Chapter Text
“It bugs me that I never quite know how to start these stories.” Her mother confided in her once in a voice so gentle and soft, she’d never be able to capture it in breathing pages. “I can always write the middle, and the ending is always in the back of my mind, but it’s the start that’s holding me back. I go over my sentences and agonize over the first word you’ll ever read when you open this book.”
The inescapable curse of writers’ block plagued Annette Hebert for most of her short life. Annette’s story was trapped within the little journals she kept, the weight of a first word tying her down to never-ending pages. The notorious case of writers’ block haunted Annette for as long as Taylor Hebert could remember.
Throughout most of her childhood, Taylor often caught sight of her mother’s craft. There were little sights reminding her of Annette; her father’s radio losing its voice to the determined tapping of keyboard keys. Small leather journals scattered across the kitchen table after dinner. The comforting earthy scent of tea brewing in the background. Dark circles underneath her mother’s dark eyes, the telltale sign of both late and sleepless nights wasted and the ones that followed.
The weariness never held her back, though. When Annette realized Taylor was lingering in the kitchen nearby observing, the clicking of keys came to a halt. She’d put her mug of tea on the table and push her laptop screen down. Slowly, she’d make her way to her frozen daughter, a small smile gracing her features.
In those early years, Taylor took great pride in her mother’s work. When people asked what her mom’s job was, she puffed her chest out and proudly proclaimed her mother wrote books. When curiosity won and they asked what books she wrote, she couldn’t name a single one.
When Taylor got older, the cracks were becoming harder to ignore. Her mother wasn’t perfect, but when daughters observed their mother's actions with love in their eyes, they'd learn to fill in for their shortcomings. Taylor never understood it— her mother’s insistence on triple-checking locked doors, the small kitchen light that stayed on, how when October came around, her mother would spend her time in bed, scribbling in the journals her father kept buying. She was too young to understand what the colorful display of bottles of pills stacked on their nightstand meant or why her dad would call every other hour to check in. There were a lot of things Taylor never understood until she was much older.
October wasn’t all bad. She spent a lot of afternoons with either her dad or in the Barnes household. During one of her good episodes, as her dad often dubbed it, a bedridden Annette patted her empty side of the bed for Taylor to jump on. She would hold her daughter tight, shutting her eyes tightly as the sun died again.
“There’s history running through our veins.” Her mother whispered in a hushed tone, as if weaving a secret between them. “Someday, all we’ll be are stories. And yet...it bugs me that I never quite know how to start my stories.”
Irony laughed at their misfortune when all that was left of a mother six feet underground was an unfinished manuscript and a grieving family. There were gaps within its pages—the first chapter was missing and the book went straight into its middle contents with no graceful transition. There were six different endings Taylor spent a week trying to unravel before giving up on her mother's ramblings.
Now at sixteen, she spent most of her freetime coming up with her own beginning. It was a fool’s favorite pastime; she could not pinpoint where the story of Taylor Hebert began. She kept the manuscript in a box underneath her bed, ignoring the taunting voice spewing from yellow pages. They promised her if she didn’t come up with a start soon, she'll face her mother’s fate. It was written in some universe’s stars— Taylor Hebert would repeat her mother’s fate and fall in love with a story she couldn’t finish.
Maybe the start of her story was her mother telling her how scared she was of the first word on tainted pages. Maybe it was growing up seeing her mother work nights and weekends, pouring her soul into a book destined to never be finished. There was some rich irony there, somewhere.
But if Taylor Hebert had to guess of a start that didn’t revolve around her dead mother, her story would start somewhat like this; she’s nine and the world reeks of colors. The side braid her mother spent half an hour entwining stubborn curls into was unraveling and there were chunks of grass sticking out. Mud is caked in between her fingers and there’s the telltale sign of mosquito bites on her ankles.
She doesn’t mind, even when the grass is itchy and her feet are sore. It was alright because Emma Barnes was sprawled across the grass next to her, her laughter ringing in the afternoon air. Even at an early age, Emma had an infectious laugh. When Emma laughed, you knew the world was okay.
