I know he means it, but I can’t. My brother is too good, too kind, to ever have the horrors that haunt my thoughts darken his heart.
At some point I drift off to sleep, and when I wake up on the couch, the blanket is tucked in around me, with a pillow slipped under my head.
Chapter Three
My brother drops me off for my first day of school. I’ll be stuck riding the bus for the foreseeable future. I have my license, but driving hasn’t been one of those things I’ve wanted to conquer, especially not in a new city.
“Text me if you need anything,” he calls after me as I get out of his car.
“I will.”
Closing the car door, I turn and face the school, exhaling a weighted breath.
The three-story brick building with a banner inlaid proclaims it as Aspen Lake High School.
The lawn is teeming with students, dressed to the nines for their first day. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb in my ripped black jeans, baggy t-shirt, and yellow Vans. I didn’t even try, just threw on the first thing my fingers touched. At least I managed to brush my hair, which is a win in my book.
Ducking my head to let my hair shield my face, I head inside, navigating the halls to the best of my ability. I should’ve paid more attention when Sage was taking me through the school.
I bring up my schedule on my phone, careful to keep my head down and not make eye contact with anyone since I don’t feel like talking. My first period class is art. I’ve never taken art before, or found myself to be the most creative type but I got stuck with it since I was enrolled late and couldn’t pick my own classes.
Heading down the corridor, eyes still glued to my cellphone I bump into someone. I nearly fall over from the impact, but a strong hand grabs ahold of me. My eyes settle on that hand, the long fingers, veins cording up into his arm, before I finally look at the guy.
“Sorry about that,” he says, letting me go even though very obviously I’m the one who plowed into him. Straight brown hair is pushed back from his forehead. He’s pale and thin, but with some muscle. His eyes are an eerie blue so light they almost look white. He adjusts his messenger bag and I don’t know whether to flee or keep standing there.
Finally, I blurt, “It was my bad. Sorry.”
He tips his chin at me and returns to talking to two friends I didn’t notice either.
I only spare them a brief glance before continuing down the hall at a clipped pace. Remembering the room Sage pointed out on his tour I practically run into it, grabbing a seat at the back table.
In the next few minutes the room fills up around me. The teacher at the front, a plump older woman with blonde hair sits behind her desk, eyes narrowed as she appraises every student who comes through the door.
Thankfully, no one sits down beside me. It’s a big school, but everyone seems to know everyone, at least in this room, but maybe it only seems that way since I’m the odd one out.
The teacher gets up to close the door, but before she can another student breezes inside. It’s the guy I bumped into earlier and my cheeks heat as I realize the only free chair is beside me.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Caron.” She closes the door and waddles back to her spot behind her desk. “Welcome to Advanced Drawing and Painting. You all should be established artists at this point and I’m looking forward to the masterpieces you create this year.” She clears her throat. “I’ll be passing out the syllabus and rules for the classroom for you to read over. The most important rule is to not be late.” Her eyes narrow on my table partner.
“You love me, Mrs. Kline.”
She harrumphs, but gives him an almost tender smile.
I don’t think my tablemate is lying.
She gets up, passing out the papers. She reaches our table and pauses beside the guy.
“Don’t give me trouble this year, Ansel.”
“Never.” He winks, uncrossing his arms to take the papers from her, easily passing me one without taking his eyes off the teacher.
She doesn’t look convinced, but heads back to her desk nonetheless.
“Don’t let her scare you,” my tablemate utters under his breath. “She’s a big softy.”
I don’t reply.
“I don’t recognize you.”