Dee’s POV
My world came crumbling down that Friday when I agreed to have dinner. Right there that afternoon at 2:47 p.m. in the middle of the Organic Chem lab. The sun was starting to set a little earlier in the day, and I was beginning to feel that good October chill nipping at my legs as I walked to class. Sweaters were a must now, long sleeves gone in the instant September had left, but I’d refused the leggings until the temperature dipped below the 60s.
I remember being so happy that day.
Wes and I were getting along surprisingly well. We even had a band in common—more on the hard rock side than metal, but still pretty great—The Flying Circus. They were rock legends who’d come up out of the ashes of 90s grunge and brought with them the battle cry of a thousand other bands, from a little dreamy folk a la Stevie Nicks to the shredding guitar of Van Halen, Danzig’s rockabilly twang, but the grimness of Black Sabbath and the oddity of Radiohead.