Marked by Him

Chapter One — Rosalie

Deadwood Bay High was loud when I reached the front gates. Cars crawled along the street, students crowded on the sidewalk, and the morning air smelled like salt drifting in from the bay. I adjusted my backpack strap and walked toward the entrance, determined to get inside before the bell rang.

That’s when everything slowed down. Three black cars were parked across the street from the school. Their engines were running, and their windows were tinted. They hadn’t been there yesterday. They didn’t belong near a school.

People noticed. Conversations dropped. A few students stopped walking altogether. Men got out of the cars. They were older than us, bulkier, dressed in dark jackets and boots. One of them grabbed a boy from my grade before he could reach the doors, his fingers twisting into the boy’s collar.

“Hey,” the boy protested, panic clear in his voice. No one helped him.

Teachers stood by the entrance, frozen, pretending to check their phones or chat with one another. Everyone knew better than to get involved.

In Deadwood Bay, you didn’t interfere with the gang.

I watched them search the boy’s pockets, clutching my bag. He kept shaking his head, insisting he didn’t have what they wanted. One man laughed and shoved him harder against the wall. Then I noticed one man who wasn’t moving. He stood a few steps back, leaning against one of the cars, scanning the crowd. He wasn’t shouting or touching anyone. He didn’t need to. He had an air of control and purpose. When he looked at me, I instinctively looked away. I told myself it was nothing. Just another bad moment in a town full of them.

“Everyone inside,” someone muttered near the doors. The bell rang, sharp and loud, breaking the tension.

The boy was released with a final shove, and the gang stepped back as students hurried past them, heads down and shoulders tight. I walked by with the rest, my heart still racing. As I passed the cars, I felt eyes on me again.

“Hey,” a voice said calmly. I stopped before I could think better of it. The boy from the car was looking at the name stitched onto my backpack strap. His mouth turned slightly, not quite a smile.

“Rose,” he said. I didn’t answer.

I tightened my grip on my bag and walked into the school. Behind me, the engines kept running. By the time I reached my locker, my hands had stopped shaking. Almost. I was twisting the dial when a familiar voice broke through the hallway noise.

“Rosy.” I exhaled and turned just as Ava slid up beside me, her dark curls bouncing as she leaned against the lockers like nothing had happened outside. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said. “Or failed a test you didn’t study for.”

I managed a small smile. “Something like that.”

She followed my gaze down the hall, where clusters of students were already whispering, their eyes bright with excitement and fear. Ava raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you missed it,” she said. “The guys outside? My phone’s blowing up.” I shook my head.

“I didn’t miss it.” Her expression softened. “Oh. You saw it.”

“They grabbed Ethan,” I said quietly. “Right in front of the doors.” Ava’s mouth tightened. “That’s messed up. He’s just a kid.” “So are we,” I said. She bumped her shoulder lightly against mine.

“Deadwood Bay doesn’t care about that.” I finally got my locker open and shoved my jacket inside. The cold metal felt grounding. “One of them talked to you,” Ava said suddenly.

I froze. “What?” She tilted her head. “I saw it. Tall one. Dark jacket. He said something when you walked past.” I shook my head too quickly. “It was nothing.” Ava studied me, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Because your face says nothing.”

“He just read my name,” I said. “That’s it.” Ava smirked. “Great. Now the gang knows your name. Just what you needed.” I rolled my eyes, but my chest still felt tight.

“Don’t joke about it.” “I’m not,” she said, more gently now. “I’m just asking… you okay?” I nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

The bell rang again, signaling the start of first period. Ava looped her arm through mine like she always did, steering us toward class. “Come on, Rosy,” she said. “If Deadwood Bay wants to be dramatic before eight a.m., that’s its problem. We’ve got history to get through.”

I let her pull me along, grateful for the familiar weight of her presence and the rhythm of our steps. Behind us, the hallway buzzed with rumors. But inside the classroom, everything went back to pretending. History class didn’t feel like history at all. We waited nearly ten minutes, desks filling, chairs scraping, before someone finally checked the clock.

“Where’s Mr. Calder?” a boy near the window muttered. No one answered. Ava was already pulling out her notebook, twirling her pen as if it were just another morning. Another five minutes passed. The door opened, but it wasn’t our teacher. Principal Hartley stepped inside instead, tall and stiff in his pressed suit. The room quieted immediately. “Your teacher is absent today,” he said. “You’ll stay here and work quietly. I’ll be supervising.”

A few students groaned under their breath. Hartley’s sharp gaze silenced them fast. He took a seat at the desk, folding his hands and scanning the room as if waiting for something to go wrong. I sank lower in my chair. Then the whisper came from behind us.

“That’s her.” I froze. “I saw her this morning,” a boy said quietly—but not softly enough. “Talking to one of them. Right outside the school.” Ava’s pen stilled. “Didn’t look scared either,” another voice added.

My face burned. I stared at the scratches on my desk, refusing to react. “That’s how it starts,” the first boy continued. “Girls think they’re special.” Ava turned around slowly. “Watch your mouth.” The boy smirked. “Why? Hitting close to home?”

“Sit down,” Principal Hartley warned. “He’s talking about her,” Ava said, standing. “And he’s lying.” “I’m not lying,” the boy shot back. “Ask her. Tell them what he said to you, Rose.”

The room went silent. All eyes turned to me. I didn’t speak. The boy laughed. “See?” That was it. Ava crossed the aisle and shoved his desk back, metal screaming against the floor.

“Don’t talk about her,” she snapped. “You don’t know her.”

The boy stood firm, shoving her back. “Get off me.” Chairs tipped. Someone yelled. Principal Hartley was on his feet now, shouting for them to stop. Ava swung, her fist hitting the boy in the shoulder. “Enough!” Hartley barked. Security arrived quickly, pulling them apart. Ava was still shouting as they dragged her toward the door. I finally stood. “It wasn’t her fault,” I said quietly. No one answered. Ava looked back at me once before disappearing into the hallway. I sat back down as the room settled into uneasy silence. Principal Hartley straightened his tie and stared at the class. “Open your books,” he said. History resumed as if nothing had happened.