Chapter 3

I went to school the next day because I didn't know what else to do.

The bus was the same. Empty seat next to me. Tyler Briggs squeezing in somewhere else. Headphones in, nothing playing. The familiar ritual of being invisible.

But everything felt different. The world had shifted slightly off its axis, and I was the only one who'd noticed.

Shelby was waiting at my locker.

"There you are." She looked relieved. Concerned. All the right emotions in all the right places. "You didn't text me back last night. I was worried."

"Sorry. I fell asleep."

"Are you feeling better? You look pale."

"I'm fine."

I opened my locker. Started trading out books. Kept my hands busy so I wouldn't have to look at her.

"Eli." Her voice was softer now. "Did I do something wrong?"

Yes. No. I don't know.

"I told you. I was sick."

"You seem weird."

"I'm always weird. You've mentioned that."

She laughed, but it was uncertain. I could hear the doubt in it. "Okay. If you say so."

I closed my locker. Turned to face her.

She was wearing the purple hoodie again. My hoodie. The one I'd given her, that she'd worn a hundred times, that I used to think meant something.

"I have to get to homeroom," I said.

"I'll walk with you."

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't have to. I want—"

"I'm fine. Really."

I walked away before she could finish. I could feel her watching me. Could feel her confusion, her worry, the first stirrings of something that might have been hurt.

Good, I thought. And then I hated myself for thinking it.

First period was history. I sat in the back like always, but something was different. Two girls in the row ahead of me kept glancing over their shoulders. Whispering to each other. Looking at me and then quickly away.

I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on Mr. Henderson droning about the Industrial Revolution. But I caught a fragment of their conversation during a video about steel mills.

"—heard he got caught talking to himself in the stairwell. Like a full conversation with nobody there."

"My brother said he saw him standing in the parking lot after school just staring at nothing."

"So creepy."

The video ended. Mr. Henderson turned the lights back on. Both girls suddenly found their notebooks fascinating.

I stared at my desk and tried to breathe normally. Neither of those things had happened. But that didn't matter. Once you're the weird kid, people invent reasons to justify what they already feel about you.

Second period was worse. I got to Spanish early, took my usual seat, and watched the room fill up. People I'd sat near all year suddenly chose different spots. Not obviously. Not dramatically. Just the way you'd avoid sitting next to a wet paint sign. Instinctive. Automatic.

A guy named Derek, who'd borrowed my pencil maybe fifty times this semester, walked right past the empty desk beside me and squeezed into a seat that was already half-occupied.

I told myself I was imagining it. Told myself this was just my paranoia after everything that happened. People weren't actually avoiding me more than usual.

But when Mrs. Garcia asked us to partner up for conversation practice, I was the only one left without a partner. She had to assign me to work with her directly, and I could feel the relief radiating off the class. Relief that they hadn't gotten stuck with the weird kid.

That was new. That was definitely new.

The hallways between periods had become obstacle courses. Every person who passed too close felt like a threat. Every potential brush of skin made my heart rate spike.

A girl bumped my shoulder rushing to class. I flinched so hard I dropped my books.

Nothing happened. No flood. No memories. Just the brief shock of contact and then she was gone, not even looking back to apologize.

But I stood there in the hallway for a good thirty seconds, breathing hard, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A teacher asked if I was okay. I mumbled something and kept moving.

Third period was English. Third period was unavoidable.

I got there early, took a seat in the back corner instead of my usual spot near the windows. Near Shelby. When she walked in, I watched her scan the room, find me, and hesitate. I looked down at my notebook before she could catch my eye.

She sat in her usual seat. Two rows up, one seat over. Close enough that I could see the purple of her hoodie in my peripheral vision. My hoodie.

Brianna Hollister leaned over and said something to her. Shelby shook her head. Brianna glanced back at me with an expression I couldn't read. Curiosity, maybe. The way you'd look at a car accident.

Mrs. Patterson started talking about Lord of the Flies again. The descent into savagery. The loss of civilization. I stared at my desk and tried not to think about how appropriate it all felt.

A folded piece of paper landed on my notebook.

I didn't have to look to know who'd thrown it. Shelby was the only person in this school who passed me notes.

I didn't open it.

A few minutes later, another one landed. I left that one too.

