could see that the skin beneath them was swollen.I was shocked to see him standing there. And thrille

I was on cloud nine as I walked home from school, clutching my journal. I hadn’t been this happy in I didn’t know when. Jonah’s words replayed in my head.“There’s this concert tonight. At Carnegie Hall. I’ve got two free tickets. They’re the worst seats in the house, but the vocalist is supposed to be amazing.”“Are you asking me out?” I’d said, smiling.He’d smiled back.“If you don’t mind going with this lump of bruises,” he’d said, smiling back. “After all, it is Friday night.”I practically skipped home, unable to contain my excitement. I didn’t know anything about classical music—I’d never even really listened to it before—but I didn’t care. I’d go anywhere with him.Carnegie Hall. He said the dress was fancy. What would I wear? I checked my watch. I wouldn’t have much time to change if I was going to meet him at that café before the concert. I doubled my pace.Before I knew it, I was home, and even the dreariness of my building didn’t bring me down. I bounded up the five

Please be there, Jonah. Please don’t go. Please.I exited at Columbus Circle and walked at a brisk pace. I checked my watch again. I was 20 minutes late. I swallowed.As I walked, just a few blocks away, I suddenly felt a pang in my stomach. I stopped, taken aback by the intense pain.I bent over, clutching my stomach, unable to move. I’d never experienced anything like this before. I struggled to catch my breath.People passed quickly by on either side, but no one stopped to check if I was OK.After about a minute, I finally, slowly, stood back up. The pain began to subside.I began walking again, heading in the direction of the café. But I now felt completely disoriented. And something else….Hunger. It wasn’t a normal hunger, but a deep, unquenchable thirst. As a woman walked past me, walking her dog, I noticed myself turning and staring at the animal. I found myself craning my neck and watching the animal as it walked past, and staring at its neck.To my surprise, I could see

“Of course not,” I said. “You brought me here. That’s all that matters. This is awesome.” Jonah and I were directed by another usher into a small door, which opened up right into the concert hall. We were up high, maybe 50 feet, and in our small box area there were only 10 or 15 seats. Our seats were right on the edge of the balcony, flush against the railing.Jonah opened the thick, plush chair for me, and I looked down at the massive crowd and at all of the performers. It was the classiest place I had ever been. I looked out at the sea of gray hair, and I felt 50 years too young to be here. But thrilled all the same.Jonah sat, and our elbows touched, and I felt a thrill at the warmth of his body beside me. As we settled in and sat there, waiting, I wanted to reach over and take his hand, and hold it in mine. But I didn’t want to risk being too bold. So I sat there, hoping that he would reach over and take mine. He didn’t make any move. It was early. And maybe he was shy.Instea

{DETECTIVE GRANT’S POV}“Detective Grant! There are reports that Sergei was killed by a wild animal. Is that true?”New York Homicide detective Grace O’Reilly opened the doors to Carnegie Hall and knew right away that it was going to be bad. Reporters were 10 deep, and unusually aggressive.“Detective!”They screamed for her repeatedly as she entered, the room filling with flashes.At 40, muscular and hardened, with short black hair and matching eyes, Grace was tough, and used to pushing her way through. But this time, it was not easy. The reporters knew it was a huge story, and they weren’t going to give. This was going to make life much harder.A young, international star murdered at the height of his fame and power. Right in the middle of Carnegie Hall and right in the middle of his American debut.And now this. Murdered. In the middle of his goddamn performance. Right in the hall where he sang just minutes before. Several reporters shoved microphones into her face.“W