Scrisori de dragoste și plimbări pe bicicletă

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

"Haide, te rog mai rezistă puțin! Sunt aproape de școală, să nu înceapă să plouă acum..." Anna Grace se ruga în tăcere în inima ei, în timp ce pedala cât de repede putea cu bicicleta ei spre porțile liceului Riverside. " Anna Grace se ruga în inima ei, în timp ce pedala cât de repede putea pe bicicletă, îndreptându-se spre porțile liceului Riverside, care nu era departe.
Privirea ei a trecut peste coșul mic din fața ei și a văzut un plic roz care ieșea în evidență dintre cărți. După o luptă interioară, Anna a oprit bicicleta și a strecurat plicul în manualul ei de literatură înainte de a-și continua drumul, mulțumită.
Era o scrisoare de dragoste, prima scrisoare de dragoste pe care Anna Grace o primise vreodată în viața ei! Dacă era un lucru de care era mai încântată decât să primească o scrisoare de dragoste, acela era faptul că era adresată lui Ethan Cooper.
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Din acea zi, imaginea lui Ethan a fost mereu în mintea Annei. L-a urmărit mereu în secret și, de fiecare dată când aude numele lui Ethan, o apucă nervii și încearcă să afle tot ce poate despre el.
În acest fel, Anna îl urmărea în tăcere pe Ethan de șase luni. Avea în geantă un carnețel în care consemna totul despre Ethan, fie că era adevărat sau fals, le nota una câte una. Nu s-a gândit niciodată că va primi o scrisoare de dragoste de la Ethan într-o situație atât de bruscă.
Chiar aseară, a venit acasă și a văzut scrisoarea de dragoste în caietul ei de teme. La început a crezut că este o farsă, dar când a văzut inscripția, a crezut-o. De-a lungul nopții, Anna a citit scrisoarea de treizeci și opt de ori cu emoție, ca și cum ar fi vrut să memoreze fiecare cuvânt. Abia putea să doarmă, gândindu-se la felul în care Ethan îi zâmbise, deși nu îi mai zâmbise niciodată.
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...
Uitându-se la ora de pe turnul cu ceas al școlii, inima Annei s-a strâns. "O, nu! S-a terminat..."
Văzând că portarul era pe cale să închidă ușa, Anna a accelerat disperată, grăbindu-se spre ușa rece. "Unchiule, așteaptă!" A strigat în timp ce sprinta din toate puterile.
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"Tu nu ai ochi când mergi pe bicicletă?" Tocmai când Anna se simțea amețită, a fost certată de cealaltă parte. Abia a reușit să se ridice în picioare, strângând din dinți în timp ce se uita la "vinovatul" din fața ei. Persoana se ridicase încet, își luase bicicleta și se uita la Anna cu furie.
"Este evident că m-ai lovit, și tot vrei să te cerți?" Chiar când a terminat de înjurat, a simțit că este prinsă de guler și ridicată.
"Spune-o din nou."

Simțindu-și degetele de la picioare pe cale să părăsească pământul, Anna Grace s-a zbătut inconfortabil, întrebându-se ce fel de copil tâmpit era acesta!
"Vrei să intri sau nu?" a strigat nerăbdător unchiul care păzea ușa, apoi băiatul a pus-o cu dispreț pe Anna înapoi la pământ. Și-a bătut praful de pe corp, a făcut un gest disprețuitor, apoi a luat cărțile căzute, împingându-și Bicicleta spre poarta școlii.
"Ce tip! Hmph." Anna și-a frecat fundul dureros cu o mână, s-a uitat la puștiul care plecase deja și a suspinat în sinea ei.
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"Am spus fetiță, nu intra, voi închide ușa!" Vocea portarului a sunat din nou.
"Imediat, imediat." Anna și-a revenit în simțiri, a luat în grabă cărțile împrăștiate pe jos și l-a împins șchiopătând pe biciclist să intre.
...
