If anyone had told me a month ago that the first highlight of my summer would involve kneeling in ankle-deep lake water, trying to catch a tadpole between my cupped hands, I would have laughed and asked what alternate world this event belonged to. I wouldn't describe myself as the outdoorsy type, or at least I wouldn't have before today.

Okay. I'm still not outdoorsy, but I'm also not having a bad time, even though I'm not sure I actually want to know what a tadpole feels like should one find its way into my hands. But catching one seems unlikely at this point, so I probably don't need to be concerned. They've all been swimming to just outside of my reach and then darting away.

"Steady," Hunter murmurs from beside me. He places his hand on my shoulder, his touch light. "They'll come to you. You just have to stay still."

"Easy for you to say." My words come out as a good-natured grumble. I try to keep my eyes on the water, but Hunter's whole hand-on-my-shoulder thing has me fighting against myself to keep from looking at him.

His body shakes with stifled laughter, which heightens my awareness of him. Hunter is close enough for me to feel his slightest movements and the warmth radiating from his skin. He probably thinks I mean it's easy for him to say because he has years of practice with all of this outdoor wilderness stuff and I don't. It's part of it, but not all of it. Him being in my personal space has me flustered, making it all the more difficult to remain steady or still, and his hand on my shoulder causes the sensation of electrical sparks to go dancing across my skin.

It's a little ridiculous, to be honest. I don't know what my deal is today, or what has me so hyper aware and keyed up. If there's a silver lining, it's that Hunter is distracting me from the thoughts I've been wrestling with since I heard the entertainment news teaser on the radio.

"I think I repel them." I scrunch up my face and watch as yet another tadpole swims to a spot just outside of my reach, then turns away and wriggles in another direction.

It's time to call this a lost cause. I take my hands out of the water and straighten to a stand.

Hunter glances up at me. "You don't repel them. Can I see your hands?" A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he also stands.

"My hands?" I hold them out to him, not certain why I'm doing it.

"Palms up," he requests.

I do as he asks. He slides his hands under mine, his palms also facing up. If the sensation when his hand was on my shoulder was sparks, this is something more like firecrackers. It's a lucky thing I have practice keeping my composure in front of audiences no matter what's happening, because good grief.

"We'll catch one together," Hunter explains. "I have a theory about what's going on."

I make the mistake of locking eyes with him then. We're both still, our hands together, and an odd, intense feeling comes over me. I have to be the only one experiencing it, and so I fumble for something to say that will break this one-sided spell.

"Or you're just trying to hold my hand." There. That sounds like the sassy, breezy person I would much rather be.

But wait. What if he is?

"I could never be that smooth," he assures me, guiding our hands back to the water. This time it takes all of about thirty seconds before a tadpole is in my hands.

"You're some sort of magnet for them," I declare. "It defies explanation."

It was a compliment, but he looks horrified by this. "A tadpole magnet. That's not a title I think I want."

We release the tadpole back into the lake. Our hands move apart, and as they do, I regain the ability to form coherent thoughts.

"Amphibian whisperer, then?" I suggest. He winces at this one.

"Please never say that around Adam or my sister. My reputation at school will be done for on the first day back."

I pretend to ponder this. "What kind of reputation am I saving if I agree?"

"A much cooler one than someone who charms would-be frogs. I hope it is, anyway."

"If only they knew what you get up to in the summer." I give him what I hope is my best conspiring-to-cause-trouble look.

"I don't usually spend my summer catching tadpoles," he protests.

"I see. So this is just to impress me?"

"I didn't realize Californians were so easily impressed," he teases. "Imagine if I took you fishing."

"There's always tomorrow." I attempt to sound casual and noncommittal, and not as though I'm angling for another invitation to hang out with him, even though I am. Look at me go.

He walks ahead of me to the shore. "I won't be around for the next few days, I'm afraid."

"You're writing me off already?" I say it like I'm kidding, but I'm disappointed by this news. "I might be better at fishing than at catching tadpoles, you know."

"It's not you, it's me." He stops walking and turns around to face me. There's an impish gleam in his eyes, and I can't tell if he used this line in jest because he's detected my burgeoning crush, or because he's Hunter.

"Of course it's you," I scoff. "Who wouldn't want to hang out with me?" I toss my hair over my shoulder, going for over-the-top nonchalance.

"Tadpoles, it seems."

"You're the worst."

He chuckles at this. "I still want to hang out with you, even if the tadpoles don't. I'd rather be out here, but we're going into town for Paisley's graduation ceremony."

A frown flickers across his face when he mentions Paisley's graduation. Unless I misread his tone, he sounds put out about it.

"Don't you want to celebrate it with her?" Even with their bickering at the bonfire last night, I still sensed he and Paisley are close and the constant barbs at each other are how they get along.

"I do. But I'm sure Trinity will also be there, and I'd rather avoid running into her."

"Trinity?"

"One of the people who was on the shore earlier." I take this to mean Trinity is his ex-girlfriend.

"Why do you think you'll run into her there?"

