The wind howled through the maple trees, as if carrying whispered secrets waiting to be told. Crimson, golden yellow, and burnt orange leaves swirled in the air like fragments of the past that refused to be forgotten.
Amara Blake rested her forehead against the cold window of her mother's old Subaru, watching the small town of Elmridge slowly pass by outside. Quaint shops, Victorian-style houses, and street lamps decorated with fall pumpkins—everything looked a little tooperfect.
Instagram-worthy. Aesthetic., But to Amara, it all felt too neat. Too fake.
"You've been quiet," her mother said, eyes still fixed on the road. "Nervous?"
Amara kept staring outside.
"Nervous about starting over in a tiny town that smells like maple syrup and expired memories? Nah. I'm totally chill."
"Amara…"
She sighed. "I'm fine. Seriously."
But truthfully… she wasn't.
Everything had happened too fast. Two weeks ago, her mom came home from work holding a box of files and said, "I've been promoted to principal at Elmridge High. We're moving next week."
No discussion. No preparation. No choice.
Their car slowed and stopped in front of a large, ivy-covered building with tall glass windows. Elmridge High School. It looked like something straight out of a 90s teen movie—complete with rusted iron gates and a clock tower that had probably been dead for years.
"You'll be okay," her mom whispered, squeezing Amara's hand. "It's just school."
Amara forced a smile. "Yeah. Just school."
But the moment she stepped out of the car, she felt it—
Someone was watching her.
A few students leaned against the front fence, casually sipping coffee and chatting, pretending not to care. But one of them wasn't pretending.
A guy. Black jacket. A stare darker than storm clouds. Standing like he owned the world—and was bored of owning it. Their eyes met. Just for a moment. But long enough to make Amara freeze. Like she… knew him. She looked away instantly.
⸻
Inside, the scent of old books and polished wooden floors greeted her. Her class schedule had been emailed last night: Literature, Physics, French, Break, Drama, History.
"Drama?" she muttered. "Great. My life's already full of it."
She found locker #317 and was turning the combo lock when—BAM!—the locker next to hers slammed shut.
Amara jumped.
"New girl," a high-pitched, mocking voice said.
A tall girl with platinum hair stood beside her, perfect eyeliner and a cheerleader jacket practically oozing arrogance.
"I'm Selene Monroe. President of the Drama Club. Everyone who's anyone here knows me."
"Uh… hi?"
Selene narrowed her eyes. "You're from Lincoln Prep, right? That artsy school in Chicago where kids go nuts from stress and protest using glitter?"
Amara blinked. "Uhh… yeah."
Selene gave her a once-over. "You don't look too tragic. I give you three days before you start writing sad poetry in the cafeteria."
Before Amara could reply, another voice cut in.
"Selene. That's enough."
That voice. The guy from outside was now in the hallway. Closer. His eyes were sharp, and there was a faint scar above his left eyebrow. His smile was barely there—more like mocking the world than greeting it.
"Still love the drama, huh, Selene?" he said.
Selene scoffed. "Ezra Vale. Forever the mysterious wannabe hero."
And then she walked off.
Amara turned to the guy. "You've got a talent for making people storm off."
Ezra shrugged. "Selene's just a hurricane in lip gloss. You'll get used to it."
"You say this to every new student?"
"No," he said, already walking away. "Only to the ones I remember."
Remember? But before Amara could ask, he was gone. Like a passing cloud.
⸻
At lunch, things only got worse.
Whispers followed Amara everywhere.
"That's the new principal's daughter, right?"
"Heard her dad's in prison."
"No—he's dead."
"Didn't she get expelled or something?"
Amara clutched her lunch tray and looked around the cafeteria. Packed. Loud. And no empty seats.
Until—
"Amara?"
The voice… familiar.
She turned. And dropped her tray.
Callum Rivers.
Her childhood best friend.
The one who vanished five years ago.
The one she thought… was gone forever.
"C-Callum?!"
The boy smiled like nothing was out of the ordinary. "Miss me?"
Amara opened her mouth, but suddenly all the lights went out. Pitch black. Then—a shout.
"THEATER NEVER SLEEPS, DARLINGS!"
The lights flicked back on.
Selene, standing on top of a lunch table, holding a thick script in one hand.
"I hereby announce—auditions for the fall play! Everyone's welcome! Especially transfer students with unresolved trauma! All that bottled emotion… perfect for the stage!"
The cafeteria erupted in cheers and laughter.
Amara blinked.
What is with this school?!