Chapter 1 — That Sullivan Girl

  I was lost in my own home.

  Sounds ridiculous, yes, but I'm leaving out two important details: first, this place was not small. It was three stories, had at least a dozen bedrooms and two separate garages, more rooms than I could remember, and most of that was unused. Somebody could walk around the place forever and probably still find things they'd never seen before. They'd probably assume it was abandoned.

  Second: I'd only been living there for a month.

  Lloyd had decided, in his infinite wisdom as my legal guardian, that what I needed was a change of scenery. Without so much as a day's notice, he up and moved us from his place in the Mellbridge suburbs out to this expansive mansion within the Portland city limits—as if that would make our problems disappear. He didn't have a clue.

  At least he didn't do it in the middle of a school year. We moved in the summer, so he wasn't totally disconnected from my life. Or maybe I just got lucky that he wanted to move during his vacation. Either way, I wouldn't be suffering the indignity of slinking into the classroom halfway through my sophomore year, hoping nobody spotted the new kid—or worse, I could be pulled up to the front of the class and forced to introduce myself to a crowd of my esteemed peers.

  If I got lucky, I'd slip in unnoticed, unknown. I've been done with highschool since the first week I stepped inside. Not that I knew everything—hell no. I just couldn't stand the institution, the process… and worst of all, the people. My deepest desire was to graduate the class of '34 with no one the wiser.

  Before you go judging me, I'm not some antisocial wreck. I just couldn't do high school anymore. From the first day I showed up, I felt like I didn't fit in. Even in my supposed hometown, with the people who'd known me for years. Suddenly, being in high school changed everything. It changed how they acted, how they looked at me, how they treated me.

  Okay, Noël, denying the obvious. They changed because of what happened to you.

  We moved in about a month before school started, under the sweltering August heat. Of course, that didn't matter to me or Lloyd. He had hired a crack cadre of movers and decorators to carry his belongings—all except his precious computer, of course, which was never to be touched by human hands beyond his own. That computer was responsible for his entire fortune, and heaven forbid its purity be corrupt by the unskilled and unclean.

  Meanwhile, I just had two bags, both on my own shoulders. I didn't bother to bring anything else.

  Lloyd worried about me. I knew that much at least, and I guess I appreciated it in a way. On the other hand, I wished he'd just leave me be. I didn't ask to be under his care. That was all his call. I was here because I had nowhere else to go, and it was better than getting punted into the foster system or something. Not too many options when you're only twelve years old. At least there were lots of interesting gadgets to distract myself with. Even learned a lot about fixing them, giving me a small bit of satisfaction in my forced exile.

  Three years. You've been living with Lloyd and his piles of tech three years now. Can't you at least try to build a relationship with him…?

  Not like he's trying very hard either, you know. Don't lay all that on me.

  So there I was, the second day after moving in, and I was lost. I'd been trying to find my room—the one with blue walls I'd picked out that had a beautiful view of the sunset, coming down just above the treeline every night—but all the hallways looked the same to me. I found a bathroom I'd never seen before, two closets with no apparent purpose, a secret staircase at the far end of the house, and finally a second-floor balcony, which is where I gave up.

  The sun was already setting. I'd spend most of the day wandering the neighborhood nearby, filled with mansions much like our own. Most of them seemed to be devoid of life, despite their capacity to hold so much. I didn't see a single other person my age—hell, even anybody under thirty.

  Fine with me. I didn't really want friends anyway.

  You miss your friends.

  I didn't. They'd made it clear they weren't my friends anymore. After the accident, I became a pariah. You'd think losing both your parents would make you the object of sympathy. Fat chance when they became the rallying cry to stop technological progress in the Pacific Northwest, with me as the poster-child sole survivor. The few friends who did stick around through the first few months (after I finally made it back to school…) eventually left too. I never understood why, until I finally forced an answer from the last of the dearly departed.

  "You're just too hard to be friends with, Noël. You're always sad and you don't want to ever be happy again."