"Remember Brooke from last night?" he asks. I nod, and he continues. "Trinity is Brooke's sister, and Paisley and Brooke are best friends and graduating together. She'll be there."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable at the idea of running into his ex. I can relate, because I'm confident I'll be just as uncomfortable at the thought of running into Bowie at a red carpet event or awards show when I'm back in L.A.

"Have you talked to her since you broke up?" I ask.

"No," he admits. "I try not to do that, which is why we aren't at Adam's party right now."

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

Hunter looks startled by my question. His reaction reminds me this is none of my business. It would be fine for me to silently wonder, but I'm mortified now that I've put the question out there. I'm about to tell him he doesn't need to answer me, and that I shouldn't have asked, but he speaks before I can.

"I wouldn't say I have feelings for her," he replies. "I have feelings about her, maybe, and none are good. I think that's normal after breaking up with someone after almost two years."

"Two years is a long time."

Hunter doesn't respond, not that I expect him to. I wish I could rewind us back to when we were catching tadpoles. I can't, though, so I change the subject.

"Should we continue the lake tour?" I suggest.

"We can do that," he agrees.

I pick up a bottle of water from the boulder I set it on before our tadpole-catching attempts and scan the ground to make sure we don't leave any of our belongings behind. Hunter also does a quick check of our surroundings, and then he makes his way over to where we docked the pedal boat on the shore.

I help him carry the boat back into shallow water. We're soon out on the lake again, pedaling in the direction we came from. Both of us are quiet, but I'm happy to enjoy the scenery and the ride.

Hunter's mind must still be on Trinity, because he seems distracted. We've only been pedaling for a couple of minutes when he turns the radio on.

My heart leaps into my throat when the chorus of one of my songs plays from the radio speakers. It isn't just any song, either. It's "Sunset," the song I will forever associate with The Domino, the explosion, and so many terrified screams.

I concentrate on pedaling and remaining calm until the song finishes and the DJ's voice comes over the airwaves. I'm relieved for half a second, until I realize it's the top of the hour and she's about to recap the day's major news stories.

"There was news out of Los Angeles today about a possible motive for the homemade bomb set off at Cayden Indigo's concert at The Domino last month, which killed seventeen people and injured dozens more. Authorities said they've uncovered information about alleged bomber Dallas Jones Fernsby's involvement in an online community where he made multiple posts about the arts high school both he and Indigo formerly attended. Authorities also revealed possible accomplices to Fernsby are being looked into. There are unconfirmed reports that one of Fernsby's posts included a list of potential targets who were all famous alumni from the school, and Indigo was only one of several mentioned. No other names have been released, but rumors circulated over social media today that musician Sawyer Santiago was also on the list. Santiago attended the school with both Indigo and Fernsby, and he opened for Indigo at her concert on the night of the explosion.

"Some who knew Fernsby allege he was going through a rough spot in his acting career in the months leading up to the events at The Domino, with his agent recently dropping him and Fernsby not booking work for more than a year. Anonymous sources claim Fernsby was mixed up in a crowd known to be into hard drugs and partying, and that he'd recently entered a rehab program he then left after only eight days. We're continuing to follow this story and will provide updates as they become available."

The DJ moves on to the next news story, but I've hardly heard a word she's said since Sawyer's name was brought up. The possibility he and I were both targets has made my blood run cold.

What if this means there's someone else out there who was working with Dallas, and what if Sawyer and other people who were on the list are still targets? Sawyer will be touring all over North America soon and something could happen at one of the shows. And what if someone is still out to target me, whether it's the next time I get on a stage or somewhere else?

My mouth goes dry and my heart races. I can't stop the torrent of thoughts now flooding my mind or the woozy feeling that's causing my body to sway. Hunter says my name a couple of times, trying to get my attention, but I'm having difficulty processing his words.

"Are you sure you aren't a Cayden Indigo fan?" he asks now. "Paisley would love it, you know."

"I'm sorry. What?" I try so hard to make the words sound normal. My voice instead comes out strangled, shaky, and high-pitched.

That's when Hunter figures out something is going on with me, as much as I'm trying to resist the panicked feeling that's growing stronger and threatening to overwhelm my senses. His gaze darts from my face to my hands and lingers there. There's a tremor in my fingers, and my hands are doing this strange, twisty, wringing thing I don't seem to have control over.

Breathe, I remind myself. Don't have a panic attack now. Just breathe.

This needs to wait. I can't do this here, sitting beside Hunter in a boat, in the middle of a lake. But that's the thing about anxiety attacks and flashbacks, I'm learning. I don't get to choose my moments.

"Are you okay? You look upset, or like you're about to be sick." Hunter touches my arm. My skin is covered in goose bumps, but this time it has nothing to do with his fingers grazing my skin or how close he is to me.

I should take the easy way out and tell him I get motion sickness after all. But some sort of auto-pilot mode in me takes over, a force that eliminates the filter between what I think and what I say, and then I'm blurting out what I promised myself I wouldn't tell anyone out here at the lake this summer.

"I was there. I saw the explosion. I— I saw people die." The memories of smoke, blood, and death collide together in my mind.

Whatever Hunter expected me to say, it sure wasn't that.