The three biggest lies I told on my first day at Laureldale High School:

• My name is Ella Dae
• The Grim Reaper doesn’t exist
• I don’t know how Mr. Carver died in math class

The school halls held the familiar scent of cheap cleaner paired with a blend of coffee, body odor, and perfume. Florescent lights dotted the ceiling, and the books I’d been given had seen some wear. But the floors and lockers had been updated in the past decade, offering a vague hope that this school might be better than the last two.

I checked to make sure I hadn’t lost the pencil I’d stashed in my hair before closing my locker, then opened the lock once, making sure I remembered the combination, buying myself one last breath before turning to face the horde.

Three girls had stopped in the middle of the corridor behind me. None of them bothered to pretend they hadn’t been watching.

I raised my hand in an almost wave, giving them a quick smile as I started on my planned path to homeroom.

I didn’t have to make it far. Two lefts, then the first door on the right.

A teacher stopped as I neared the first turn. She scrunched her lips together and nodded at me.

The corners of my lips twitched up in the best greeting I could manage.

Four students clustered behind her, all of them taking the teacher’s stillness as an invitation to gawk.

I rolled my shoulders back, giving my best imitation of someone calm and put together, hoping my heart would get the idea and stop racing like the walls were about to cave in.

I made it to the second left before someone gave up on whispering about the new girl.

“What’s wrong with her?” The voice came from behind me. “I’d run away before letting anyone send me to this hellhole.”

Run away.

Like I hadn’t fought my way past the idea a few hundred times. Like this wasn’t the least awful option I had left.

I didn’t let myself look back to see who’d spoken. Starting at a new school by making an enemy never ended well.

A blond wall of a guy reached the door to homeroom just before me. He stepped back, giving me right of way. It took a minute for first surprise, then embarrassment to widen his eyes like he hadn’t realized who he’d been letting by.

I ducked my chin, looking away before I could watch his shock sink into pity.

My heart beat even faster, shoving pressure up into my throat as my new teacher stood before I’d even reached her desk. I loosened my hold on my books, pretending my lungs weren’t trying to shake me into tears with every breath.

“It’s so good to meet you.” The teacher placed her hand on my shoulder, turning my back toward the class as though that would keep them from overhearing. “Would you prefer a seat in the front or back?”

“I’m fine either way,” I said.

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” the teacher said.

A laugh broke through the murmurs behind us.

She shot a glare over her shoulder.

“It really doesn’t matter to me,” I said before she could speak again.

“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a safe space in my classroom.”

My brain couldn’t work fast enough to form the words your performative sympathy is making it worse so please let me curl up in the corner and wait for this day to be over, or at least let me sink into a desk and pretend to be just another automaton in the factory of public education.

“We’ve still got Rob’s desk empty, Mrs. Parker,” a boy said.

“In the middle of the room?” Mrs. Parker turned around.

“Sounds great.” I sidestepped out of Mrs. Parker’s reach, fixing my gaze on the empty chair three rows back, ignoring the sudden silence in the room as I slid into my seat.

“Perfect.” Mrs. Parker followed me to my desk. She leaned down to whisper. “Would you like to say hi to the class?”

My heartbeat stopped racing, its speed blending into one constant scream.

“Sure.” I stood, waiting until the shy smile I’d practiced a hundred times found its way to my lips before rotating to give the whole class the same endearing wave I’d already resorted to once.

The silence thickened as they waited for more.

“Give us your name and share a”—Mrs. Parker blinked several times—“are there any interesting facts you’d like to share?”

I’m an artist.

I don’t understand the point of decaf coffee.

You should start competing to be my lab partner now.

I had seven more options on the list of fun facts in my pocket, but none of them came out.

“My name is Ella Dae—”

Lie one.

“—and you’re all gawking at me because I’m an orphan and apparently this town doesn’t offer anything more interesting to whisper about.”

“Ella,” Mrs. Parker said.

“My pet peeve is people fumbling around when they’ve embarrassed themselves by being insensitive pricks. Also, I prefer wet cappuccinos to dry and only enjoy long walks on the beach in the right weather.” I bowed to the class. “Thus ends the morning sideshow.”

I sank back into my seat, holding my breath until someone started slow clapping.

Maybe I had a slim, vague chance of surviving the rest of junior year.

“Right.” Mrs. Parker blinked at me again. “If everyone could pull out their planners, we have some fun new things to add to our calendars.” She glanced down at me. “If you don’t—”

“I have a planner.” I pulled the spiralbound book from my pile. I’d forgotten to tear off the plastic wrapping.

Panic prickled the edges of my thoughts, like revealing the newness of my planner were an omen of doom.

Focus on the details.

Work with what you can control.

Pinching a hole through the corner of the plastic, freeing my planner—that I could do.

“The first meeting of the Widow’s Run committee has been scheduled for this Friday,” Mrs. Parker said.

A single groan came from the back of the class.

“And we finally have an official date for the First Frost Ball.”

She got a better response to that one.

I shoved the plastic into my pocket and flipped open my planner.

The panic kept pressing in.

It filled my head with a buzzing loud enough to drown out Mrs. Parker’s voice.

