Chapter 1
Lila Reynold
I wake up with a jolt—back dripping with sweat.
My breath is shaky.
My hands are sweaty.
My body is trembling from head to toe.
A memory flashes in my mind.
The wet feeling of something sticky beneath my fingertips.
The thick scent of metal in the air, drifting up from the mysterious liquid below.
It's like the suffocating emptiness you feel when you realize you'll never be able to take back the harsh words you've said before.
I squeeze my eyes shut, like that could make the images stop haunting me.
It's been eight years.
Eight years since I lost my mom and brother.
And still, this dream won't go away.
I look over at my clock. 6:38.
It's time to get ready.
I don't have to get up for another hour, but I can't handle it.
I put on my big girl pants and suck it up.
The world doesn't care about what you're going through.
No.
It keeps rotating, regardless of what's going on inside it.
I do the usual: outfit, makeup, then hair.
That is literally the best order-you cannot tell me otherwise.
Once I'm done, I tiptoe to the top of the stairs, checking if the coast is clear, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat.
I pause, listening quietly.
The house is quiet.
He's still asleep.
• ✧･ﾟ:*• ✧･ﾟ:*
The drive to school feels shorter than usual, probably because my thoughts won't stop spiraling.
I squeeze my hands in my lap, trying to stop their incessant shaking.
You'd think that after going to this school since 7th grade, my nerves would've calmed by now.
Apparently, my nervous system cannot tell the difference between going to school and getting chased by a serial killer.
The car comes to a stop.
I step out—waving my chauffeur, Bill, off.
The school gates are looming ahead, and I am not looking forward to that.
I take slow, hesitant steps-not at all feeling like reaching that door.
Time seems to slow down, and it feels like I'm walking forever.
I allow myself two breaths to calm down.
"Come on, Lila. You've got this."
Despite my situation, I laugh at my brain's sorry attempt at cheering me up.
I let out a soft sigh.
"I can't keep avoiding this any longer."
I step into the school without looking back.
My perfect mask in place.
⸻
After 100 "sorrys," 15 "hellos/smiles," and 20 "excuse mes," it's an understatement to say that I am tired.
Nevertheless, I make it to my first period on time.
Science.
Ugh.
I hate it so much—almost as much as I hate him.
Stepping into the classroom, I'm hit with the usual chatter and carefree atmosphere.
Something comes zooming—aimed expertly at my face.
Not having enough time to dodge, I settle for a high-pitched shriek instead.
Turns out it was only a rubber duckie, but it was thrown with enough force to still pack a punch.
Of course, I play it off.
Do they really think I'm made of metal?
The guys burst out laughing.
"With the way you two are clutching your stomachs and wheezing, I'm convinced oxygen masks are about to drop from the ceiling. The amount of air in your lungs is actually concerning," I say to Toby and Andrew with a playful smile.
Toby lets out this obnoxious laugh and then proceeds to dab me up.
His hand reaches over to my back to give me a hard pat.
Bracing myself for impact, I steel myself for the burst of pain that explodes in my lower back.
No.
Why did he have to do that today?
As if his "pats" aren't hard enough as is.
Seriously, sometimes I genuinely question how many brain cells he actually has—because the way he treats me like a guy is disconcerting to say the least.
At least Andrew seems to notice the harsh dab and has the decency to tell him off.
We walk to the end of the classroom, sitting at the seats we've claimed as our own since the beginning of the year.
The desks are arranged in pairs of two, so Andrew and Toby sit in the seats in front of me, while I sit at the very back.
The bell rings, and my favorite teacher, Mme. Hurtubise, walks in-ready for a day of learning. Yay.
The minutes tick by, yet I'm barely listening, mostly blocking her out.
I fold my hands in my lap but can't stop the constant tapping of my foot.
I'm glancing at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time today.
Alys finally walks through the door, slipping into the seat beside me.
"What took you so long?" I say in a harsh whisper.
Alys merely laughs. "Calm down, it's not like I'm going anywhere."
She stays quiet for a second, giving me that look.
The one I hate so much.
The one that sees too much.
I get the weird urge to fidget under her scrutiny, but I suppress it.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
I force myself to empty my face.
"I'm fine," I say with a little laugh.
"Is it him again?" she asks, her voice softer now.
"No, it's not. I'm fine. Just tired," I whisper.
"Liar."
She senses my discomfort because she quickly changes the subject and slides into one of her little rants, and I couldn't be more happy.
That's why I love her so much—she always sees a lot, but never pushes too hard.
I lean back in my chair and let her words fill the silence between us.
I pretend I didn't hear.
I pretend I don't hear anything.
Because if I do, I might break.