  What the hell, right? Of course I wanted to be happy. They told me to see a therapist—forced me, after the school took an interest—and I did. Professionals couldn't help me either.

  Eventually, I got my escape, in the form of this unexpected move. I guess I can't call it all bad, in retrospect. I won't be sad to never see those so-called friends again. Still, Lloyd moved us without so much as asking, uprooting my whole life just when I was starting to figure out some kind of stability. I had ways of dealing with the world, and I'd find my way through it.

  The world had other ideas.

  "Miss Súileabhán," came a voice from behind me.

  I started a little. My legs dangled off the balcony's edge, between the poles of the banister. Of course I recognized the voice. There were only two voices in my life anymore—hers and my own. Lloyd didn't count. He barely spoke to me, and usually just in his weekly check-in. He'd look me up and down, in those quiet, sad eyes of his, ask if I needed anything, ask if there was anything wrong, fulfill the bare minimum requirements of guardianship.

  Any real communication went through his chauffeur, Carolyn. Or Miss Jacoby, if you were rude. I was never rude to her, though. Carolyn was cool, even if I never really understood her. Was it all a professional thing, her undying devoted servitude to Lloyd? Did she love him? That would be weird—she was in her sixties, Lloyd was only like, thirty or something.

  "Hi, Carolyn," I said idly, not turning my head. There was a dragonfly flitting around in the garden below us, and I was trying to make out the pattern of spots on its wings. I doubted Carolyn would mind—most of our conversations were never face-to-face, only from the back seat as she drove me around.

  "Mr. Strauser asked if we should go purchase supplies for your next school term."

  "Nah." I shrugged, then cursed under my breath. The dragonfly had darted unexpectedly, and I'd lost where it went. I still didn't turn around. My head was comfortably nestled in the nook of the railing, and I liked gazing out at the garden. Better than the ceilings of the fabulously empty mansion where I now lived.

  "Is there anything you need for your new home?"

  Her choice of word was all wrong. It was just a house, like the last one. My home was a cozy apartment in east Portland, where my parents had raised me and my friends hung out and everything was normal.

  You're in a life of luxury now, Noël. Maybe try to make the best of it?

  "Just tell me when it's time for dinner," I said. Wincing, I added a belated "please" just as Carolyn started away. The consummate professional she was would never indicate resentment, but like I said before, I didn't want to be rude to her. She was the one relatively light spot in my world right now.

  The month passed faster than I expected. I spent a lot of it reading, or wandering the streets and the gardens, or just sitting in that same spot on the balcony. The house became more familiar, and I didn't get lost again. I did start to appreciate the quiet a little. Even though we were closer to the city, there were more trees and sound barriers between us and the roar of downtown Portland. I decided I could learn to like this place, if I really had to.

  Running was the first thing that really got me invested in my new living situation. I'd always liked running, but back home in our apartment, or even in Lloyd's old place, there just wasn't anywhere good to run. At the apartment, it wasn't totally safe for a girl my age to go running on my own, and my parents didn't have time to accompany me. Meanwhile, Lloyd's was just… too bland, too empty, plus I was busy dealing with my own crises.

  Now, I was older, I knew how to take care of myself, and I had a gorgeous set of running trails that twisted and wound through the parks and forest near the mansion. Every single morning, I was out there, running just a little bit further, a little bit faster every day. It energized me in more ways than one—I knew I was out of shape from the last few years, I'd been told depression could bring that on, and the running regimen was getting me back to normal.

  Still, the days bled together. I could barely tell one from the next, so little changed between each sunset.

  On the last night before my first day of school, something finally did happen. I had a proper conversation with Lloyd, the first one in nearly a year. We were sitting around the dinner table—not the main dining room one which sat twelve, Lloyd wasn't that big on spectacle after all, but the smaller one close to the kitchen that sat four. Carolyn was already gone, and our chef stepped out back for a smoke break. Lloyd and I both hated that he smoked, but I guess he was a family connection or something, because Lloyd never got rid of him.