Numb and unhearing—I’d proven I could survive that.

Pencil to paper. An easy, soothing task—I could manage that, too.

I used the lines around the little rectangle for November 16th as a frame to sketch four, interlocking shapes, focusing on keeping all the spokes symmetrical.

I fumbled my pencil, adding a harsh spike to the top left corner as the speakers in the room beeped, cutting off Mrs. Parker’s announcements.

A too-soothing voice wished the students good morning before gaining a crisper edge to recite a list of new rules for the school parking lot.

Sour rose in my throat as the voice went back to the soothing tone.

“And today, Laureldale High welcomes a new student: Ella Dae.”

The muscles between my shoulders pinched as everyone used the disembodied voice’s mention of me as a fresh excuse to stare.

“Make our new fellow feel at home.”

I dug the nails on my left hand into my palm, leaning into the buzzing in my head, willing it to be loud enough to shake every other thought into submission.

My pencil swiped through the four locked shapes, scribbling up into November 15th, stretching the symbol into a blob with one bulging end, like a cartoon head mid-explosion.

A tinny bell and the welcome squeal of chair legs on linoleum ended hell day part one.

Don’t be dramatic.

Panic sharpens the enemy’s blade. [quote]

I’d survived first period.

Only six more to go.

I closed my planner and filed out with the rest of the class, letting the now beautifully constant buzz cocooning my thoughts drown out the fresh wave of whispers.

A girl in a green sweater dodged in front of me as I headed back past my locker, squeezing through a cluster of what I guessed were theatre students, judging by their matching Hamilton shirts, to reach the classroom door before me.

Let there be drama. And let it not be me.

That vain hope carried me through the classroom door.

The girl in the green sweater crouched beside the seated teacher, shaking her head as she muttered something I didn’t even want to hear.

I stopped a few feet behind her, waiting for my turn to speak to the teacher.

The girl nodded as she stood and had the courtesy to flinch when she turned and caught sight of me. Red filled her freckle-spattered cheeks.

I stepped around her, taking her place beside the teacher.

The voices of the class came back into being as I made myself listen to the teacher speak.

“Miss Dae,” he whispered. “There’s a seat ready for you. If you have any questions about catching up on assignments, see me after class.” He shooed me toward a desk in the center of the back row.

The girl in the green sweater gave me a quick, not-quite smile as I passed her on my way to my seat.

Mr. Barret, my new English teacher, didn’t introduce me before going into the true meaning of To Kill a Mockingbird.

I managed to take a few notes after the other students gave up on staring at me to pay attention to Mr. Barret’s lesson on empathy toward the plight of Boo Radley.

Everything Mr. Barret said lined up with the notes I’d already squeezed into my old copy of the mockingbird death manual. A glimmering hope for recycling old essays carried me to my next class.

That shit teacher made me tell everyone my name and favorite study snack, and kept me at the front of the room while he talked to the class about the responsibility of taking on a new lab partner mid-semester.

Some of the students looked disinterested, others stared too hard like piranhas or creepers. A few had pity in their eyes that dragged sour up into my throat.

In the very back of the room, a girl with short blond hair twirled her pencil through her fingers like a mini baton.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

The movement just a little too smooth, too quick.

The sick in my throat sank away as instinct-born awareness slapped self-indulgent misery aside.

The girl met my gaze, still twirling her pencil as she let me stare into her bright blue eyes.

Danger. Predator.

Werewolf.

Every nerve in my body promised I was right, but the students gave danger their backs, gawking at the new freak in town instead of watching the fast path to a bloody end that lurked in the back of chemistry class like she was trying to pick who to murder first.

“And who would like to volunteer to take on the newb?” shit teacher said.

The blond wolf tossed her pencil to her left hand, her twirling not missing a beat as she looked down at her desk, like she’d wanted to be sure I understood her lack of welcome.

“Nobody wants to give their partner the boot?” shit said. “Nobody wants to build a tri-force in chemistry?”

“We’ll take her.” A girl in the third row nudged the boy beside her farther down their shared counter.

“What?” the boy spoke through his teeth.

“Karma, Andre.” The girl beckoned me over then turned back to the boy. “Get another seat.”

“I can get my own,” I said.

“He’s happy to help.” She brushed her pink-highlighted hair away from her face as she slid over to the center stool, leaving the place by the aisle to me.

“Students coming together is my second favorite thing about teaching,” shit said. “Now on to number one, destroying your spirits by telling you about the exam we’re having on Friday.”

The blond wall had the seat just in front of mine. The width of his shoulders didn’t offer enough cover for me to hide from Mr. Shit’s, “Welcome to the Ram Fam!”

I missed the comforting buzz, but only corpses opted out of reality when dealing with wolves.

“Sydney,” my new lab partner whispered, giving me the least awkward smile I’d seen in weeks. “And this is Andre. He’s great at chemistry and very happy to help. Right, babe?”

Andre didn’t answer.

Sydney flicked his arm.

“Absolutely.” Andre caught Sydney’s hand as she moved to flick him again. He kissed her palm and threaded his fingers through hers, locking their hands under the table.

Sydney rolled her eyes, pinching her lips together like that could hide her smile from Andre.

