Monday, February 26th, 2029

SARAH

I lie in my bed, motionless.

It is my first real day of school. Friday was technically my first day walking inside the building, but, all I did was see the principal, Mr. Herondale. He gave me my basic schedule and told me to visit the guidance counselor come Monday morning. And thus hic sumus.

I’m out of bed a little later than I probably should be. Quite a bad habit. To be fair, homeschooling allows a lot more leniency on scheduling. Downside—I now have other people who can judge what I dress like. As much as I want to wear my leggings I know I probably should go for the jeans. I’ll be setting a precedent if I start off with leggings instead of gradually working my way down to them.

Ooor I could just wear the leggings.

No, my conscience has already made its decision. And oh look, only ten minutes past schedule. That’s fine. I look over and see my canvas still set up from last night. That’s...less fine. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to throw something together, but didn’t finish. I didn’t need to, because the outline of the jaw is familiar enough.

The sketch that looks just like John flashes through my mind, placing itself mentally on the canvas. I was drawing him.

I cock my head and try to wonder why he’s been such a prevalent force these past few days. I told him that I don’t look back on my old drawings, but that was a bit of a lie. I remember everything I’ve drawn.

I don’t know what compelled me to draw him last year—I think he appeared in one of my nightmares. His face was so vivid in my mind I just had to get it on paper. When I saw him on Friday I froze up—it’d been a few months since I’d last seen him so my mind was far, far away from those thoughts. But there he was, he looked like he’d seen a ghost himself.

I swear that second lasted an eternity, and if it lasted one more I would have asked him then and there if he was following me, just like he asked me. Ha, what a silly thing to get so embarrassed over. I look towards the clock fashioned after an old cartoon bird and see it’s six forty-five. Crap.

I open my closet and grab my nicest red blouse out and off its hanger. My Mom got this for me—and normally that doesn’t sound like anything special, but she’s been very frugal with what she gets since she’s the only source of income. She’s lightened up a bit since coming here since she can focus more on work since the homeschooling’s over, but she’s still the same person. So her getting this—which must have been at least somewhat pricey—is very special to me.

I grab my backpack from the back of my chair and sling it around my shoulder I walk through the hall slowly, trying to judge if my mother is awake or not. She is. I see her in her chair working on her laptop finishing up a report for her boss.

"So, are you feeling okay for me to be heading out?" I walk over to her, putting my arm on her shoulder. She jumps a little bit, but then puts her hand on mine.

“Well, good morning to you too.”

I laugh and look down. Her bright blonde hair bounces off of her shoulders and I can see slight streaks of gray throughout it. No doubt it must be due to the endless stress. She can hide many things behind her smile, but she can’t hide it in her hair for too long. She looks so helpless in that chair of hers, even if I know she’s the exact opposite.

“I’ll be fine, dear. You’ve reached your peak with my homeschooling, so it’s time that you go out into the world and learn all you can,” she says.

“Are you absolutely sure? If you need me you know you can call me,” I say.

“Dear, this isn’t you trying to talk me out of letting you go?”

“I…no, of course not! I’m just saying…”

She peeks up above the monitor and looks me right in the eyes. “Or are your nerves just at work here? Are you excited to see your friend again?" She winks.

I knew I should have just kept that to myself. “Uh, yeah. He should be able to help me find my way around the school.”

“That’s good. Are you sure you’re going to be okay on the drive there?” she asks.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine. I think the real question is if you will be okay here without me,” I say.

She wheels herself out beside me. “Now, if I know one thing, it’s that you are a smart young woman. I will be fine while you go out and get some proper schooling. Homeschooling only takes you so far and I want to see you succeed in life.”

I look at my mother softly and I go to give her a hug. She accepts the hug and pats me on the back. “Make sure you eat a good breakfast. You don’t need to be fainting on your first day,” she says.

I nod my head. “Yeah, I was planning on doing that now, actually.” I stroll past her wheelchair and walk into the kitchen. I open up one of the cupboards and snag a box of cereal. I look at the back of the box for a moment and laugh, remembering my first conversation with John. Silly boy. “What kind of cereal are you eating?”