  So it was just the two of us, under a tasteful chandelier, picking away at our fresh salmon, when he finally spoke up. Somehow, every time he opened his mouth, I always forgot how deep and rich his voice was. I'd always expected him to have something weak and nerdy. He was a tech genius and one of those shut-in multi-millionaires, a fortune in his mom's basement or whatever. The voice definitely didn't match his looks.

  "New school tomorrow," said Lloyd quietly, not managing to lift his eyes from his food.

  "Yes."

  "I had to move schools a lot," he added, politely wiping at his chin with our napkins that cost more than all the scant school supplies I eventually asked Carolyn to pick up for me. "I thought it'd be better if you didn't have to switch in the middle of the year."

  I nodded, a little surprised. So he had been thinking of me. "Thank you," I mumbled.

  "You ready for tomorrow?"

  "Yeah."

  He tried to smile, but it mostly just came off pained. After a couple awkward moments, he went back to his salmon. "If you…" Lloyd trailed off, working up to something. "If you want to invite any friends over, that's fine. I'll just be in my office."

  Which one? The house had like four offices, and Lloyd had a different setup in each one. I didn't bother asking, though. I knew I wasn't going to make any friends tomorrow, much less invite them to my giant mansion.

  The rest of the dinner passed in silence, and Lloyd vanished again with the most abrupt of good nights. Still, that was an honest-to-god conversation, brief as it was. I went to bed for the first time in months without thinking about my own situation, instead imagining a young Lloyd—with the exact same deep voice, of course—bouncing between schools and never getting to make any friends himself.

  With that sobering thought, I made a vow to myself. It might not be tomorrow, but I would make a friend at my new school, if only so that I didn't end up as lonely as he had.

  ***

  Carolyn woke me up. Lloyd had only tried that once, before learning I was just as protective of my space as he was. He hadn't come in or anything—he knew better than to barge in on a teenage girl's room—but still, I didn't want him anywhere near my private space. Carolyn, I could trust.

  Bleary-eyed, I gathered my stuff. It was the first day, but I didn't really know anything about the school I was attending. I knew it was public school, because Lloyd didn't believe in private options, but still, they could be expecting anything. I preferred to go light, only a couple notebooks and some things to write on. I'd figure out what I needed as I went.

  Carolyn pulled my favorite car around front. Lloyd had a range to choose from for every occasion—and of course, not a single one was self-driving. If we were all going out, we'd take the black sports car, or the black limo if we needed to impress somebody, or the black convertible if it was clear outside. Basically, black was his thing. Carolyn had a few others in the fleet, thank goodness. This one was a sunny blue sedan, the perfect balance of comfortable and fancy. Most importantly, it didn't look like a rich car… from the outside anyway.

  First impressions were everything. I wasn't riding the bus, because screw that, but I still didn't want to be the "rich girl" in school. That was too strong a label, too hard to slip off and get away from if I needed to.

  Carolyn popped open the back door as I came down the front walk, bag over my shoulder. "All ready, Miss Súileabhán?"

  I stepped inside, Carolyn snapped the door shut, and soon we were off. It was a fifteen minute drive to my school, according to the internet. Close enough that a commute wasn't a huge deal, but far enough that I couldn't just walk there myself on a whim. As much as being lazy was fun, I'd have preferred to walk or even jog to school. Maybe someday.

  Of course, the internet didn't take into account the ever-shifting patterns of city life. Most importantly, it hadn't caught onto the protest taking place that morning, one that sat on the route between the mansion and my new school. You'd think that they could have accounted for protests in Portland—god knows we have enough of them to make a calendar—but not this time.

  I wondered what was on the menu today. As we approached the picket line and the slow single lane of traffic they'd allowed through, I managed to read one of the larger signs. Immediately, I ducked down and hid my face. A moment later, the back windows of the car tinted dark.

  Carolyn had engaged the privacy filters. Another great feature of this car.

  "Thanks," I muttered.