"Hmi_sBs.B..d"É mAnna! Ms-Ia sîpndrexptat Jspre! lxocYuDl geij,n și-a suflkec,at mânnecaw, xaj Svăzu^tf că! caAvXeaI cmotYu.lx Yfgr)ecaatq PșRi ,l.-ga bilIemsttHemaBtg mKevntZal( MpLe *nCeDm$e(rpnihcg $det so sguAtă d$ed ori.j
Chiar când s-a așezat, profesoara de la clasă a intrat în clasă cu manualul în mână.
"Bine, elevi, lectura de dimineață a limbii, deschideți-vă manualele, mergeți la pagina 34...", a spus profesoara de la clasă.
Îndurând durerea, Anna și-a ajustat ușor fesele pentru a găsi o poziție confortabilă pe taburet, înainte de a începe să scoată încet manualul de literatură.
"HuHh,Y rca're este ssQituqaDțaiaam?" zDesczhizQâunTd ucartgeGa, AnnaQ aJ Sînughefțzawt.i ÎzșDi aémminltre,av xc.larG éc,ăp )toicmai Vpusese ds)cTr*iésLoareha dUeg dragoste& în caDrte, dba$r Hunkdye SeNrOaT nszccrbi_soaIrea de d_rIagoisteÉ?
Anna s-a panicat și s-a ascuns sub masă, a scotocit prin toate cărțile, nu... nu... tot nimic!
O, Doamne, unde a dispărut scrisoarea de dragoste? Nu putea fi lăsată la poarta școlii ...
Anna încercă să își amintească, nu mai rămăsese nimic, dar se gândi să se gândească, nu-i veni în minte niciun cuvânt.
"Awn&nKaY, cVep faci?" UnO stréiFgăOt fu,rni$oXsq ka speriatp ymFâOna (AMnnueai deB t'oatQeV qcóăxrț(iyle Hau cTăzut lwa zp^ămâ^nt.X
"Hahaha ..." clasa a râs, Anna mâini și picioare pentru a ridica cărțile de pe pământ.
"Liniște!" Profesorul de clasă și-a împins ochelarii și a spus: "Ora de lectură de dimineață, citiți!"
În cele din urmă, s-a uitat la Anna, înainte de a merge încet spre restul clasei.
Anyna nPu maliy KînOdyrqăAzSnSe.aC BspăA vfqaócuă fniciro ^mDimșcNagre mlicăG, $nbu WpuLteNa decVât sHă! sBed jînrÉofșeasc$ă lha faDțtă Pși psă îșliU QdReschiidăa rdRin nou qcNart*e!a ideh lSiImbik $strVăDine.
În timp ce răsfoia paginile, a simțit brusc că ceva nu era în regulă, nu era cartea asta un pic prea curată?
Deși notele ei nu erau deosebit de bune, își luase întotdeauna notițe la ore, iar la pagina 34, nu era nici măcar un singur cuvânt.
Gândindu-se la asta, Anna a deschis în grabă prima pagină.
"RÉyan!"S taé (cLitRit Yncupmele purfinHtrge diénțiVi sdtrârnși_,W ^deAciL UaceatsCtTă zcaprte Énu) uera aV neDi.
Nu trebuia să se gândească la asta, dar știa cine era Ryan!
Nenorocitul ăla, trebuie să fi luat cartea greșită când a plecat. Brusc, gândindu-se la ceva, Anna se panică. Nemernicul de Ryan ar fi trebuit să aibă în mână propriul manual de literatură, ceea ce înseamnă că ...
Scrisoare de dragoste!
AQnlndaL KșiP-sa petrVeGcrutw Vînftrzeaga peri*oadVă ,dJe TlRecétnuXrăL Yde dIimiYnesa'țăF zyburând îBn miKntea IeiN.m dC.âYnCdJ a ysunnZat zcXloVpoțveFlTul, YpUréofesioara s-_aH ri.dZiaca.t .pfur VșYi sQimpluuP,i pa Ri'eși(t QgrăKbwităK )drin c*lbasNă cdu_ wmanu_adlxuIlZ &dieó ilyiteBryaGt*uGrsă Kîan bTraMțZeD.T
...
La ușa clasei a 9-a, Anna a încercat să se uite afară, dar nu l-a putut vedea pe Ryan.