The sun cast a warm glow over the two girls as they lay in the grass, their imaginations running wild. Taylor cocked her head to the side as Emma pointed wildly at clouds above them.
“Look, it’s a bunny!” Emma would cry out and Taylor would nod even when the clouds looked nothing like a bunny. If Emma woke one day and declared the sky was green, Taylor would agree without a doubt. That's just the way they worked.
As they giggled and whispered under the careful watch of their parents, brown eyes took sight of her best friend.
They were nine and nothing bad had happened to them yet. The world around them was alive with possibilities, and they embraced it with wide-eyed wonder.
In this small pocket of time, they were safe.
As the day drew to a close, and the sky painted itself in shades of pink and orange and Taylor’s then favorite colors, the two friends reluctantly rose from the grass when their parents called out for them. Their clothes were stained with remnants of their escapades, complete with streaks of mud and patches of grass clinging to the fabric of their clothes.
Taylor's mother, noticing the disarray, couldn't help but voice her disapproval, her tone laced with a mixture of amusement and gentle reprimand. Taylor knew her mother didn’t mean harm— a smile graced her mother’s face as she launched into a long lecture.
Yet, as her mother spoke, Taylor's gaze flickered towards Emma, her eyes sparkling with mischief and an impish grin spreading across her face. The shared laughter between them formed an unspoken understanding, as if they had a secret language that only they comprehended. The adults would watch in amusement as both girls burst into giggles.
In another lifetime, they grew up side by side, navigating the passing of time together. The mudcakes and whimsical make-believe games would gradually turn to the art of weaving charm bracelets beneath the flickering glow of bedroom lights. Emma would hold up a charm and ask for Taylor’s approval, and Taylor would beam as if Emma had hung the moon herself. They’d share birthdays and sleepovers and first dates and first break-ups. Taylor would always find a home in Emma and Emma would always find her way back to Taylor.
But that was another lifetime, and her mother was dead.
It seemed as though destiny itself rejoiced in the irony of their situation, mocking them with every turn of events. It was fate's laughter that echoed through Taylor's mind when years later, she finally mustered the courage to enter the office of her former high school. She found Emma Barnes immersed in animated conversation with one of the office clerks. A sense of disbelief washed over Taylor as she stood there, frozen in time, while the indifferent clerk repeated the same question twice. Emma's deliberate ignorance pierced Taylor's heart one last time, as the girl turned ever so slightly to avoid seeing her. Taylor lowered her eyes, focusing on the whirring of the office printer as it spit out her official high school transcript.
When she turned to leave Winslow for good, she looked back once. Emma wasn’t looking. The memory of being nine and laying in grass and laughing as Emma gestured to the sky was long gone.
But there was no Emma here now. Emma Barnes was somewhere ruling Winslow High with an iron fist and an army of mean girls by her side. She was probably out looking for the next girl to torture now that Taylor was gone. Taylor’s mother was still six feet underground in a plot of land far from her journals and there was an unfinished manuscript underneath her bed as if it suffered the same fate as its creator.
The world was ending and Taylor was running. Or on a less dramatic note, ending her morning run.
Taylor inhaled and exhaled, gulping fresh air as she came to a halt. She stretched out her arms, looking down at her running shoes. Her morning run started off as a way to clear her mind of all things Winslow, but she’d wasted today’s run on Emma and her mom and everything else. It was pathetic; how dare she link her own beginning to Emma, out of all people? How would Annette Hebert feel about that tidbit?
There was no point in thinking of Emma. Emma was gone. Taylor was supposed to start over again. But even then, she thought of Emma so much her head was going to explode. She found herself thinking of the girl even when she was deliberately trying not to think of her; what was Emma doing this morning? Did she still eat that weird flavor of cereal Taylor quite never understood? Did she still hold her breath when her parents drive through tunnels, and did she still highlight the oddly worded how-to steps from those trashy magazines her mother fussed over? On her first day of her junior year, did a horrified Emma hold up a sign with a date scribbled on it as her mother took cheesy photos? Did she remember any of it?