  Carolyn simply nodded, focused on the road ahead. The protestors continued their chants, railing against technology, against poor government oversight, against the deaths of innocents and handing the world over to the network. I tried to drown it out… but it's hard when your own face is staring back at you from half a dozen signs.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  My twelve-year-old face, anyway. I didn't look much like her anymore. Plus, everybody used the terrible scratched-up picture from right after the accident, because it's more sympathetic or whatever. Even worse, they all spelled my last name wrong. I wasn't a Sullivan, I was a Súileabhán. There is a difference. Too bad nobody was around to correct them when it happened, only a shell-shocked kid who'd just lost her whole family in a split-second.

  Of course they'd be protesting today. It was the three year anniversary of the accident—September 7th, 2029, a day of infamy. I'd been suppressing it in my head. I wished everyone would just forget. Nobody was at fault, so the judgment went, and nobody ended up paying, so couldn't it just disappear? A glitch in the legal system, or it working as intended depending on who you asked. Everybody wanted someone else to blame, though. They all had an agenda and I was like a chess piece to them, a pawn to use without ever caring about the person underneath.

  "We've arrived," said Carolyn gently.

  I'd zoned out, lost in memories and internal ranting and self-pity. To my relief, Carolyn had stopped just around the corner from the school. Most students were unloading from buses out of sight, but I wouldn't be noticed. I could get out and just look like I'd walked up, same as any other kid who lived close to school.

  "Thanks," I said, more clearly than before. "For everything."

  "I work for you, Miss Súileabhán," said Carolyn, with the hint of a smile. She reached out and handed me a lunch bag. "Self-heating lunch courtesy of Mr. Hauk, if you'd like to eat away from the cafeteria. Your account has also been loaded up if you'd prefer school food. I won't tell him if you throw it away," she added with a conspiratorial wink.

  I grinned. Mr. Hauk, Lloyd's personal chef, hated any waste of food. He never made his portions too large to try and keep us from ever tossing the extra. If even a single bite went in the trash, you'd be victim to his killer glare. I assumed it was something to do with his past, but I'd never worked up the courage to ask why. He wasn't a very approachable guy, even less than Lloyd if you can believe it.

  Honestly, I didn't even know his first name. He was just Mr. Hauk to us.

  "Are you picking me up?" I asked.

  "I'll be right here five minutes after school," said Carolyn. "But feel free to take the bus, I don't mind."

  "Okay." See what I mean about Carolyn? She gets it.

  I got out, and within a single step, I felt a massive rush of anxiety. It was one thing to play it cool in front of Carolyn and Lloyd, or in my own head, but now I was vulnerable. Lloyd didn't exactly keep security or anything around—it was still Portland—but inside the mansion, I felt safe. Not happy, or even at home, but safe. Likewise, if Carolyn was ever around, I knew somebody competent had my back. At my old school, I knew all the people, had them sized up, knew who I could mess with, who'd try to mess with me, who to avoid, all the social structure was right there in my head.

  This was a whole new world.

  Gingerly, I took one step forward, then the next. Carolyn was still there, the car idling only a few feet away. I couldn't decide if I appreciated her watching out for me, or I was annoyed she didn't trust me to handle this. The latter won out, and I stubbornly forced my feet to keep walking. In less than a minute, I'd rounded the corner, leaving Carolyn and my escape route behind.

  Students were pouring out of buses ahead, a veritable crowd rushing the wide-open doors. I was used to large schools—mine was even bigger than this one—but I didn't know the territory well enough to slide around the edges like I usually did. They'd given me the option, as a new student, to come out a week early and learn where all my classes were. Naturally, I refused, but I was starting to regret that decision now.

  One step at a time, Noël. You've got this. Ten minutes til your first class, and it's math. You're good at math. Just keep walking.

  With each step, the world seemed to get a little bit more distinct. I wasn't exactly more confident, but at least everything was clear again. I managed to get inside the building without anybody throwing me a second glance, which was exactly how I preferred it. I'd had enough with being the center of attention. This was a nice change of pace.

  Of course, that wasn't going to last. How could it? I was famous, and September 7th was the anniversary of the worst day of my life.

