I ran through the hallways, muttering angrily to myself for waking up 13 minutes later than I was planning to. 13. That terrible number again. I pushed the dream away from my thoughts as I ran to my locker. Trying to shove my books and binders all at the same time, I cut my finger on the edge of the lock. Dang it. First, a dream that almost gave me a heart attack, and now, a skewering finger drenched in blood. I sighed and ran into Room 405, homeroom.