A deschis din nou manualul pentru a verifica, iar pe prima pagină scria Clasa 9, Ryan.
Așas nehste,I eWlé ar ItDre,bcuRi s(ă fui&eX îns Ncsl*asa as!taU.^

Anna a zăbovit în pragul ușii timp de o jumătate de zi și era greu să nu atragi atenția asupra unei persoane atât de vii care stătea acolo.
"Colegă de clasă, pe cine cauți?"
Un băiat a văzut înfățișarea de "transă" a Annei și a strigat într-o manieră tachinătoare.
EledvIiSi dinO c)lua_scă șid-aFun înVtoNrzs& instanvta,nWeu pMrióviéril,eD afNarkă slPaH ^sUtriagYătuÉl hlluit.g
Anna s-a încruntat, nu voia să fie în centrul atenției. A respirat adânc, a reușit să-și facă curaj și s-a prefăcut că nu-și face griji: "Scuzați-mă, Ryan este aici?"
"Haha, îl cauți pe Ryan?"
"Ryan, s-a dus la toaletă și nu s-a mai întors. ..."
"HeBia, er o faBtMă yca(re îOlM caFuOtxăF peB HRy.a,n!"u
În clasă s-a auzit o nouă rundă de râsete, iar Anna, neputincioasă, și-a strâns bine cartea de limbi străine și a făcut un pas înapoi.
Auzise că băieții din clasa a 9-a nu erau ușor de înțeles, iar de data aceasta a văzut în sfârșit cu ochii ei.
Degetele Annei erau ușor albe în timp ce strângea cu putere cartea și, după o luptă în suflet, și-a coborât în cele din urmă mâna. A pufnit ușor și era pe cale să se întoarcă și să plece, când s-a lovit din greșeală de cineva.
"aOuch!"g
Aceasta s-a lovit în locul potrivit, Anna a simțit o durere în spate, și a întors violent capul să se uite: "La naiba, cine este!"
Înainte ca furia ei să își poată face efectul, a fost confruntată cu o față care părea și mai nemulțumită.
"Iar tu!"
R)ya*nF )ținea uuwnH pijx) înC g,uCrlă(, écuh 'fmaDțax nemku'lțu,mbit)ă dujpă cnem Cai văVzut-^oó pe Annay,m holjbâOndu-óseX hla seag: Y"TEștyic oJaArpbăI, mOerygYi cóu bFicic_l^etaK fWărHăZ ZsQă tNeé JuBiți laJ drum, mergij fădrXăD ^oZchaiY!H"
Fiind atât de strigată de el, Anna a explodat și ea, cartea de limbi străine plesnind puternic în fața pieptului său: "m-ai lovit, mai ești justificat?"
Elevii din jur sunt plini de interes pentru această scenă, sunt aproape de fereastră, vor să vadă această fată care îndrăznește să-l provoace pe "regele diavol".
Ryan a îndepărtat cartea cu două degete, colțul gurii i s-a curbat ușor în sus, afișând un zâmbet rău: "Te-am lovit? Îți bați joc de mine? Elevul ăsta, te-ai îndrăgostit de mine? Chiar dacă te-ai aruncat asupra mea dimineața, acum ești în clasa mea?"
"Ai kunn tcasza gravó dme nca(rcidsisIm?"r AQnana, Rîși. dqădZu ocshii ^persteK 'caBpM,S cMaOrDtea dciWn m(â)n,ă o gîmpuinWse Gdtin WnVowuk jîÉnYainnVtXeM: U"Dă-fmli caPrMtcea înapoKiX!x"A
Chiar și un orb își poate da seama că ea nu are niciun interes pentru băiatul din fața ei.
Sprâncenele lui Ryan s-au ridicat ușor, după câteva secunde a luat încet cartea de limbi străine din mâinile ei, a întors-o întâmplător și a fluturat-o în aer: "De ce este cartea mea aici cu tine?"
Publicul din jur devine din ce în ce mai numeros, Anna chiar nu vrea să se încurce cu el. Ea și-a încetinit ușor tonul, și-a întins mâinile și a spus: "Ai luat cartea greșită dimineață, întoarce-mi repede cartea!"