He ducked his head, his own, peaceful kind of smirk brightening his face as he took notes.

Mr. Shit kept doing the thing where teachers change their inflection too drastically, sometimes in places that don’t make any sense, like awkward irritation could force students into absorbing information. He rapped his knuckles on his desk, banging out random rhythms as he shared great unshakable truths.

Even trying for a generous judgment, I couldn’t make myself believe Mr. Shit would be brave enough to intentionally annoy a predator.

You’re right about her. You know you are.

I looked back, twisting far enough to see the werewolf. She’d stopped twirling her pencil between her fingers to take notes, her eyes locked on the board at the front of the room.

The pretty, black-haired girl in front of the wolf met my gaze. She gave me a creepily pinched smile as her cheeks darkened.

I turned back front, sparing the blushing girl.

Looking front wasn’t safe, either.

The blond wall had been watching me. His eyes widened as he noticed I’d spotted him.

His eyes were a different kind of blue than the wolf’s. Deeper, lacking the spark that seemed to say murder is always an option.

Red spread from the wall’s collar to his forehead. He turned back to the front of the room and tipped his chin down, the angle of his shoulders drooping just enough to stifle the anger I wished would flicker to life.

I scribbled down notes, circling unfamiliar information, ignoring the pain building in my chest with every word shit teacher said.

Destroying the classroom would be easier. Screaming until my throat bled had some appeal, too.

Pretending to give a damn about solutes was more than I could manage.

I’d let the buzzing in my head grow back to full blast by the time chemistry ended. I couldn’t make myself feel guilty for not managing to cling to rational fears while I bolted for the hall to avoid pretending to be able to hear whatever nice thing Sydney might try to say. 

A trembling sort of fear rolled down my spine, renewing the shaking in my lungs that begged me to break down and cry.

I could have cried. I had every right to fall into too many pieces to put back together.

People wouldn’t have even been surprised.

That’s what sob stories are supposed to do. Twist into something dark and fragile and unrecognizable so their misery can make everyone else feel better about the petty little troubles that plague their petty little lives.

I wouldn’t let whatever petty little people had bet against me making it through the day win.

The fear twisted, the trembling worsening as it cinched around my ribs.

Cold tingles scratched down my neck.

The feeling followed me as I turned the corner, heading toward math.

I stopped in the center of the hall, turning back, pretending to be checking where I was going, hoping that if my end were speeding toward me, my death might at least be quick.

The blond wall dodged sideways, almost knocking a guy out of the way to keep from crashing into me.

“Sorry,” the wall said.

“My fault,” I said.

The blond werewolf passed, giving me the tiniest shake of her head as I opened my mouth to speak.

I spun around, taking two quick steps to follow her. “Excuse me. Hi.” I gripped my books, resisting the potentially deadly urge to reach for her arm. “I think we’re in the same chemistry class.”

The muscles on the sides of her neck tightened.

“I was hoping you might want…”

Her steps quickened as she fled into Algebra II.

The avalanche of anxiety I’d been holding back since I’d been dumb enough to leave the house that morning let loose.

Survive, Ella. That’s all you have to accomplish today.

Survive.

Not even a whole day, not even until lunch, and I’d already forgotten every reason I’d decided my being in school wasn’t a total shit idea.

Falling apart only makes it worse.

A werewolf in chem class? Inconvenient.

An unwelcoming werewolf in Blackwood territory? Could make the whole surviving goal less realistic.

In the classroom, the girl in the green sweater from English knelt beside the math teacher’s desk.

The blond wall leaned over green sweater, like he’d horned in on their huddle.

Heat burned in my cheeks and pressed against my eyes. I tucked myself beside the door, clearing out of Sydney and Andre’s path as I waited for my turn with the teacher.

Green sweater shooed the wall away, carefully not looking my direction as she hurried to her seat.

Get through this, and you can have lunch.

Just one more class between you and a chance to breathe.

I stepped up to the teacher’s desk.

He rocked back in his chair, giving a little grunt as he used his momentum to stand. “Miss Dae.” His voice stayed strained as he reached for my hand. “Mr. Carver.”

His palm felt clammy against mine. His fingers did, too. More like a deflated fish than anything that should be attached to a human.

“Pleased to have you joining us in class.” I could hear Mr. Carver’s voice even as his flaccid hand vanished.

The floor tipped.

The sound of my breath rattled in my ears.

A new Mr. Carver stood behind his desk—his shape too crisp against the blurred background.

The light focused in on him, highlighting his form as fear filled his sweat-slicked face. Faux Carver twisted, grabbing the back of his chair, managing to stay upright just long enough that his heart had stopped before his forehead smacked against the ground.

“—a packet for you to take home with you.” Mr. Carver’s flaccid hand reappeared in mine. “Don’t worry about rushing to catch up.”

My knees threatened to give as I let go of his hand.

Mr. Carver stepped back, centering himself behind his desk, perfectly placed for the yellowish light above to glint off the sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. “Paige, give a wave.”

Green sweater waved from the fourth row.

“Right back there.” Mr. Carver said. “Best seat in the house.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Everyone wants the best seat in the house to watch their math teacher die.