  I sat down in my math class, taking the desk assigned to me. The teacher had laid them out alphabetically—not very creative, but better than a free-for-all in my opinion. I'd landed in the middle of the far side of the classroom, and to my relief, most of my desk neighbors that filed in looked bored and disinterested. Nobody gave the new girl a second glance.

  Well, almost nobody. There was a pair right in the back corner—an odd couple if I've ever seen one. She was small, a little pale and wore a beautiful blue and purple headscarf around her hair. He was a dark mass of muscle that undoubtedly played for the football team or something else incredibly masculine. Both of them were looking at me funny, and not in the usual straining-at-recognition way. Something else, but I wasn't sure what yet.

  Finally, the teacher got to her feet. I couldn't remember her name, and she didn't even introduce herself before launching straight into a roll call. It'd come to me eventually, but first I had to deal with the inevitable… her mispronouncing my own.

  "Noel… Sulleban?" she asked, glancing around.

  "Súileabhán," I corrected, in what was sure to be the first of many this week.

  "Oh!" A flicker of recognition, and the double-take as she glanced over at me and my vaguely-raised hand. She was remembering where she knew that name from, and I didn't like it. To my relief, she tried to cover it up, feigning ignorance. "Where's that from?"

  "It's Gaelic."

  A few murmurs swept the room. People were remembering who I was. The girl with a weird name that was actually just something totally normal once you said it out loud, the kid who'd doubtless generated rumors that she was moving to their school. That girl.

  Maybe you're imagining it. This could just be you being way more self-centered than reality. They could be talking about anything.

  No, I was pretty sure it was about me. I even heard somebody mention the word "crash". I kept my head down and focused on the syllabus the teacher had handed back, waiting for roll to continue. When she reached the end of the list, I tuned back in. The two in the back hadn't stopped watching me, and this was the easiest opportunity for me to get their names.

  The girl was Rana el-Yassin, and the guy was Reylon Young. They didn't stop watching me through the entire class period, occasionally whispering to each other. I had no clue what they were up to. The class had been almost refreshing, since it wasn't very much work and gave me something to focus on besides my own life, but those two pairs of eyes kept flitting back into view.

  I'd have to keep them in mind.

  ***

  The next couple classes went much the same as the first one, though thankfully without that pair boring a hole in the back of my neck. A mispronounced name, a correction, a few whispers about my tragic history, and introductions for the rest of the class. Nobody ever managed to say my name right, but to be fair, I didn't give them a lot of opportunities. Friends stuck with friends, enemies taunted each other, and I was mostly left to myself.

  Exactly as I'd prefer it any other day, but I'd vowed to make a new friend. If I didn't have somebody to connect with by the end of school… well, there was always tomorrow. But I'd feel worse tomorrow, and even worse the day after that. It was a snowball just waiting to roll down the hill. I knew I had to try today.

  Lunch time. I entered the cafeteria, a vast cacophony of an eating hall. To my dismay, I couldn't find a single table that didn't look packed. If I wanted, I could hang off the end of a bench, try my best to eat at the extreme edge of a table and hope I didn't intrude on some established group of friends. I tried to spot any space that seemed like a real opening, a place where I might be able to start up a conversation, but I came up empty.

  Like I even knew how to start a conversation anymore. All my social skills seemed to completely evaporate within days after the accident. After a few shaky false starts toward tables which looked vaguely promising, I gave in. Trudging out the back doors, I headed for the green lawn behind the school, where trees sat in plain view and I could enjoy the nice breeze. It may have been September, but summer was still in full force, and the cafeteria ventilation could only do so much.

  There weren't many outside, just a few groups who didn't give me a second glance, invested in their own friends. One larger cluster was playing hacky-sack, laughing and teasing each other as they kept the volley going. I had a brief vision of me rushing into the middle and impressing them all with a stunning volley, instantly ingratiating myself to a whole stack of fast friends.

