The zero period was already halfway over when the class teacher finally finished taking attendance. He closed the register with a soft thud, checked the clock, and sighed like he was already tired of the day.
"The next teacher's running late," he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Try not to kill each other."
The bell rang as he stepped out.
The classroom shifted instantly.
Chairs scraped against the floor. Bags were dragged open. Conversations rose in volume like someone had turned a dial. Emily stayed still, fingers wrapped around the notebook, eyes fixed on the corner of the desk.
The girl beside her leaned back in her chair, still mid-conversation with a boy sitting one row over, near the window. He had messy dark hair and a careless posture, his attention divided between the girl and the notebook in front of him. His pen moved slowly, sketching shapes that didn't look anything like notes.
After a moment, the girl turned toward Emily.
"So," she said easily, "what's your name?"
Emily hesitated before answering.
"Emily."
"I'm Samantha," the girl said, then immediately shook her head. "Actually, don't call me that. Sam's better."
Emily nodded. "Okay."
Sam's gaze flicked over Emily's clothes, quick and uncritical. "That's a pretty basic outfit for Silvergrove," she said, a small chuckle in her voice. "Not in a bad way. Just… different."
Emily's shoulders tightened slightly. "Yeah. Someone already told me."
Sam sighed. "Let me guess. Fiona."
Emily didn't say anything.
"Thought so," Sam continued. "Ignore her if you can. People here think money is a personality trait."
She reached out and patted Emily's arm lightly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're fine."
Then she turned toward the boy by the window. "Michael. You gonna say hi, or are you committed to whatever that is?"
Michael didn't look up.
Sam rolled her eyes. "He's selectively social," she told Emily. "Don't take it personally."
That earned a reaction. Michael smirked and glanced back just for a while
Before anything else could be said, footsteps echoed down the hall. The literature teacher walked in with an expression that suggested he'd been annoyed long before entering the room.
He dropped his bag onto the desk.
"Good morning," he said flatly. "This is literature. If you don't like reading, thinking, or having opinions, you're free to leave now."
A few students laughed. Someone muttered something under their breath.
Sam leaned closer to Emily and whispered, "He's dramatic. You'll get used to it."
The teacher's eyes scanned the room and landed on Emily. "You must be the transfer student," he said. "Miss… Emily…?"
Emily swallowed. "Calloway," she said quietly.
He nodded once. "Welcome to Silvergrove High, Miss Calloway. I hope you enjoy literature. It doesn't enjoy everyone."
Emily nodded, unsure what the correct response was.
The teacher began handing out books, moving row by row. When one landed on Emily's desk, her reaction was immediate. Her fingers brushed over the cover, her posture easing without her realizing it.
Sam noticed. "Wow," she murmured. "You look genuinely happy."
Emily glanced up, embarrassed. "I just… I really love books."
Sam leaned over to read the title. "This one?"
Emily nodded. "I've read it. Twice."
Sam smirked. "Alright. Bookworm. You're approved."
The teacher cleared his throat. "Before we begin, write one sentence. Your mood today. Keep it honest."
Pens moved across paper.
Sam wrote quickly, then angled her notebook just enough for Emily to see.
Met a bookworm. Not mad about it.
Emily smiled faintly and looked back down at her own page. She hesitated, the pen hovering, then finally wrote something she didn't plan on sharing.
The lesson continued. The teacher talked about themes and narrative voice, occasionally calling on students who weren't listening. Emily followed easily, taking notes out of habit. It felt familiar. Safe.
Halfway through the period, Sam leaned over again. "We usually do study sessions after school," she said quietly. "Me, Michael, and a few others."
Emily blinked. "Study sessions?"
"Yeah. Less studying, more gossiping school together," Sam replied. "You should come."
Emily looked at her. "Me?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Who else?"
Emily hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Sam smiled, satisfied, and leaned back just as the bell rang again.
---
By the time the last period before lunch dragged itself to an end, Emily felt like she'd lived an entire week in a single morning.
Her notebook was full. Her head ached slightly. And yet, she didn't hate it.
The bell rang, loud and final, and Sam stretched in her seat like she'd just survived something traumatic.
"My body actually hurts," Sam groaned, leaning back. "Silvergrove should be illegal before noon."
Emily smiled faintly as she slid her book into her bag. She was halfway through zipping it when she noticed him again.
Michael was already at the door.
Hands in his pockets. Waiting.