Taylor shook her head, banishing the thoughts. She was on borrowed time, and she didn’t want to imagine her dad walking down the neighborhood, hollering her first and middle name.
(Which he had done, twice. Whoever said your teenage years were the best years of your life were lying, clearly.)
When she made it home, the sixteen year old was greeted by the scent of fizzling bacon strips. Her father was up, humming to the soft tune of the old radio. There was a jug of fresh orange juice and a plate of pancakes waiting on the dinner table. Taylor eyed the plate, her stomach growling.
“Morning, kiddo.”
It was nice seeing her dad like this. He’d been so busy lately at work, they’d spent most of their days apart aside from the occasional afternoon. Even then, Taylor spent her free time in therapy and holed up in her room while her dad spent time his free time resting. They’d gotten comfortable with the silence overtime. It dawned on Taylor that maybe they had nothing else to say.
But who were they kidding? Taylor knew what today was. She’d been avoiding the date, trying desperately not to count down the days and failing miserably. The printed-out calendar on the fridge with the day circled in red didn’t help either.
“Morning, dad.” Taylor mustered a smile, reaching over her plate and tearing off a piece of pancake. “You’re up early.”
“Big day today.” Her father remarked, not meeting her eyes. “Got up extra early to make sure everything was ready.”
Taylor hummed in response. She pulled her hair out of a ponytail, letting her curls fall down to her waist. She sat down and pulled the glass of orange juice closer. She took a sip, well aware of her father’s nerves. Incidentally, her eyes landed on the calendar hung on the refrigerator.
She liked to think every other incoming high school junior faced this dilemma. It was a deadly mixture of first day nerves and nostalgia, she assumed. Except the semester started about two months ago, and Taylor barely got the all clear to start attending school in-person a couple of days ago. As much as she enjoyed having school online, her now ex-therapist decided it was time to slowly introduce her back into society, even if it meant starting two months after everyone else had gotten used to the new school year.
Taylor didn’t feel ready. She liked living in bliss; she was in her room most of the time, keeping up with her lectures and assignments online. If she ever got bored of the scenery, she’d go to a coffee shop on the Boardwalk or the library to study. Her classes the semester before were self-paced, so she’d grown used to managing her time in between her own writing and going on runs. Best of all, she didn’t have to deal with anyone aside from her state mandated therapist and her dad.
The little bubble she built was bursting.
Danny Hebert, on the other hand, was hopeful.
“I spoke to your new therapist and the principal earlier. They’re taking it seriously.” He finally turned to look at her, carrying the frying pan over with one hand. He came close to her place at the table, dropping two pieces of bacon onto her plate. “It’s good, you know.”
Of course it was good. To him, anyway. He was the only parent alive to see her fall into a comatose state, then wake up only to self-isolate from society. She was finally starting her life again in his eyes. It’d been a hard year for the two of them, and Taylor learned she had to play the role, too.
Taylor nodded, pushing that thought away.
“I guess.”
“Let’s give it a try.” Danny took his seat and began to eat. “Alright?”
She hesitated. Picking at her food to avoid Danny’s gaze, she nodded again.
Satisfied with her answer and probably terrified of pushing for more, Danny continued eating. They said nothing else of the topic, listening to the old radio play in the background as Taylor prayed to higher forces she didn’t quite believe in.
“I’m going to shower.” She announced when she was done. She dropped her plate in the sink and rinsed it quickly. “I need to take the bus.”
“Take your time. I let the boys at work know I was going to drop you off for the first week, at least.”
The teenager smiled. She dried off her hands in the fabric of her sweaty hoodie, about to head up the stairs to her room. She didn't care much for her appearance, but she did need to at least shower.
“Oh, Taylor.”