  You've never played hacky-sack in your life…

  I didn't need the reminder, thanks. I wasn't going to actually do it.

  Even if I managed it, I didn't want to impress my way into a friendship. Those people didn't seem like my type, anyway. I kept going, until I reached a set of tables tucked under a thicker copse of trees, just barely out of sight from the cafeteria. I sat down, pulled out my lunch with its expensive self-heating tech, and sighed.

  Yup, I'd failed. One class left after lunch, and I wasn't likely to make any friends during that. I hadn't even had a single conversation with anybody.

  "Pow!"

  The sudden shout startled me. Somebody was just on the other side of the trees. I hadn't even realized there were tables on that side. I peered through the line of trunks, straining to spot the voice's owner—cocky and excited, to the point that I could hear the girl smirking, whoever she was.

  "Captain Winter shoots, she scores. You're dead again. I win. Again."

  A boy groaned. "You don't gotta rub it in, Kyla."

  "Sure I do. After that display you put on last week? I think I've earned it."

  "Whatever. I'm done."

  "No, come on!" The girl switched from gloating to pleading in an instant. "I'm sorry, okay! I was just excited. Come back. We can play another round."

  "Find somebody else. You're not that good, I just suck." The boy, a glasses-clad kid in an expensive jacket despite the heat, came around the tree trunk at the end of the row and spotted me. He raised his eyebrows. "Who are you supposed to be?"

  I didn't answer. He shrugged and kept walking. The girl darted out a moment later, and there could not have been more distinction between their clothes. He was wearing top-line threads pressed to perfection, while Kyla's were clearly on the verge of falling apart. Her own glasses were crooked and taped together at one end, and the strap on her bag was fraying at both ends.

  "Come on, dude!" she called after the fast retreating boy. "Ugh…" Kyla pouted for a few seconds, tapping her foot on the ground. A second later, she spun around and spotted me, sitting there with a bite of grilled pork halfway to my mouth. "Hi there."

  "...Hi," I said cautiously.

  "You ever played Riposte?"

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I assumed they must have brought laptops or something—the guy's bag was easily large enough to hold one, though I had no idea why they'd retreat this far out to play a game. It wasn't like other kids didn't have laptops in the cafeteria. "Is that on PC?"

  "No." She sighed. "It's a card game. Guess you haven't, then."

  "What's it like?" I asked, startling even myself. My subconscious determination to have a conversation had won out, pushing me to keep the girl talking.

  To my relief, Kyla's eyes lit up. She smiled. "See for yourself."

  She leapt forward, and without warning grabbed my hand. My unfinished pork scattered to the ground. I knew somewhere, Mr. Hauk had just felt an unexpected burst of rage.

  Kyla pulled me around the corner to her table. It wasn't like any of the others, and clearly hadn't been put there by the school—a lot shabbier than the pristine furniture inside, for one. Surrounded by the trees, it made for a nice, private place to hang out. I was surprised nobody else had claimed it, in fact. At my last school, it would inevitably have been snagged up every single lunch.

  "Welcome to my lair, grasshopper," Kyla added, beaming.

  The table was laid out with a space at the end clearly set aside for food, but the center was taken up by a sprawling card game—at least, it seemed sprawling at first glance. I hadn't played anything more complicated than poker or rummy, two of my mom's favorites, but this wasn't totally out of my wheelhouse. I could probably figure out what was going on… if Kyla would ever stop talking.

  "So, Riposte is a game where you have two main characters, right. They're called duelists. You pick yours, I pick mine, and we duel. It's named after the fencing move, and just like fencing, it's all about reading your opponent's moves and predicting them, so you can land your own hit." She kept going excitedly, starting to dive right into the rules. Somehow, it never quite faded into a buzz like I expected. Her enthusiasm was infectious and I was caught up in the wave.

  "This was your character?" I asked, picking up one of the fancier looking cards on the table. Captain Winter was written across the top in military-style font, and the artwork depicted a fierce woman wrapped up in winter army gear, carrying a long rifle and a backpack full of weapons.