Next I grab a bowl and some milk from the fridge and begin pouring the cereal into the bowl. Really? Well, I guess I lead him straight into that joke, huh? I don’t know why I’d said I’d seen it on a cereal box, really. I could’ve just passed that off as a genuine conversation. I guess I let him get me nervous...wait, why would I be nervous? Should I be nervous? Is it normal to make a cereal joke when you first meet a guy? Okay, calm down. Freaking out over it isn’t going to help at all. Just focus on your food first, guy second. Okay, food first—That’s when I notice that I’ve made a mountain in my bowl out of the cereal. I look at it from top to bottom with sheer amazement.

“Well...I’m definitely not eating all of that,” I say.

“What was that dear?” My mother asks.

“N-Nothing.” I call back.

I begin scooping up a part of the cereal mountain back into the box. Thankfully it makes it in without falling to the floor. I scoop up the rest of the cereal into the box and quickly eat my bowl before anything else happens. The next minute I’m grabbing I head out the door.

The wind is bracing, but it doesn't take long for it to settle down. Mother Nature has decided to grant mercy at letting up on all the snow recently and we actually have a clear day—cold, but clear.

I take out my car keys and unlock the doors to my small Prius. I’d always seen it as a decent fit for me. It’s a small car and I’m a small person—I know this car’s pain. I take a peek at the directions to the school I had copied a few days ago and commit it to memory. After buckling in I start the car and begin my journey. It isn't long until I am turning down Aviation Avenue and I see a large building made of brown stone bricks. It is more wide than tall, but its size is still nothing to laugh at. The sign in front of the building reads, "Queensbury High School".

I drive up to the student parking lot and find an open spot. I walk up to the door and press the button to the small keypad. Some basic prompts pop up and I did into my tote bag for my ID card. It's about as basic as you can get for an ID—it has my name and a picture; which I despise by the way. I hold it up to the screen. It scans the card and a ring of approval sounds. The doors slide open and I walk inside.

The walls are as solid white marble and the floors almost match it to a "T". It seems more like a mental asylum and not a school. The hallway branches off to both the left and right. I take a guess and head left. I'm looking around for the guidance office and John. I pass by some of the other students, some who give me the occasional glance or whistle.

I tune them out and continue down the hallway. I notice that the door at the end of the hallway has "Guidance Office" printed on a plaque. I make my way towards the door and open it up. The guidance office is decorated much like a living room of some sort. I guess it's to put the students at ease when they walk in or something similar. I find it a bit creepy. It kind of reinforces that mental asylum feel.

There are two doorways off to my left, one for each guidance counselor I'm assuming. I walk past the couches and chairs to the receptionist. Her one desk among the other furniture is so out-of-place, but I find it best to not mention it. The receptionist is typing away at her computer, completely oblivious to my existence.

"Um, excuse me?" My voice seems to fade in this smallish room of false comfort. The incessant clicking of the keypad continues. "Um, miss?" I knock on the desk. The clicking stops abruptly. The receptionist's eyes shift over to me. They are a golden-yellow, but show their age. “Why doesn’t this girl just get a clue?” The woman’s remnant thoughts linger.

There’s one important detail I haven’t mentioned...the thing is John told me how he heard this voice in the dream, how he believes it may be about the end of the world. I thought it might not have been just circumstance that we met. I don’t know how I feel about that. I’ve had this…I don’t know, sense in me for the longest time. Sometimes I could hear people when they think. It’s sort of like their runaway thoughts. I can intercept them like a radio. It’s all very confusing and I’ve never told anybody about it. It’s never been anything too monumental, anyway...except what I heard from John, that is.

I...I kind of freaked yesterday when I saw him at the park. As soon as he entered I must have gotten him stuck in my head. I heard what I assume was his dad. I...I heard the sounds and the crying. He started talking about the dream in the real world and I tried my hardest to ignore what I was hearing in the background, but then he asked about my Mom—probably thinking that the dream talk was getting too depressing...silly boy. The dream talk was the only thing helping. When we got to his parents that confirmed what I’d been thinking—and that’s when I could tell he thought something was up. God I must have sounded like such a douche.