“Yes, dad?” She stopped in her tracks, tilting her head.
“Wear some color, maybe?” Danny teased with a smile of his own. “Perhaps a lighter shade of black?”
Taylor summoned a smile.
"Maybe."
The world had to be kinder than ex-best friends and high school lockers, her father told her when she was stuck in bed for a month. There was more to it, but the flickering hospital lights and beeping of machinery was all too much for her to grasp the full statement.
If it had been more for his comfort than her own, Taylor wasn’t exactly sure. She repeated the phrase as if it were a mantra; she was a feared sorcerer from her mother’s bedtime stories and she recited the incantation twice to make sure she was protected. Other times, she indulged him fully while not fully believing it. The sentence only existed to comfort her dad’s anxieties, and Taylor could play the part well enough to ease his nervous. Funny, how even then her existence seemed to revolve around hiding some of the truth.
She reminded herself of that; this was her playing the part well. Wearing a hoodie that was not a shade of black but rather green got her a nod of approval. She fidgeted with a red-beaded thread hanging loosely onto her wrist, her nerves crashing like tumultuous waves within her body. She was hyper aware of her surroundings- the harsh glare of the bright lights above burned into her sight, and the frigid air from a functioning A.C. forced her to clutch tighter to the thin fabric of her hoodie. Inhaling and exhaling, she found herself unable to cease the restless bouncing of her right leg as the clock in front of her dragged on.
This was her playing the part, and she had to play it well. For her father’s sake, if anything. Maybe the world could be kinder and she could convince them to let her finish the year online. She only needed to play the role a bit longer.
“Miss Hebert?”
Taylor’s eyes shot up and she locked onto the stern gaze of an authority figure standing before her. Her heart raced, her palms grew clammy and her mouth went dry. She repeated the mantra her dad instilled in her as she willed herself to stand.
“Yes,” She managed to stammer, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m Taylor.”
In an instant, the figure of authority relaxed. Her shoulders eased, a warm smile gracing the older woman’s features as she held out her hand for Taylor to take. The shift in demeanor caught the teenager off guard, and Taylor blinked before returning the handshake.
“I’m Dr. Yamada,” the woman spoke kindly, her voice somehow soothing the bundle of nerves growing inside of Taylor. “I’m going to be your primary therapist moving forward. We’ve spoken briefly on the phone before when your previous therapist transferred your case over.”
“Oh, uh, do you really have to be here?” She didn’t mean for her tone to come off as snappy. Embarrassed at the realization, the teenager sighed and shook her head. “Sorry, Dr. Yamada. I’m just…you know. First day nerves.”
Did that excuse make sense? Not really. Transferring midyear into a new high school with a reputation for being shiny was already terrifying on its own, but having a therapist following you around made the feeling of not belonging even worse. After everything, Taylor just wanted to put her down and continue the rest of her high school years in peace.
Dr. Yamada’s smile remained intact. If she was offended, she didn’t show it. “I won’t always be here. Walk with me, Miss Hebert. I’ll give you a run-down of the agreement between Arcadia High, your father, and myself.”
Nodding, Taylor followed the taller woman out of the lobby and into the corridors of the mythical Arcadia High.
“It’s normal for you to be nervous, you’ve been out of school for a while. I won’t always be here, but I will be these first four weeks.” Dr. Yamada began, slowing down her pace for Taylor to catch up. “When I’m here, we’ll have a check-up during one of your free periods. Once a week, we’ll meet in my main office after school for one of our sessions. This is just for the first month, and then I won’t be onsite. Of course, if you decide you would like for me to be here a little longer, that wouldn’t be a problem either.”
“Okay.”
She looked around, dark eyes adjusting to the colorful hues of the bulletin boards displaying upcoming events and student clubs. It was a sharp contrast to Winslow and its gloomy demeanor. She’d heard stories of Arcadia when she was a freshman; there was no mysterious meat offered with shady origins by underpaid kitchen staff, the school had an air conditioning system that worked past ten a.m. and lasted all year round, and the average transfer waitlist was ten years long.
