I told myself I wouldn't talk to anyone.
No friends. No drama. No attention.
Just finish senior year quietly and get out of here. That was the plan.
But life never goes according to plan. Especially not mine.
The hallways of Eastbridge High smelled like over-polished floors and cheap perfume. I kept my head low, earbuds in, backpack tight on my shoulder, and a fake smile ready for anyone who dared to speak.
A fresh start, they said.
New town, new school, new life.
But how do you start over when the past follows you everywhere like a shadow?
"Elena Cross?" a voice called, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turned. A woman in a navy cardigan and thick-rimmed glasses looked up from her clipboard. "Welcome to Eastbridge. I'm Mrs. Hayes, the guidance counselor."
She smiled like she'd been practicing it in the mirror. I nodded politely, following her through the maze of lockers and stares. It didn't take long for the whispers to start.
"Who's she?"
"New girl?"
"She's pretty. Probably stuck-up."
"I heard she transferred because of some incident at her old school…"
They didn't know anything. But that never stopped people from talking.
By the time I reached my homeroom, my nerves were clawing at me like thorns under skin. I slid into the seat by the window, farthest from everyone. The bell rang. The teacher barely acknowledged me.
Then the door opened again.
He walked in like he didn't care he was late. Headphones hanging around his neck, dark hoodie, unreadable expression. And yet—everyone looked at him.
"Mr. Carter," the teacher sighed. "Nice of you to join us."
He didn't reply. Just dropped into the seat across the room, eyes scanning lazily—until they landed on me.
And for a second—just a second—his whole expression shifted.
Recognition. Confusion. Maybe even… fear?
Then it was gone.
He looked away, and I reminded myself: stay invisible. Don't get involved.
But deep down, something whispered:
Too late.