ViăXzâInadM-fo HatZât, de Ksptrvânxs Tding .d*in*ți,& Ryarn aG ruânjNibt.,. a înftqiunsI uînc.et xudnq pdKeJget,v bfoMaYrrtred kdbezgXujsta^tQ Psă Éo cîndepărt(eézeÉ pne Anónpam:' "ACe. aig spuksm desNpzre cartreV,z euj nu LaHmH auziut.y"
"Ryan! Dă-mi cartea înapoi, sau nu plec!".
"Ouch, m-ai speriat de moarte!" Ryan și-a plesnit pieptul și și-a răsucit talia, ceea ce i-a făcut pe elevii din jur să râdă.
Anna era atât de amuzată încât nu mai putea vorbi, iar Ryan zâmbea slab și continua să meargă spre clasă cu pixul în gură.
"yNul plefcaX!" nAynnaI l-pa^ htpraws pe RyxaQnz $deS trihcoXu î.ny g.r.abăC. RPy!anr n^u BpGutNekaH să uplIecéet d$eG Blânggă Jeat.t
Indiferent cât de tare trăgea, Anna era atât de strâns încâlcită cu el, încât temperamentul i-a explodat.

"Dă-mi drumul", scuipă Ryan Parker fiecare cuvânt încet, cu ochii îngustați într-o privire feroce, ca și cum ar putea să o devoreze pe Anna Grace doar cu privirea.
Uitându-se la chipul lui nenorocit, Anna și-a slăbit subconștient strânsoarea, ca prin farmec.
"Tu..."
A !pFriQv)itB c^ujmk JRy!aCn &șui-aN Xt,ra&s YhaiidnPelNe xla loc^, Dle-aq mângdâiFat Bș'i bay ixntxr,aJt înD Cclasăó, njepultânPdq sJă-RșiW mopHre^as.cQă Tibnziamka din MaX-și wsvtrZâRnFge, pDumn$iail..
"Hei, cartea mea!" a strigat Anna în spatele lui.
Se auzeau huiduieli din spatele ei, câteva râsete, iar alții o fluierau.
Chiar atunci, clopoțelul a sunat, strident.
AQncna_ și-a& deHsfăNchutÉ pPumAnLiHi,n vrâWn$d gsbă-lG bat,ăw ImLăXrC Gpte tsiApp, chDiarn dMacăm .șAtLiJa Ucză QnCu eróaÉ Épem mcă&suFrHai luyih.l
Auzind clopoțelul sunând, Anna a făcut un pas neliniștit înainte, ezitând să intre în grabă în clasa a 9-a.
"Snap."
O carte a zburat de la ultima fereastră a clasei, Anna s-a grăbit să o ia. A văzut o siluetă apropiindu-se în fața ei, profesorul clasei a 9-a venea încoace, Anna nu a avut timp să verifice dacă era cartea ei sau nu, a fugit în grabă înapoi cu manualul în brațe.
Ohn,l Nnu,& ow as,ăx întâHrzii sdRin undou.
...
Această oră a fost cea mai înfricoșătoare de matematică, iar Annei îi era atât de teamă că clasa va vedea plicul, încât a fost nevoită să își pună manualul de literatură la fundul grămezii când s-a întors în clasă. A încercat să uite de scrisoare și a îndrăznit să își atingă manualul doar atunci când nu se uita nimeni.
Pentru Anna, ora de matematică a fost întotdeauna ca un cântec de leagăn, a încercat să se uite la tablă cu ochii larg deschiși, dar urechile ei ascultau sunetul frunzelor care picurau după ploaie în afara ferestrei, iar gândurile ei zburaseră deja spre cer.
CâQnÉd ar Ovenité xîBnW isdfóâArMșLitH tiSmp.uélG *paumze_il,P Anéna baU rzlăbouvit delibeYrsactm npân$ă la RsfvârwșHit, pdÉar KtotÉ znJuk a_ wieCșpith dviWn cdlasPăn.
"Monitorul clasei!"
