From Chapter One of TEMPUS (and shortened for your quick perusal):
Using her desk for support, Chapel struggled to her feet. Her insides swirled, and her neck felt useless beneath the weight of her head. She shuffled over to Timmy. Her forearms trembled with the effort as she pushed his desk level to the ground.
She pulled her white tank top away from her chest and blew down the front, shaking her head at Timmy. “And you think I’m high maintenance,” she said.
Chapel jerked to her left before she understood why. She had heard a noise. It was a whoosh, soft and quick, like an exhale or a laugh. Her eyes fell on Isaiah Halstead. He was sprawled in his desk like he owned the place, a lazy gaze on Timmy, his lips closed over the lid of his pen. And he was just as handsome as everyone said—black-haired and shadow-jawed.
…”Isaiah?” The name sounded dread-soaked. Had he sighed? Had he moved? Something about him definitely looked different.
… Then three things happened at once. One, her insides gave a heaving quiver, signaling the episode was coming to an end. Two, she moved her knee to get closer to Isaiah and it popped against the tray of his desk. And three, Isaiah Halstead flinched.
… Then, like a faucet going from a tiny trickle to a roaring flow, time resumed, and Chapel found herself breathing heavily, knee smarting. Timmy’s desk kerplunked safely onto all four legs as if he’d never leaned back too far to begin with. And her head felt like she’d taken an extended ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl.
… “I—. Did you?” The space between her brain and mouth was malfunctioning.
Isaiah stood and slung his book bag over his shoulder. A thousand questions filtered through her mind. He’d been breathing. And moving. No one had ever moved before.
But all she could manage was a hoarse, “Isaiah?”
He leaned over to her, his rough cheek catching at her hair as he whispered, “It’s Zay. You can call me Zay.” Then he was gone.
BOOK COMING SOON!