The first time this...sensation ever happened to me was when I was five years old. I’d heard my mom thinking about my dad. Something about the kind of person he’d become. I remember her calling him a monster. That was the biggest event to happen then, because since then I’d begun seeing this terrifying monster in my dreams. Not exactly monster-like, but not really human, It was kind of a little bit of both mixed together. The monster would whisper to me quietly, but I never remember what he says. John sometimes appeared in these nightmares, but sometimes as the monster.

I didn't tell John, but only because it scares me. This is the first time anybody I’ve ever known has had something similar to what I’ve experienced. It might just be a series of perfectly timed coincidences, but I don’t believe so. I don’t want to scare him off by making him think I’m crazy.

I haven’t had those kinds of nightmares in a while, but these recent ones in the city I used to live in has instilled a whole new fear into me. I used to live in Denver, Colorado. The whole reason we moved was because I kept begging my mom for us to leave, because I kept having these nightmares about the entire city being destroyed. At first my mother was hesitant to leave. She said that if anything, the city had already been in ruins once and the chance of that happening again was unlikely.

Back before Oliver Avery reunited America, Denver had been one of the worst looking cities. People say that a bomb had hit the place and by the looks of it from the pictures that I saw, it sure looked like some had hit. It isn’t like that now, the debris had been cleaned up and the buildings rebuilt. It is now the shining example of American preservation and determination. I was still deathly afraid of it all coming back down again. I stayed in my room, barely ate and cried almost all of the time. These dreams were like no other. Finally, my mother caved and we moved out to New York, nearly as far as we can go from Denver as we can get. Although, I do remember her saying that it was a nice relief to finally get the motivation to leave.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Yes, what do you want?" The receptionist's voice yanks me back into reality.

I stare at her for a few moments and nearly forgot why I’d come in the first place. "Uh-yeah, I was told to come here by Mr. Herondale and-"

The receptionist holds her hand up and goes to her PA and switches it to "Private".

"Yes, Giselle? That new kid is here, should I send her in?" There is a slight sound from the PA, too quiet for me to hear. "Okay."

She turns the PA off and looks back at me. "Go on in, hun, she's waiting for you." She turns back to the computer, her face glued to the screen. The clicking resumes. I look towards the two doors, confusion settles in my mind. "The one on the left, hun." The receptionist says. “Dumbass.”

I cock my head and see her shake her head. She opens a small pill bottle on her desk and takes a few pills. I tear my head away and walk through the door. Inside is a small, almost cramped office. It's filled to the brim with memorabilia of Oliver Avery. My mouth is almost as low as the floor when I walk in. It is almost like a shrine, except for the desk sitting in the middle of the room. Behind that desk, is a young frail woman, she looks not a day over thirty. Her red hair looks a bit frizzled and curls around her head like a boa constrictor. "Hello Sarah, I'm Missus Janet," she says calmly, her hands firmly knit together.

"Hello, I was told by Mr. Herondale to come stop by today,” I say.

“Oh, yes! Do please sit down!” She waves her hand around and then points to the chair in front of the desk. “I wish Thaddy would stop redirecting these children over to me,” her thoughts let slip.

Thaddy? I don’t even want to begin to think about her calling him that. I sit down and get myself comfortable, but it’s a much harder task to accomplish than it sounds. It’s a plenty uncomfortable of a chair, but I don’t dare say so.

"So, first day in a brand new school, how is it?" She asks, a chipper smile is plastered on her face, it's somewhat unsettling.

"It’s…okay I…guess?"

She smiles a little bit more and then looks around to one of her pictures of the good president. This has officially gone from unsettling to pure creepy. “That’s good. Now, do you have any questions about your schedule?” she asks, letting the question hang.

“Only one. It says that Ms. Trine’s English class is in room 238B, where is that located?” I ask.

“Ah, Ms. Trine’s room. She’s going to be up the stairs to your right when you leave here. It is then just as simple as taking a right when you reach the top of the stairs and then it’ll be on your right when you go down the hall,” she says.

“Okay, thank you!” I reply. “I think that’s all I actually had questions on.” A lot of right turns and yet nothing about this woman feels right.

I stand up in the chair and go to shake her hand. “Oh, before I forget, do you want me assign you a buddy guide to help you around the school?”

“Oh, no, that’s alright. I have a friend who can do that just fine,” I say.

