We move into the living room to get away from the racket Tammy and Sam are making outside the front door. By the time I'm done explaining to my parents who Felix is and why there are two girls in hysterics on our doorstep, those two girls have multiplied into four.

Mallory Wright, a quiet girl around my own age and who lives opposite me, isn't being so quiet at the moment – she's yelling outside my house, calling Felix's name over and over.

She must have spotted the other girls from across the street and came over to investigate.

"Ashling? Mr. Shields? Mrs. Shields? Hellloooo? Is it true? Open up!" she shouts. She's usually timid and soft spoken. I had no idea her voice could get this loud.

Another, more familiar voice, chirps up from outside. "Ashling! It's Olivia, you remember me right? I was a year above you at Southwood Lakes. Is it true? Is Felix Lockhart really in your house?"

Olivia. How could I forget? We used to carpool together before I moved schools. Since the accident she hasn't spoken to me once.

"Maybe we should let them in," my dad suggests. "Or throw him out to them."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Felix says without missing a beat. "I'll go out there and take some photos with them. That's all they want."

"NO!" I surprise myself by yelling. "They've probably already texted their friends. If you go outside now you'll be mobbed. We need to get you out quietly through the back."

Felix shrugs. "Ashling, you're overreacting. That is not a mob. I've fought my way through crowds of hundreds. You're talking about three or four girls."

From the voices I can hear from outside though, it sounds like he might be wrong.

I walk up to the living room window and look out at a small but steadily growing crowd. More and more people are arriving every second. Several cars have pulled up outside our house.

By now, his location is probably trending on Twitter.

How many are out there? Twenty? Fifty? They've come together so quickly. Every girl in Portland is going to be on my front lawn in just a few minutes.

I need to think fast but nothing's coming to me. One thing's for sure – we need to get Felix out of here.

"Did you drive here?" I ask him.

My heart sinks as he shakes his head. "I walked. We're staying close, at the Rose Inn. If I leave the house now it'll draw the crowd away."

As he says this, something smacks hard against the living room window, inches from where I'm standing. I jump back with a shriek. It looked like a cell phone.

"They're throwing stuff now?" My dad says. "Felix, maybe you shouldn't go outside."

My mom is pacing the living room with her phone in her hand. "Should we call 911?" She asks.

Just then Déjà Vu starts playing. Felix takes out his phone and walks into the hallway to answer.

I can hear bits of the conversation – Felix giving the person on the other side of the line our home address, him telling them to calm down.

"Don't bother calling anyone," he says as he steps back into the living room. "My driver will be here in a few minutes. It'll all be over soon."

My dad marches out the room, followed closely by my mom, muttering something about locking the doors and securing the perimeter.

I turn around to face the window again. Before I can step forward, Felix is beside me.

"Get back," he says, drawing the curtains closed.

This is what his life must be like. Every single day. Screaming girls wanting something from him. No wonder he acts so grumpy. I'd also be over it.

"I just... I really don't get it," I say, stumbling over my words. "How can you still do what you do... singing in the band I mean... when they... I mean we... your fans... when your fans act like this all the time?"

"It's not my choice," he says.

Before I can ask him what he means, Déjà Vu starts playing again. Felix takes his phone out of his pocket, but it's dark. We both look over to my phone, lit up and vibrating on the sofa.

Zee's photo lights up my screen. As I answer I can hear the panic in her voice.

"Oh my god! Ashling, are you ok?" she shrieks.

How did she find out?

Jamie and I follow Fable and the fan accounts on Twitter so Zee and Grace don't have to. That's because Zee's about as tech-savvy as an eighty year old, and Grace's parents think Twitter is the devil, along with every other thing invented after 1960.

"I'm fine, just a bit shaken," I answer.

"Turn on your TV," Zee says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Just do it. Channel 3," she replies.

I walk over to the TV and scroll through the channels until I see an aerial view of a house on the news. A very familiar double story white house with an oak shingle roof. My house.

The crowd outside our house is now more like a sea. Where my mother's prized Iceberg roses once stood, there are now just bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of girls, streaming out of our driveway, all the way down Ariel Terrace.

Either there's a helicopter or a drone out there, or someone's filming from the top of the hill. Hopefully this means the police are on their way.

Felix swears under his breath. "Idiots. This'll only make things worse," he says.

Maybe we should have called 911.

As I think this, there's a loud crash from upstairs.

Shattering glass. It sounded like it came from my bedroom...

I sprint towards the stairs, but Felix is faster. He's in front of me before I even reach the stairwell.

"Stay here," he says.

He heads up the stairs quickly.

In the direction of my bedroom.

Where my pajamas are lying in a heap on the floor. Possibly my bra too. And he's going to see that my walls (and ceiling) are covered in pictures of him. Plus four other boys, but still. Awkward.

I run up the stairs after him but it's too late. He's already gone inside.

To my relief, he's not staring at my posters, but rather looking out my bedroom window. The screaming outside goes up an octave as the crowd down below spots him.

One windowpane is completely shattered, and there are large shards of sparkling glass lying on the windowsill, on the floor, on my bed. The culprit is lying at the foot of my bed – a large, smooth stone the size of my fist, with a crinkled scrap of paper wrapped around it.

I walk over and pick it up in a daze. I unwrap the note and read it, even though it's clearly not intended for me.

Felix I love you please follow me @crystalsloane and call me 503509699 xox.

The white edges of the paper in my hand are turning red for some reason. I feel dizzy.

Blood?

I stretch out my hand and find a shard of glass the size of a quarter embedded in my palm. It must have become wedged in the paper when the window shattered.

I slump down on the edge of my bed and observe the long trail of bright red trickling down my wrist. I guess this is karma for biting that girl's hand last night, even though I don't remember doing it.

The room goes dim as Felix draws the curtains, which is met with more screaming from outside. I can just see his shadowy silhouette. He's only a few meters away but it seems like miles.

I'm quickly slipping under.

I stare hard at my hand. Blood. Broken glass. Screaming girls. Screaming boys. Mia lying face down in a puddle of red seawater with her arm twisted out in front of her. Evan's face disappearing in a cloud of bubbles. The dark mysterious shape on the road in front of the bus before we went over, crackling around the edges, morphing, sprouting shadowy tendrils reaching out to me, and me alone.

Felix is in front of me in a moment, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

He swims in and out of focus.

Why can't I be strong, just this once?

The last thing I see before I fall forward into his arms, into the darkness, is a small scar just below his collarbone, too faint to show up in photos or videos. It's shaped like a crescent moon.

Just like mine, I think. With that, I pass out.