Right before I died, after all the pain and shock disappeared, there was only one thought that lingered in my mind. I really should've paid attention in English today.

There's a concept called the Butterfly Effect. It's a phenomenon credited to Edward Lorenz, who passed away exactly one day before I decided to take an AP English class instead of the general eleventh grade English course for my junior year of high school.

Essentially, what it states is that it's impossible to accurately predict the weather. A forecaster can tell you that it's clear and sunny skies tomorrow, but they didn't know that at that exact moment, a butterfly was flapping its wings right outside the studio. Next thing you know, there's a tornado outside your window tomorrow morning.

It's hard to tell what my butterfly was. Maybe it was the fact that my best friend, Sophia Lee, is an absolute genius when it comes to English and writing. She's the kind of person that reads Shakespeare for fun and writes poems about everything and everyone. I've got at least ten that she wrote about me, my personal favorite being "When She Looks out the Window" because it sounds a lot more poetic than it is. If Sophia took AP English, then I took AP English, and then I'd hope and pray that we were placed in the same class.

Fortunately, the scheduling system was kind and I was placed into Mrs. Dill's sixth period English class with Sophia. The downside? I despise English as a subject. I never read any of the books we were assigned and made sure to finish each essay at the last possible moment. I'll give Mrs. Dill credit—she caught on to my disliking of the subject faster than any of my other English teachers have.

I think that was why, on death day, she placed me at the front of the classroom so I could pay attention for once. What I ended up doing was staring out the window to my left, watching the clouds move and wondering where they went. Maybe my parents would be able to see them from the other side of town, or even one of my little brothers at the elementary school a few blocks down.

"Victoria, would you like to answer the question instead?" asked Mrs. Dill, standing over my desk.

Slowly, I looked away from the window and avoided meeting her gaze. Behind her, a question was written onto the whiteboard. What is the significance of the framing device used in Frankenstein?

"I don't know," I muttered.

Mrs. Dill pursed her lips. "What was that?"

She knew exactly what I said. We were at most, half a foot away from each other.

"I don't know," I repeated, unsure if the irritation in my tone was intentional or not. Either way, it pissed Mrs. Dill off enough to glare at me with those kind eyes of hers, before telling me to meet her after class.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Sophia giving me one of those pity smiles, like she was sympathetic but also knew that it was entirely self-inflicted. Well, it was the thought that counted.

After the bell rang, Sophia walked up to my desk and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll tell the guys to wait near the flagpole until you're back," she said, tossing her braids over her shoulder. "Hope it goes well."

"Thanks," I answered, before slumping forward and putting my head down on the desk. I felt Sophia pat me on the back before drawing her hand away from me. It's not like I have separation anxiety or anything, but my stomach churned with uneasiness when I raised my head to the empty classroom.

Mrs. Dill pointed a finger towards me, beckoning me over to her desk. I stood up, kicking my seat back, and went through every possible scenario in my head as I approached her. I had one thing going for me: though my parents were going to find out about this since Mrs. Dill sends emails like there's no tomorrow, I didn't think they would care much.

I guess I wasn't looking ahead, because her desk was much closer than I anticipated. My hand slammed into the corner, knocking off a cup full of pencils and a few sheets of paper.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Salt in the wound. Mrs. Dill kept her eyes on me as I apologized and began picking everything up. Right as I was about to place her things back on the desk, I noticed a leather-bound journal sitting in the corner. I'd never seen it on her desk before.

There was about the writing on the cover being in an unfamiliar language, or even the loose parchment hanging over the edge, that captivated me. I felt the urge to reach out and flip through the pages, even with the chance that it was absolutely worthless to me.

Mrs. Dill cleared her throat. "Victoria, I don't want to have to contact your parents," she began. "But I've noticed that you've barely been paying attention for the last month or so. Is... is there anything going on at home?"

I shook my head, eyes fixated onto the journal.

"You're a smart girl," she continued, "but this is a class that requires your utmost effort. Can you promise me that you'll try?"

"Yeah."

A hand slammed down on the cover of the journal. I nearly jumped back as my head shot up, finally meeting Mrs. Dill eye-to-eye.

"Good," she said with a soft smile. Mrs. Dill pulled the journal towards her, then placed it inside the drawer underneath her desk. "I trust you, Victoria. I won't keep you here any longer. Make sure to get home safely, okay?"