  "Is my character," Kyla corrected. "I always play Captain Winter. She's the best duelist in the game." She frowned. "Okay, not really, but she's good."

  "Huh," I said noncommittally. I was still glancing over the game. It seemed vaguely interesting, but I was uncomfortably aware of the identity I was already setting up for myself. This was my first day at school, and I was out with the loner geek kid who played card games at lunch. Was that really how I wanted to live here?

  Well, she's the first person to actually talk to me. Worth a shot, at least.

  "Kyla Wick," she added, smiling as she started to pack up the game. "What's your name?"

  "Noël," I said quietly, glancing over some of the other duelists in the stack. "Noël Súileabhán."

  "Oh," said Kyla. "You're… that Sullivan girl."

  ...So much for that.

  I didn't answer, focusing intently on the card in my hand. The Nightblade, a soldier from the year 2080 who used an invisible sword. I tried to figure out the rules just from the context of the guy's moves, but there just wasn't quite enough on the card alone to figure it out.

  "I'm sorry," said Kyla, and I felt even more disappointed. The only thing worse than the recognition and the whispering was the fake sympathy. I was just about to write Kyla off entirely when she managed to surprise me. "The way everybody's been treating you is absolute garbage."

  "...What?"

  "Look, you want me to rant about society, or want me to never mention anything about your past ever again?" Kyla shrugged. "I'm happy to go either way, whatever you like. You seem really cool. I want to hang out again if you do. You just say the word."

  I took over a minute to respond, with Kyla impatiently tapping her foot next to me. I didn't take it personally, given just how much energy she seemed to have. If anything, the fact she wasn't moving besides the one foot was a remarkable show of patience.

  "How do you play?" I asked, right as the end-of-lunch bell rang.

  Her eyes lit up with more joy than I'd ever seen in my entire life. "First lesson, you're gonna have to think faster than that," said Kyla, the victorious grin from earlier sneaking back onto her face. "What class do you have next?"

  "...English."

  "Oh, is that with Strama?"

  I shrugged.

  Kyla raised an eyebrow. "You don't know the names of your teachers?"

  "I figured I'd learn them when I got here."

  She rolled her eyes. "Second lesson, you're gonna have to study up. Knowledge is power, my dear grasshopper. Okay, what room is it in?"

  "N214."

  "Cool, that's Strama's room. You can definitely blow off her class, she never calls roll."

  "Even on the first day?" I asked dubiously.

  "Nope! It's just not her thing." Kyla shrugged. "I've got early release every day, 'cause I'm a junior. Can't stay on campus according to the rules, and you'll only be caught skipping if you stick around. Nobody's gonna care, trust me." She intoned her next words in a mock-serious tone. "Your call, Noël—go to boring old first-day-of-class, or follow your new best friend into a magical world you've never even dreamed of."

  She started packing up her game. I hesitated, bag in hand, lunch half-finished, staring at the trees. I spotted a dragonfly, near-identical to the one I'd seen that morning I'd gotten lost in my new home. Kyla probably wasn't wrong—even disregarding Kyla's unproven opinions about my teachers, nobody would be surprised if I took a bit off my first day at a new school.

  Your parents wouldn't want you to miss school… They wanted you to go to college.

  Well, there's a slippery slope. I wasn't going to miss out on going to college because I skipped one class on the first day. Still, I hesitated. Kyla was nearly done packing up her game, and I remained stuck in place, watching the dragonfly flit around the tall grass near the trees. I wanted to go home. Not the mansion, to be clear—I wanted to go home.

  Funny enough, at that exact moment, I was closer to my home than I had been in years. Mellbridge was far to the west, over the mountains and into the suburbs. Even the mansion was west of the school. Our old apartment and neighborhood were east, and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be back there, in my old room, with my old friends, before they all abandoned me.

  I wondered who lived there now.

  "So what's it gonna be, Súileabhán?" asked Kyla, fully packed up.

  She'd pronounced it right.

  I pulled my bag tight over my shoulder and nodded. "Lead the way."