Old, iron gates separated Ridgemont High from the rest of the Massachusett population. They stretched far above my head, their chiseled tips disappearing into the fog. My shoulders rolled forward as I moved past them, my bones heavier and tongue thicker. Memories of my past assaulted me in waves of nausea, and the reason I was back here seemed to slap me square across the face.
There was nowhere else to go.
Two rust covered gargoyles flanked either side of the double doors, their wings wide open and mouths frozen in a scowl. Their presence felt a lot like a premonition, and I wondered often if their front and center position was purposeful—some sort of subtle yet twisted metaphor for slow torture.
My exhale was heavy as I climbed the steps of the building and crossed the threshold. Chin low, I kept my hood in place as I put one foot in front of the other. The walls felt more narrow than they did the year before, and though heat was now blasting me from all directions, my goosebumps were as prominent as ever.
The inner workings of Ridgemont High was a lot like a puzzle box. The intricate web of walls were woven together without purpose and one had to work their way through one tangle before they could move on to the next. It was something of a nightmare for anyone who visited us but those of us who grew up here knew the secrets these walls kept.
Some were hundreds of years old, whispered and hidden long before we ever made this space ours… and some were more recent.
Some weremine.
My fingers crawled across the wall’s harsh edges, dipping in and out of divots as I walked. The sconces lighting my path were more dull than bright, flickering every so often. Their design felt too intricate for this place, too beautiful—their artistry a keepsake of the church that was here first.
Wooden boards creaked against the bottom of my sneakers, and one by one, I felt the heat of a dozen stares crawling up the base of my spine. Uncertain whispers and hushed conversations vibrated the insides of my ears. The unwanted attention made my stomach curl, but I understood their curiosity.
Death made everybody curious.
A sea of bodies flanked me as I walked, their quiet questions like stamps across my skin. I was more mystery than human now.
My fingers vibrated as I reached for my locker, carefully spinning the dial. It opened with a loudpopand a creak I felt in my spine. The dark, cavernous space called to me, and I wrestled with the idea of folding myself inside and closing the door until I heard the telltale sound of the lock clicking.
My exhale made my insides shake.Five months. Less than half of a year until graduation… and then I could run.
My backpack slipped off my shoulders, and I didn’t bother removing anything before hanging it on the metal hook. My coat was next, and the zipper squealed as I peeled it off my body and dropped it at the bottom with a sad plop. It was a subtle sound, but I felt its echo move through every inch of me.
The metal was cool against my palm when I pressed the door shut. Reaching backward, I grasped the edges of my hood and pulled it up over my head, tugging it low enough to sweep the ends of my eyelashes. My shoes made a noise when I spun, and I almost laughed at the way everyone averted their eyes, feigning as though they weren't fascinated by every move I made.
The first period warning sounded. It was a deep, dismal noise that was more gong than bell, but it managed to coax everybody back into their morning routine. Lockers opened and closed. Sheets of homework crinkled. Bodies scattered in a maze of direction. I remained still, watching the commotion of it all.
The senior locker bay was tucked in a shadowed corner, farthest from any classrooms or offices. Some would run just to make it to first period before the final bell… but most wouldn’t care.
Ridgemont High was a boarding school in name only.
The students here lived on campus because they had nowhere else to go. The rules were lax. We had no uniforms. There wasn't a cluster of parents bribing the enrollment office to get their kid a spot. We were a last resort kind of place but most didn’t mind.
Somewherewas better thannowhere.
The hallway cleared. The walls quit whispering. I found myself grasping at the threads of stillness as though they were an anchor. I held them loosely in my fists as I walked. My jeans made a whooshing sound that reverberated off the brick, and my shoes clapped against the floor as they led me toward my stop.
Indignation settled heavily in my gut, and I felt my cheeks heat as I stared at the frosted door and the letters pressed against it.
Mr. Roman Hayes—Counselor.
CHAPTERTWO
SEBASTIAN
Iraised my fist and rapped it against the door. It was a feeble, barely audible sound, and I worried I'd have to do it again when the door flew open. The hinges squealed, and I felt a burst of air dance across my cheeks. It was stale enough to choke on.
“Sebastian.”
People often stumbled over those three syllables, gagging against the sounds of my name as it rolled across their tongues. It wasn’t always that way but tragedy had this way of infecting people. Now the stench of death lingered throughout the letters of my name, and I braced myself for the fear and disgust that often followed the sound of it.
There was… none.
Not this time.