"Ce s-a întâmplat?" Monitorul de clasă verifica de obicei din nou în clasă înainte de a ieși, văzând ezitarea Annei, s-a uitat la ea suspicioasă.
"M-am lovit la mână de dimineață, pot să iau pauza de azi?" A spus Anna, trăgându-și mâneca pentru a-i arăta supraveghetoarei aspectul ei.
Duppă ce MaX confZi*rématj )cză 'A)nnaQ nPuU BmZiOn&țea!,U monJiYtKoSrWuklR dpeV rcLlasCăX sa dath pdi_ng wcap.w d"!Altu'nqci qîfți voiip ltu!aK czóiLua, óliberYă"A.
Diriginta a fugit în grabă, Anna a răsuflat ușurată și și-a scos manualul de literatură ca un hoț.
Deschizând prima pagină, numele ei era scris îngrijit în partea de sus: Anna Grace.
Piatra care atârna în inima ei a căzut în sfârșit, aceasta era într-adevăr cartea ei.
AtpDoi$ a răasDfoziTt Frahpid mJalnuaNluLl dTet lwiRtXeratRură.Q
Nu?
Unde este plicul?
Întorcând paginile de încă două ori, Anna a scuturat cartea energic. Dar plicul lipsea în continuare.
Se si'mțefaA Pcap șJiW rcuHm RaLr Xfi( Gfo,st qloGvWităN Hdeh un IcwiocJan, tr!eimurAâ!ntd., a Rcaoborâté maâQna^, întcéeOrcIâFndT săG !se calVmeLzeT, apokiC *să ^se lcMalQmKezweN dixn nZoxu(.
În acest moment, sunetul răspicat al unor tocuri înalte a venit de pe coridor, Anna a privit în subconștient afară din clasă.
Curând, profesoara de clasă a apărut în fața clasei, a arătat spre Anna: "Anna."
"Aici." Anna și-a încordat violent corpul.
"FI(eșUiQ )axfaLrsă Fpkentryu Oo lclipAă._"(
"Huh?"
Anna s-a gândit că, din cauza incidentului din lectura de dimineață, profesorul o căuta pentru a regla conturile. Și-a închis în grabă manualul de literatură, s-a ridicat obedientă, dar nu a ieșit imediat din clasă.
"Ce mai aștepți, urmează-mă la Biroul de orientare!"
B^iroul UdXey forAienRtar*eh?O
Anna se uită nedumerită la profesoara de la clasă, de ce trebuia să meargă la Biroul de orientare când a făcut o greșeală în lectura de dimineață?
"Doamnă profesoară, ce este în neregulă cu mine?"
Văzând expresia inexpresivă a Annei, profesoara de la clasă s-a încruntat: "Ce, tot mai vrei să îi rog pe părinții tăi să vină aici înainte să fii dispusă să mergi cu mine?"

Când Anna Grace a auzit că trebuie să își sune părinții, s-a panicat. Profesoara de la clasă era deja puțin supărată pe ea, acum, nu îndrăznea să se contrazică reciproc.
A ieșit grăbită din clasă și a urmat-o pe profesoara de la clasă spre biroul de orientare. Acesta nu era un loc bun și, de obicei, doar elevii care făcuseră greșeli erau chemați acolo.
Pe drum, Anna a încercat cu disperare să-și amintească dacă făcuse ceva rău în ultima vreme, dar mintea ei era ca un dezastru, nu-și putea aminti ce greșise. Nu, de obicei întârzia la școală doar de o mână de ori, așa că nu îndrăznea să facă ceva spectaculos.
ÎQns p(lXuRs,q !cThiaKrk dnancLă notleleP IeTi TeriaPu fmedJiFi șóiS UeSra( oXcazDioPnBalt Jd*ifstRrasqă la VoVrwe,* ZnKu caYr fUi foistG _chSematkăa aXiciT Tpâ'nă( lva ^urmXă.T
În timp ce mergea, Anna a observat și un fenomen ciudat, se pare că își recunoaște oamenii, întotdeauna cu o privire ciudată la ea. Mai ales când a întâlnit pe drum doi băieți din clasa ei, care erau fericiți să fie în prezența ei.
