Click.

“Lucky there’s a man who positively can do all the things that make us laugh and–”

Click.

“Snow has fallen in Baghdad, Iraq, for the first time in a hundred y–”

Click.

Bea sighed, her remote refusing to locate anything that interested her on the television. Where was Lifetime when you needed it after a big math test? Oh, right, showing some movie that she had seen ten times and that made her tear ducts kick into overdrive. She really didn’t need puffy eyes when showing up to school tomorrow. Especially not since Ben Cato still attended her school (she crossed her fingers and wished that he always would) and walked by her lunch table every day.

She groaned, deciding to give up the search for the perfect thing to watch and to instead head to her room. But first she would have to clean up the living room mess she had made, since her mother tended to complain if she left her sneakers near the coffee table. (And empty yogurt containers, water bottles, Doritos, lip gloss, etcetera.)

The television news reporter was still rambling on about how some track and field athlete had been sentenced to prison for six months as the television was clicked into pitch black silence. After depositing her trash into the kitchen garbage can, the brunette sleepily padded down the dark hallway to the bathroom.

“Ouch!” she hissed as her foot collided with the closed bathroom door. She hated walking down the hallway after all the lights in the house had been turned off. (Except for her desk lamp that she could see through the smartly open door to her bedroom.) With a grunt, Bea fumbled for the doorknob before entering the bathroom.

Okay, so, yes, she might have been a little hasty with her ‘thorough’ brushing of her teeth, but did it really matter? After the bright television set had been clicked off and the analog glow had subsided, she had realized just how tired she was. Not doing a fantastic job brushing her teeth wouldn’t hurt her… so as she fell into her sheets, she made a mental promise to brush them extra well in the morning. No, wait, she was already going to brush them extra well for her audition…

... maybe I should go brush them… again…

… no, I’ll just brush after lunch at school… with that travel tooth…brush…

Bea sighed, curling into her pillow as she ordered her mind to shut up about something as trivial as her teeth. You couldn’t even see teeth from the audience. Could you?

Could you?!

“Rargh,” she sleepily groaned as she reluctantly sat up from her bed. She wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep until she brushed her teeth. As stupid as it was, five minutes later she returned to her slightly-warm bed without any traces of fuzziness on her teeth or Dorito chips in her molars.

Sleep, Beatrice, she told herself, pressing her pillow over her face. You’re not nervous. You’re a great actress. You’ll do fine. You’ll do fine. The pillow was removed from her face to be tucked behind her head instead. You’ll do fine. Fine… great… fantastic…

“Miss Whaley!”

Bea jerked awake, certain she had fallen asleep in class and one of her teachers was yelling at her. But when she opened her eyes… she wasn’t even in class. She wasn’t even in school! Unless… somehow her school had transformed into a wooden, rocking… ship? She guessed it had to be a ship… since it was moving like that.

What on earth was she doing on a ship? Was this some sort of prank? Had those chips been past their expiration date and now she was having some sort of trippy, Doritos-induced hallucination?

“Beatrice! Look at me! Are you alright?”

Huh. None of her teachers would ever ask her if she was alright. Maybe in a mocking way, like the time her driver’s education teacher had snarkily asked when her lead food condition had blossomed.

No, wait, that wasn’t a teacher. Because this wasn’t school, she reminded herself. “What?” she asked, her vision slightly blurry. But the more she blinked, the clearer the image before her became.

“Are – you – alright?” The voice was urgent, worried, and… God, she felt pathetic thinking it, but it sounded almost… rugged. Like testosterone was pouring out of every syllable.

“Uhm,” she said, finally focusing on the face before her. All of her thoughts about her being in some school prank were promptly launched out of the window. This… this face would never be seen at her school. He could have been a teacher, maybe, a really young one. Not a student, unless he had been held back… but by the intelligent, intent look in his eyes, he wasn’t likely to be held back in anything. Except, maybe, like, a ‘How to be Unattractive’ class. “Yes, um, I’m alright. How about you? How’re you? What’re you up to these days?”

He looked utterly bewildered. “I’m – are you sure you’re okay?” he asked her urgently, his hands slowly latching onto her body as if he wanted to be sure that she was really there. Haha, like this hot guy was the one having the hallucination and not her.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, her palms traveling to his shoulders. Whoa. Shoulders. She could practically feel the muscles – “I’m fine. I promise.”

Was it her imagination, or did his eyes look teary as he pulled her towards him? She couldn’t say she was really paying too much attention to whether or not he was about to cry, since his warm arm that was curling around her back was demanding her attention.

“I was so worried,” he whispered to her, pulling her closer. He seemed to be in need of comforting – and, since Beatrice was the only girl around (or human around, actually, since in every direction was some kind of wood) she took it upon herself to do that awful task.

“I’m here,” she murmured, her index finger moving to brush across his lips. “Why would you be worried about me?”

The man looked torn, like he couldn’t decide between answering her and doing something else… and half a second later, Beatrice guessed he decided to do the latter because he certainly wasn’t answering her!

Her finger was knocked aside rather impatiently as his hands moved to gently grasp her face between his palms. And… dear God, he was kissing her. Not a kiss like family gave (Gross, gross, gross, Beatrice, quit thinking about your family… now!) but a real kiss. She felt it all the way to her toes… and was pretty sure her brain function ceased for a moment.

When they finally pulled away, he was quiet for a moment. “Beatrice…” he began, wanting to answer her question... if not somewhat belatedly. “I thought you were dead.”

She jerked awake again – only this time, she was in her own bed again. Pulling herself up, with her covers clenched in her fists (she swore those covers had been the fabric of his clothes a moment ago), she uttered a single word.

“Whoa.”