He wasn't talking. Just standing there, eyes unfocused, like he was used to waiting on people and didn't mind it. The light from the hallway hit his face just right, softer than she expected.
Emily looked for a second too long.
When he glanced back, she dropped her gaze instantly, heat blooming on her cheeks. She told herself it was nothing.
Just noticing. That was all.
Sam stood up beside her. "Alright, new girl. Canteen before I collapse."
Michael pushed off the doorframe without a word and fell into step beside them.
Emily noticed that too.
They walked together through the crowded hallway, Sam talking nonstop about teachers she hated, students she tolerated, and why the canteen fries were criminally inconsistent. Emily listened, nodding, occasionally laughing, but she was hyper-aware of Michael walking just to her left.
Every time he spoke to Sam, even just a short reply, Emily felt it. A strange, stupid flutter she immediately hated herself for.
At the canteen, they grabbed their food and found an empty table near the side.
Sam dropped into her chair dramatically.
"So," Sam said, stabbing at her food. "Where'd you come from before Silvergrove decided to adopt you?"
Emily hesitated, then answered softly. "Another town. Smaller school. Different pace."
"Better or worse?" Sam asked.
Emily shrugged. "Quieter."
Michael finally looked at her properly. "You miss it?"
His voice wasn't loud. Just direct.
Emily nodded before thinking. "Yeah. A little."
Her face warmed again. She focused very hard on her plate.
"Figures," Sam said. "This place is loud in all the wrong ways."
They talked more. Sam asked about books Emily liked, what subjects she hated. Emily answered carefully, laughing when Sam made exaggerated faces.
Michael listened more than he spoke. But when he did, it was always to her.
Just small things.
A "hi" when she looked up. A quiet "you'll get used to it" when she admitted the school felt overwhelming. A dry comment about the food that made Sam snort.
Every time he spoke directly to her, Emily felt that same soft heat rise to her cheeks. She was glad neither of them seemed to notice.
That was when Sam stiffened slightly.
Emily followed her gaze.
Across the canteen, Fiona stood with Terra beside her. A boy hovered nervously in front of them, clutching a bouquet of flowers like a bad idea he couldn't take back.
Sam sighed. "Oh. This again."
Emily looked at Michael. "What's happening?"
Sam answered for him, voice sharp with sarcasm. "Some poor soul thinks Fiona has a heart."
Michael didn't look impressed. He didn't even look interested.
"Your girlfriend's about to break another heart," Sam added, glancing at him.
Michael rolled his eyes. "She's not—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "Whatever."
He didn't defend Fiona. Didn't move. Didn't look bothered.
The boy stood in front of Fiona, hands shaking slightly as he held out the bouquet.
"I— I just thought," he started, voice cracking, "you might like them."
Fiona looked at the flowers like they offended her.
"You thought?" she repeated slowly, tilting her head. "That was your first mistake."
A few students nearby turned to watch.
Terra laughed under her breath.
Fiona took the bouquet, not gently, and turned it over in her hands. "You know what's funny?" she said, loud enough for people to hear. "Guys like you always think a few cheap flowers mean something."
"They're not cheap," the boy said quickly. "I saved—"
"Oh my God," Fiona cut him off, rolling her eyes. "Did you hear that? He saved."
Laughter rippled through the canteen.
Fiona dropped the flowers to the floor and crushed them beneath her heel, grinding them in with deliberate
slowness. "If you want my attention," she added coldly, "try not being embarrassing."
The boy's face burned red. He stood there for a second longer, like he didn't know where to go, before turning and walking away.
Emily's hands curled in her lap.
"That was unnecessary," she whispered.
Sam scoffed. "That's Fiona's entire personality."
Emily glanced at Michael, expecting… something. Anger. Embarrassment. Defense.
He didn't react at first.
Then Sam nudged him. "You good?"
Michael exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "She can do whatever she wants."
Emily looked at him. "You don't care?"
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice stayed calm. "Why should I? It's not my mess."
He finally looked toward Fiona then. Not with affection. Not even annoyance.
Just distance.
Fiona must've felt it, because her head snapped in his direction. Her eyes lingered on him, sharp and possessive, before shifting to Emily.
The look she gave Emily was worse than before.
Emily's stomach dropped.
She looked away, heart pounding.
For the first time since arriving at Silvergrove High, she understood one thing very clearly.
This place wasn't just cruel.
It was dangerous.