(How? Taylor shrugged. Maybe their unborn kids will come with an acceptance letter from Arcadia. Or maybe Winslow kids sucked at rumors and math.)
“Did the office give you your class schedule?”
“Yes, it’s right here.” Taylor held up a white sheet, her classes printed onto the page in neat rows. She’d studied it over and over while waiting in the office for Dr. Yamada. Everything seemed to be in order for her to graduate on time from what little she remembered of the district's requirements.
“Great,” Dr. Yamada replied with an encouraging smile. “I have a copy of your schedule as well. I’ll keep track of your availability to ensure our sessions don’t conflict with your classes. We’ll work together to find the best times that work for you.”
They rounded a corner, and Dr. Yamada came to a stop. She turned to Taylor, pointing to the locker they were standing in front.
“I asked you when we spoke on the phone, but I want to double check,” She lowered her voice even when the hallway was empty and no one was in sight. “Would you be okay with using a locker?”
Her breath hitched at the mention of lockers. They’d talked about it briefly; Arcadia High had lockers like every other high school in the city and Dr. Yamada wanted to know how Taylor felt about that. It was easier to lie on the phone and brush her off when Taylor was trying to think of everything but school.
Now, in person, the memory of being trapped inside one for hours with the rotting smell of-
“I’m…I’m not sure.” Taylor stammered. “Do I need to?”
It wasn’t like she was scarred for life. Taylor wasn’t scared of lockers. She couldn’t be, because how pathetic was that? But the crawling sensation on her-
She shut her eyes and focused on Dr. Yamada’s response.
“It’s not necessary right now, actually. You can just carry your notebooks around. But I would like to make that a goal we work toward in thera-”
She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Taylor opened her eyes, catching her breath as she turned to look at the arrival of the newcomers.
Two students were walking down the hallway. The first, a tall blonde with a radiant smile, exuded a sense of confidence and approachability. Her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Taylor labeled her as the type of girl people claimed lit up every room she ever walked into. Of course, this was only when a rushed true crime documentary asked anyone who ever interacted with her for a quote. Suddenly, everything she touched turned into pure gold. She was the kind of pretty girl Emma would work to keep close; the type that she would flutter her eyes for and compliment just for existing.
Standing beside her was a mousy, shorter brunette, whose shyness was evident in the way she avoided direct eye contact and tucked a strand of dry curls behind her ear. Both girls stopped in front of Taylor’s locker, a sharp contrast to each other.
"Dr. Yamada! Sorry I'm late," the bubbly blonde exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine remorse but quickly transitioning into excitement. "The office clerk told me you were giving the tour on the other side of the school, so I had to run, and then I— anyway! I'm here now." Her enthusiasm seemed to spill over as she spoke, her energy contagious enough Taylor had to fight it.
Noticing her the brunette's unease, the blonde affectionately pulled the brunette closer to her. The shorter of the two yelped. "Oh, and I brought my sister!" she announced with pride. “I figured since Taylor is a junior and Amy is a junior, they’d have a class or two together!”
Taylor’s left eye twitched. She was starting the school year late with a therapist following in and checking up on her, and now she seemingly had a designated friend?
Dr. Yamada blinked. The therapist cleared her throat after gathering her thoughts, nodding.
“I understand the gesture, Victoria. However, bringing Amy isn’t a decision for you to make. I’m also trying to make this comfortable for Taylor.”
A small frown appeared on her face, her brows knitting together in contemplation. The blonde– Victoria, Taylor assumed, nodded in understanding after a moment. She clasped her hands together, and Taylor noted her sister rolling her eyes while folding her arms over her chest.
“Sorry, Dr. Yamada.” Amy spoke up softly. “My sister gets overly excited sometimes with the welcoming committee gig. I’ll go ahead and head back to class.”
“Thank you, Amy.”
Amy muttered a goodbye, turning to Taylor and offering a curt nod.