She eyeballs me for a minute and then her smile returns in full force. “Well, alright, then! You may head off to class then. Feel free to come stop by and chat anytime you want!” She says, unmoving. “Don’t need me, please.”

“Right, okay then!” I say, with a smile.

In my mind I’m nearly shaking out of fear for this woman. She surely…is something else. I stand up out of the chair and turn towards the door.

“Oh and Sarah?” Mrs. Janet asks.

“Yes?”

“Have a nice day.”

I smile back nervously and make my way out of the door, letting it close behind me. I take a deep breath stand there for a moment. That is, until I hear the keyboard clacking a few feet away from me. I’d completely forgotten about the receptionist. I make sort of an awkward smile at her, but she tunes me out completely. I walk out of the guidance office completely red in the face. Smooth, Sarah. Real smooth.

I look to my right as I make my way down the hallway. I notice some straggler kids who have no intention of going to class. They’re leaning against their lockers with muscle shirts and ripped jeans on. Yeah, nice winter apparel guys. I hear one of them whistle as I pass by, “Woah, the new girl has a nice ass.” I didn’t need to hear his thoughts to know that was what he was probably thinking. I shake my head and try my best to ignore them.

I turn into the door and open it, revealing the inner staircase. I look upwards at the bottom of the upper tier of stairs and take a deep breath. This is where I first saw John…well, outside of my dreams, that is. I look back up at the stairs and then I begin jogging up and push on the handle of the door at the top. I pass by rooms 236 and 237 and stop by to look inside of the windows of the door and they seem to have a U.S. History class going on. I also notice that the doors have the same kind of keypad as the front of the school. I guess this school is really uptight on its security measures. I walk by room 238 and I bring out my student ID once more. The keypad unlocks the door and I step inside. Right as I do, I can hear the teacher, Mrs. Trine I’m assuming, stop in what seems to be the middle of a lecture.

She turns around and stares right at me. She is a somewhat plump woman and she is wearing a blue mini coat with white frills. She looks overjoyed and her round-framed glasses almost slide down her thick nose. She pushes them back up and she makes a hand gesture as if to come in. The first thing that catches my attention is Mrs. Trine herself. I can see that her left hand is adorned in several rings of varying sizes and colors. She opens the door and looks at me with a look of excitement. “Well, hello there! You must be the new girl!” She says, in a very ecstatic voice. “I’m so glad she finally arrived. There were an odd number of students and now that is all fixed,” her thoughts say.

“Hi, my name is Sarah.” I say, extending my hand.

“Why, hello Sarah! I’m Mrs. Trine!” She turns to the rest of the class. Feel free to sit in any open seat, m’dear!” Mrs. Trine calls out and then returns to the front of class. “Sit in the front seat, that way there’ll be an even amount of students on each side of the room,” her thoughts come in.

I look out to the seats to a dozen pairs of eyes staring at me. A girl in the front row moves her bag off of the long black table and onto the floor. She has long brownish-red hair. I think she has realized that she is the only one sitting without somebody next to her. I sit beside her and put my bag on the floor beside me.

“Hey, thanks for the seat,” I say.

“No problem.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“It’s Iris,” she says quickly, returning her attention to the front of the class. “Damn it today is already pissing me off.”

“Well, mine is Sarah,” I reply.

“Yeah, the teacher kind of already made that clear,” she rolls her eyes and props up her head with an arm.

“Oh, I guess she did, didn’t she?” I laugh nervously.

“First class here?” Iris asks me.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a new thing for me.”

“You meet anybody else here?” she asks.

“Yeah, one guy, John Baker,” I reply.

I see a marker fly across the room between both of us. I turn my head slowly and I’m facing a seething red face of Mrs. Trine.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk in my class!” she tries to not scream, but it comes out in short bursts.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” I say nervously.

“Don’t let it happen again.” “Don’t be a delinquent student.” She turns back around and breathes deeply.

“Meet me after class in the hall,” Iris whispers to me.

I nod quickly and return my attention back to Mrs. Trine. This is going to be a long day.