I nodded, watching as Mrs. Dill slowly made her way out of the classroom. After about a moment or so, I left the classroom too, surprised at how easily that had went for me. It almost seemed like Mrs. Dill was in a rush, especially after she noticed that I was looking at the journal.

Sophia waved at me while standing in front the flagpole as soon as I made my way to the front of the school. Beside her were two of our other friends.

One of them was Carter Hawthorne, the tall one who probably only stuck around us for one reason. That reason was our other friend, Aidan Wang, who wore his everlasting grin as I reached the three of them.

"Hey, Victoria!" Aidan beamed. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," I told him, shrugging. "I'm not in big trouble. Yet."

"Let's just go already," Carter pressed. He started walking ahead, with the rest of us trailing close behind.

As expected, Sophia was the first to comment on it. "Does he even like us anymore?" She asked me and Aidan. "I mean, he and Aidan are basically tied together at this point, but it's like he hates Vic and I."

I can understand Carter not liking me. We've never been especially close, even after knowing each other for over a decade. What I couldn't understand was him disliking Sophia, of all people.

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you guys," Aidan countered, lowering his voice. "He's just... different, now. You can't blame him for that, can you?"

"I know." Sophia let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, I'll try and text him, or something. I just want to make sure he's doing better than before."

That's the thing about people like Sophia, or even Aidan. I wish that I could connect with people like they did. People want to talk to Sophia, but seem to avoid me at every cost. And none more than Carter Hawthorne himself.

All that being said, he was still my friend. I remember locking myself in my room for hours after finding out that Carter's mom had left him, only a couple years after his dad passed away. What had that kid ever done to deserve something like that? All I wanted to do was to call Jennifer Hawthorne and scream at her until my lungs gave out.

Unfortunately for me, Sophia's house was the closest to the school, so Carter, Aidan and I walked in silence back to our neighborhood. My thoughts were preoccupied with the journal on Mrs. Dill's desk, so much so that I stopped walking entirely.

"Victoria?" Aidan asked, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "You alright?"

Even Carter was giving me this strangely concerned look. I really must've looked out of it for him to elicit any kind of reaction towards me.

"You have Dill second period, right?" When both Aidan and Carter nodded, I continued. "She has this weird book on her desk."

Carter raised a brow. "And?"

I knelt down, bringing my backpack in front of me. Then, I unzipped it, bringing out Mrs. Dill's journal. I knew that Sophia would've lost it if I told her that I took something from her favorite teacher, but I should've guessed that Aidan wouldn't have appreciated it all that much either.

"That's illegal, you know," Aidan pointed out.

Still, when I opened the book, both he and Carter immediately stood beside me. "That's creepy as fuck," said Carter, pointing to one of the pages that I'd stopped on. Underneath the illegible writing was a crude depiction of someone's limbs being ripped apart.

"Maybe it's an anatomy thing," Aidan suggested.

I flipped to the next page, then slammed the book shut before I could register what I'd just seen.

Aidan shuddered. "Okay, maybe Mrs. Dill's a creep."

"I'm not sleeping tonight, by the way," Carter said, elbowing me in the arm. "Thanks for that."

"What's this?" Aidan pointed to a piece of paper that had fallen out of the book when I closed it. I bent over and picked it up, then held it underneath the sunlight.

7 pm on Friday, November 21st. Meet at the middle of Harlowe Grove. Be there, or suffer the consequences.

And make sure to bring the book.

Carter and I looked to each other, and for once, an understanding passed between us. clearly, Aidan had noticed as well, because he was shaking his head furiously.

"You're kidding," he started, stepping in between both of us. He turned to Carter and sighed. "My mom would kill you, Carter."

"Well, it's a good thing you're coming too," Carter answered, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk.

"Victoria?" Aidan's eyes were filled with desperation, as if somehow, I'd be the one to convince him otherwise.

Truthfully, I never would have stopped thinking about it if I hadn't gone. "You don't have to come along if you don't want to," I told him. Once I placed the journal into my backpack, I stood up, turning towards the street that led to our neighborhood. "Nobody's forcing you."

Carter sucked in a sharp breath. "I mean, I could just tell Soph—"

"Alright!" Aidan cut in, swatting a moth or something away from his face. "Fine. But only if we're not gone for too long."

Long story short, if there's anyone to blame for all this, I pick Aidan.