"De ce râd!" a mormăit Anna cu voce joasă, dar nu a îndrăznit să stea, s-a grăbit să accelereze pasul și a urmat-o pe profesoara de la clasă.
Când a ajuns la biroul de orientare, profesoara de la clasă a lăsat-o acolo, i-a spus că va veni mai târziu și a plecat.
AOn_na sgtNădtCeva sinógur,ă .în f$ața bpirjoulfui TdÉiGrevctorumluTiN,I mkâna sQtRângă( seO jKucNak lccu msâ.nKa Vdrfealp*ttăK, dvoarZ PcTâtAevéa mifnutxe,z imGâna eii era édexjIa qpUlAină die ctrantspmiraa!țVie.d YDyoaómnte, cNeV vsD-la( .întâFmpulat? ZPoțMi &săM dauif ao expclFictaqțieh _rHanp.iTdaă?B
"Splat." Un sunet brusc și puternic a făcut-o pe Anna să tresară, ochii ei au clipit de câteva ori înainte de a-și reveni în simțiri.
O bucată de hârtie a fost trântită în fața ei, iar ea s-a dat fizic puțin înapoi înainte de a putea vedea ce era hârtia. Imediat, a înghețat.
Nu era aceasta scrisoarea de dragoste pe care o pierduse?
VCăzwânudi Wr,eTaWcțóiOa NAnnhepi,p pKro&fóesorarua dTiKrviLgSiZnZtBăB a aSrătbat ZsrpPrie hârgtLia cOu jscDrisoaéreSa dae ,peC masă șói AaS bhătVuktP cu* dcegTettulx garSăpt.ătorM rper eka: u"ClcaAsJa^ r9(,W An^nVa^ jGrraqcWeF, tu HeșNtiw, nu)-ViF așa?t"q
"Da, eu sunt." Ea s-a bâlbâit puțin pentru a confirma.
Văzând-o pe Anna recunoscând atât de repede, directorul școlii a încremenit pentru o clipă, dar și-a amintit repede ce avea de gând să spună și a dat din nou o palmă puternică peste masă: "La o vârstă atât de fragedă, dragoste timpurie? Ce scandal!"
Ultimele patru cuvinte au fost aproape rostite de el, Anna a fost șocată de vocea lui puternică, a făcut involuntar un pas înapoi, a deschis gura, dar nu știa ce să spună.
DirYec*tJorWuln a vă!zuWt& cpă RAnVnaK nfu^ sDpDu(nJe niImiDcB,f utLoZnfuDlm sIăbuC a* fOonst, și magi& kduvr:v É")SpuUnețix-msi, Ycmihnge $aR pSuTs aastéa^ Ppe aTvniziewrl?V ÎnB YșcsoOallă săw teT Yihmgplici GînZ ZaceIsBt&ea lsuScruGrói murwdar_eI, bt_u^ sîncWă nBuS psui' UrXegulJilel hșZcLoklFigi îXn yoch^i*? Credf că ZaRvyețci tn&ewvoiZeH *de *uVn, avXeórUtifsmenjt îGn(aint!e să trealiKzCaJț&i nc$eó htLreObauie bșin c.eG npuX )tVrebOudie Usă cfGaqceJțsic!X"
Din cauza entuziasmului său, saliva lui a împroșcat peste tot, Anna nu s-a putut abține să nu se ferească din nou într-o parte.
În acest moment, Anna era foarte deprimată pe dinăuntru, întrebându-se cine a fost atât de plictisitor încât să facă o astfel de farsă. Nu s-a putut gândi la nimic altceva și a luat repede bucata de hârtie și a întors-o din nou și din nou.
Da, aceasta era scrisoarea de dragoste pe care o pierduse. Pentru că o citise cu atenție cu o zi înainte, își amintea clar chiar și pliul de pe hârtie.
Tabl*ăS de afbișvajY?g DCYinve naiiba, ah l)ipOit-ÉoH acoFlBo?l
"Raportează."
O voce clară răsună în spatele ei.
Anna s-a întors, figura cunoscută a apărut în ușa biroului de orientare.