Shimmer by Alyson Noël

had to get pretty riled up about something. And, up to that point anyway, I hadn’t seen a single thing worthy of that kind of rage.
    I mean, was it the way she ignored him?
    The way she pretended not to notice him, despite the fact that he made a point to always be where she was?
    And if so, was that really worth getting all tripped up over?
    While I obviously can’t speak for Bodhi, I can say that for me, it all seemed a little ridiculous. And not being the most patient person in the world (not even close), well, the truth is, I started to get more than a little frustrated with him.
    So frustrated I’d just made up my mind to pop right back out of his body and try to find another way to reach him, when his whole world went so dark and dim, I had to squint my eyes and strain my ears to make any kind of sense of it.
    And still, even then, there were only four things I could really make out:
    1.  A bell
    2.  A girl
    3.  A boy
    4.  A body
    Those four images repeating themselves like a series of fast takes caught in a continuous loop. Though no matter how many times I watched, none of it made any more sense than it had the first time around.
    A bell—a girl—a boy—a body—
    A quick snippet of each flashing over and over again.
    And just when I couldn’t take another second, couldn’t bear another glimpse of it, the images became clearer, more defined, until they eventually settled into some kind of order—though it’s not like it made it any easier.
    I listened as the bell rang so loudly I actually winced at the sound of it.
    I watched as a classroom door flew open and a girl I recognized as Nicole spilled out. Her shoulders stooped, head bent in a way that encouraged her long, dark hair to provide cover for her tear-stained cheeks—the result of the long string of insults being hurled her way.
    And while I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I caught a glimpse of myself in a classroom window and realized that I—er, I mean, Bodhi—was the boy (I mean, after all, it was his memory I was experiencing), still, it was a version of Bodhi I wasn’t quite used to seeing.
    Though his outside appearance remained more or less the same (maybe a little more solid, a little less filmy than how he usually looked), it was still really odd to view him as a living, breathing person who could neither fly nor glow and had no idea that he someday would.
    Never mind the fact that he was so incredibly unsure and insecure and overly preoccupied with coming off as cool—it was kind of hard to watch him (and even harder to be him) without feeling more than a little embarrassed for him.
    But it was only a moment before the focus returned to Nicole.
    Still crying.
    Still stalked.
    Still harassed by a group of classmates who followed her wherever she went.
    Bullying her in a way that wasn’t just a pattern of behavior—but a favorite pastime of theirs.
    I stood off to the side, my voice rising above all the others as I heatedly defended her. Screaming at them to stop, to leave her alone, to find a better, more productive way to spend their free time. A better way to build themselves up.
    And then the bell again …
    The series of scenes continuing to repeat, and yet still not making the slightest bit of sense no matter how many times I watched them play.
    Then, I remembered.
    There was more.
    A fourth scene I’d glimpsed only the haziest hint of …
    A body.
    And the next thing I knew, I was propelled from the school to a nice, modest house where a parade of cops and paramedics and crying, distraught people streamed in and out.
    All of them hovering around a stretcher—like the kind you see in movies.
    A stretcher holding a small, slim, sheet-covered, completely lifeless form …
    And I knew without being told that the body was Nicole’s, and that Bodhi blamed himself.
    I fought my way out. So uncomfortable with being inside his guilt-ridden mind and self-hating skin, I was desperate to look him in the eyes and confront