“I’ll see you around. My sister is better at selling this place, but it’s not too bad.” She didn’t smile when she said it. “Bye Taylor, hope Vicky doesn’t exhaust you.”
“Hey!” Victoria protested as the younger teen walked away. She didn’t seem offended though, her smile returning as she brushed off her skirt. Returning her attention to Taylor, her smile grew. “Well, my name is Victoria Dallon and I’ll be showing you around.”
“You already know but I’m Taylor. Taylor Hebert.” Taylor spoke for the first time since the girl arrived.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” The adult began. “Taylor, do not hesitate to drop by if you need anything. You have everything you need for your first day. And Victoria, drop by my office sometime during your free period.”
“Sure thing!”
Taylor didn’t offer a goodbye, just a nod and a hurried thanks. Satisfied, her therapist turned on her heel and walked back down the hall, leaving Taylor with Victoria.
“So, let’s start with our library. Oh, do you like reading? I started this book club and we don’t have many members so it’d be cool if you cou-”
If Victoria noticed Taylor barely said a word during their almost-forty minute tour thanks to several detours to Victoria’s unofficial hangout spots, Taylor wasn’t sure.
“I’ll meet you during lunch!” The blonde waved as she approached another group of students, joining a conversation Taylor couldn’t be bothered to listen into. Taylor was standing back in front of her locker, the numbers engraved in blue taunting her. Their tour was over and Taylor was making the decision of putting up her things.
Victoria would probably forget about their lunch plans. Hopefully. She seemed like the girl to have more things going on in her social calendar than play pretend.
Carrying her notebooks was starting to weigh on her shoulders. She’d thought about it twice while Victoria ranted about colors and mascots clashing (not that Taylor cared or remembered). Taylor assumed she could get away from the pain when she put her bag down during classes. It wasn’t like Winslow where she learned to keep her things close or risk grape juice drenching her belongings by the end of the day. No one here was hurting her (yet, another voice within interjected. She was safe for now.) Besides, Dr. Yamada would probably make her do it at some point, and Taylor didn’t want that extra pressure on her.
Slender fingers reached forward, her other hand reaching for the sticky note with her combination in her pocket. When she couldn’t muster the courage to turn the dial to right, she hung her head, reminding herself she was supposed to be trying. This locker was safe. She wasn’t in Winslow, she was in Arcadia. There was no Emma. There was no evil waiting behind the door, no danger to her-
“Locker’s giving you a hard time?”
Taylor blinked, cocking her head and half expecting to meet one of the mean girls from her old high school. Instead, a girl with freckles scattered across her pale face was looking back at her, no devious smirk in sight. She gestured to the lock, her back against the locker next to hers.
“Got your code?”
She took a moment to size up the freckled girl, trying to gauge her intentions. There was no sign of malice in her expression, and Taylor reminded herself she was in Arcadia now. Easing up, she handed over the sticky note with the locker code.
The girl glanced at the code and then back to Taylor, a friendly smile on her face. “No worries, I got you,” She proclaimed, her voice reassuring. “Let’s get her to open up.” She turned back to Taylor’s locker, her fingers spinning the dial. With a soft click, the locker propped open.
“There you go!” She handed back the sticky note. “Takes some time to get used to it. My locker is still stubborn sometimes.”
“Thank you.” Taylor hesitated, frozen for a moment. There was nothing unusual about the locker in front of her. Her confidence was gone, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she was aware of the girl’s burning gaze and how weird she probably looked, so she pulled her backpack off her shoulders, unzipped it and began to unload some textbooks the library gave her and some supplies.
“So, you’re new?”
“That obvious?”
“Not really.” She admitted with a shrug. “I know because my locker is next to yours and it’s been empty forever.” She tapped on it for emphasis. “I used to put some of my extra stuff in there until they put a new lock up.”