The class drones on for what seems like forever. Mrs. Trine is talking about Hamlet and how the disappointed she is that nobody had done the assigned reading for the night, but she ultimately caves in and re-assigns it for tonight. Almost immediately after I’m passed a copy of Hamlet, but it looks like the kind of book you’d find in a museum.

I can nearly just feel the age of the book by just holding it in my hands and it seems to be all but dangling off of its spine, the pages begging to be freed from their paperback confinement. I’m staring down at a paper that Iris is doodling on. It seems to be various shapes and sizes interconnected like a spider web.

Iris catches me staring and then she covers it up with her arms, not looking at me. I return my attention back to Mrs. Trine and try to refocus. Just then, the bell rings and Mrs. Trine lets out a small noise of surprise.

“That bell is going to give me a heart attack one of these days and then they’ll think to change it.”

I’m packing my notebook and folder back into my pack and I get up. I look at Iris next to me who is doing much the same. We walk out of the room and she turns to me.

“So, you said you’d met John Baker?” she immediately asks.

“Yes, what about him?” I reply.

“That guy is kind of weird. He doesn’t talk to anybody else, really.”

I think back to John at the park. He did have more than a fair share of anxiety coming in. That much was obvious.

“I also heard that his dad beats him, but that is just rumor,” Iris says.

“What?” I ask.

“He’d come in with black eyes every so often last year and never wanted to explain to anybody how he’d gotten them. I mean, he didn’t tell anybody, but he might as well have.”

I’m silent. John.

“Are you sure you want to tangle yourself up in that mess?” She asks.

“What do you mean, tangle?” I ask.

“Hey, I’m not trying to sound like a jerk, I’m just trying to give some advice,” she says.

“I don’t see how it is any of your business,” I reply.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it, honest.” Iris says, holding her hands up.

I sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s change the subject,” I say.

“Okay, which class are you headed to next? I have art,” Iris says.

I pull my schedule out of my bag and scan it over. “Me too, are you in Mr. Dabney’s room?” I ask.

“Yeah, let me show you the way,” she says and begins walking.

I follow, struggling to keep up at first, but then I keep to a pace right beside her. She looks over towards me.

“So, where did you go before here?”

“I, uh, didn’t go...I was home schooled,” I reply, feeling my nerves setting in.

“Oh, that’s neat. I’d always wondered what it was like to be home schooled. No drama from other kids and I bet you that you had it pretty relaxed,” Iris says.

“Well, it’s different, definitely. There aren’t any other kids, so I guess there isn’t any drama, but there aren’t any friends either,” I reply.

“Oh, right.”

“Did you live here, or just move from somewhere else?” she asks me.

“I...I’m from Colorado. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the sudden game of twenty questions?” I ask.

“I’m just trying to get a reading on you, that is all. You can tell a lot about people in how they answer questions,” she replies.

“Really? What if those questions just yield in yes or no answers? How do you tell from that?” I ask, interested.

“Well, obviously I can’t miss loophole, but if people put a lot of thought into their answers, then I can tell they aren’t brain dead. If people answer questions with stories upon stories of their life I learn that they love to talk about themselves. Or, if people answer questions with another question…”

“Yeah?”

“They’ll probably be the cause of many headaches to come,” Iris finishes. My interest has then turned into a sudden silence. “Hey, I never said that the person behind the question wasn’t worth the headaches, come on, lighten up,” Iris begins chuckling.

We turn the corner and pass by some other students who are making a mad dash in the opposite direction. One of them who looks to be a few grades below runs directly into me and nearly knocks me over. I’m saved from my fall as Iris grabs my arm and pulls me up.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” She calls after the running underclassmen. “Hey, are you alright?”

She says you can tell a lot about how people answer questions. You can also tell a lot about a person in how they act in a crisis. While this certainly wasn’t any state of true emergency, it is nice to know I have someone I can count on, thank you Iris.

“Hey, Sarah? Are you in there?” Iris asks, shaking me out of my thoughts.

“Huh, what?” I say, confused.

“Are you alright? You kind of froze up on me right there.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess it was just the shock of being run into is all,” I say.

“Well, we’re here, do you want to sit by me? I’m sure I could persuade someone to make room,” she asks.

“Uh, if it isn’t any trouble to anyone else,” I say.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be,” she winks.