Her green eyes looked away and back into the crowd of students dispersing into classrooms, letting Taylor search for the digital clock on the wall. It signaled three minutes left to head to class. Luckily, her class was just some steps away. She silently thanked Victoria for taking her to each of her classes and giving her directions to avoid dealing with any write-ups.
“Name’s Lisa, by the way.” She extended a hand once she looked back at her. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I’m Taylor.” Shaking her hand, the dark-haired girl closed her locker. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. It’s hard being the new kid.” Lisa said. “I’m actually new, too. Moved to Brockton Bay in the summer. But I started in August.”
“So we’re both new?”
“Yep! Imagine the odds of two transfer students in Arcadia. Who did you bribe to get in?”
Taylor would have thought she was being serious if it weren’t for her fox-like grin. She snickered, well aware that her journey to Arcadia was an after effect of a bullying campaign making some news on accident. She wondered how quick that tidbit would ruin the conversation’s atmosphere.
“What, is the waitlist rumor true?”
“Oh, definitely. My grandkids might have a designated spot in this school.”
“Hmm.”
Lisa opened her mouth as if to continue the conversation when they were interrupted by the arrival of another girl. Amy had a stern look on her face, and whereas she seemed content to be in the background while Victoria took point, her presence now seemed to command attention. Lisa rolled her eyes.
“Sorry, Lisa. I gotta take Taylor to our math class.”
“Playing hero, Dallon?” Lisa flashed her a smirk, mock saluting. Looking back at Taylor, she winked. “See you around, don’t let her corrupt you.”
Amy glared. She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes but didn’t say a word in response to her teasing.
Before Taylor could respond or ask Amy how she knew what her next class was, Amy interjected again, a sense of urgency in her tone. "Come on, Taylor, we really should get to class. Mr. Henderson doesn't like latecomers."
Taylor shot Lisa a parting smile and nodded to Amy. Whatever happened there, she didn’t want to get involved. "Sure, let's go."
Once in class, Amy walked to the back of the classroom. She tapped on an empty desk next to hers, pointing for Taylor to sit besides her. Sliding her bag underneath the desk, she pulled out a notebook and turned to look at Taylor.
“Look, Lisa’s bad news.” The brunette lowered her voice as more students rushed in, getting closer to Taylor. “Trust me. Stay away from her.”
“Well, what’s so awful about her?”
Amy sighed, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening in. "I don't want to gossip, but Lisa and her friends can be trouble."
“Trouble?”
“They often get involved in things that they shouldn't, and I don't want you getting caught up in any drama or getting hurt. Lisa is not a good person.”
Taylor listened to Amy’s words, unsure about how to handle the situation. She didn’t want to get involved in pointless high school drama after dealing with her own problems for two years. But she also knew how rumors worked, and after hearing the inconsistent stories others made up about herself, she wondered if there was any truth to Amy’s words. Would it be fair to judge Lisa solely on what Amy said, anyway? But there was a gut feeling arising that whatever Amy was so convinced about was based on personal experience.
"I appreciate you looking out for me," Taylor said sincerely, "but I just got here and I don’t want to be in any drama. Lisa helped me open my locker and we talked about her being new. Nothing less, nothing more.”
Amy frowned again. “It's just easy to get drawn into things without even realizing it."
She almost added more when their teacher came in. Complicated theorems filled the whiteboard in less than two minutes and Amy was focused on the lesson, dropping the topic of Lisa completely. Taylor relaxed in her seat, not too interested in whatever math was happening in front of her or even the drama between Amy and Lisa. Instead, her eyes lingered on the window outside.
There were moments when her mind wandered. Little habits slipped out occasionally, like when Amy reached closer to hand a worksheet and Taylor braced herself for whatever trick she was planning on pulling. Even the snickering of students across the room sent her on high alert.
Then she remembered she was now in Arcadia High. She was sixteen, and Winslow was far away. The girl next to her was not Emma Barnes or Madison Clements or Sophia Hess. The world was not on fire. She survived. She was gone.
The nightmare was over.
She was safe.
For now, anyway.