After class, she caught up with me in the hallway.

"Eli, wait."

I kept walking.

"Eli." She grabbed my arm.

I yanked away before I could stop myself. Before I could feel whatever might come flooding through.

The look on her face was like I'd slapped her.

We were in the middle of the hallway. People were watching. I could feel their attention like heat on my skin. The weird kid just flinched away from his only friend. Add it to the list of things to whisper about.

"I—" I started. "Sorry. I just—I have to go."

I turned and walked away as fast as I could without running. Behind me, I heard Brianna's voice, too loud to be anything but deliberate.

"Told you. Total freak."

I didn't look back.

Fourth period was supposed to be math, but there was an announcement during homeroom I'd barely registered. Something about a special assembly. Career day speakers. All eighth graders report to the auditorium.

I'd forgotten until I saw everyone filing in that direction.

The auditorium was chaos. Teachers directing students to seats. Kids talking over each other. The usual jockeying for position, friends saving spots, the complicated social choreography I'd never learned.

I found a seat in the back corner, far from where I knew Shelby usually sat with the volleyball team. Pulled out my notebook like I was going to take notes. Really just needed something to look at that wasn't other people.

Nobody sat within three seats of me. The space around me stayed empty even as the auditorium filled. Like everyone had gotten the memo that Eli Lawrence was having some kind of breakdown and proximity might be contagious.

The principal gave his usual rambling introduction. Something about exploring opportunities. Thinking about the future. I tuned him out.

There were four speakers. A firefighter who talked about saving lives. A nurse practitioner from the hospital. A guy in a suit who did something with computers that he made sound more exciting than it probably was.

And a woman in a forest-green coat who represented something called the Wentworth Academy.

She was maybe forty, maybe older. Dark hair going gray at the temples. She stood at the podium with a kind of stillness that was different from the other speakers. They'd all been nervous, shuffling their notes, making awkward jokes. This woman just waited for quiet and got it.

"I'm not here to tell you what to be when you grow up," she said. Her voice carried without strain. "I'm here to tell you that some of you already know you're different. That you feel things other people don't feel. That the world is too loud sometimes, or too bright, or too much. And you've spent your whole life thinking something is wrong with you."

The auditorium was quiet. Not the restless quiet of bored kids waiting for it to be over. Actually quiet.

"Nothing is wrong with you," she said. "You're just aware. And there are places where people like you can learn what that means."

She talked for another ten minutes about the Academy. Gifted programs. Specialized curriculum. It sounded like every boarding school brochure I'd ever seen. But something about the way she said it made me pay attention.

Or maybe it was the way she seemed to be looking right at me, even from across the auditorium.

That was crazy. There were two hundred kids in here. She wasn't looking at anyone in particular.

But I couldn't shake the feeling.

The assembly ended and kids poured out in a rush, eager to get to lunch. I hung back, waiting for the crowd to thin, the way I always did.

And that's when the woman in the green coat appeared beside me.

"Eli Lawrence."

It wasn't a question.

I should have been scared. A stranger knowing my name, appearing out of nowhere. But something about her presence was different from everyone else I'd ever been near. Quieter. Like she existed at a lower frequency than the rest of the world.

"How do you know my name?"

"I make it my business to know." She studied me with an expression I couldn't read. "You've had a difficult few days."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do, though." She tilted her head slightly. "Something happened recently. Something that scared you. Something you can't explain."

My mouth went dry. "Who are you?"

"I told you. Vivian Cross. Wentworth Academy." She paused. "Though that's not the school's real name. The real name is Mudwick. And what we teach there isn't gifted education. Not in the way most people understand it."

"I don't—"

"You feel things from people." Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. "When you touch them. Sometimes when you're just near them. Emotions. Memories. Things they'd rather keep hidden."

The back of the auditorium was empty now. Just the two of us standing in the dim light filtering through the auditorium doors.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I can do it too. And I've been doing it long enough to recognize someone who's just woken up to what they are." She held out her hand. "Go ahead. Try."

I stared at her hand like it was a snake. She wore a silver ring on her index finger, a thin band with a small dark stone.

"I promise," she said. "You won't feel anything you can't handle."

Against every instinct, I reached out. Touched her fingers.

Nothing. Not the emptiness I'd felt from some people before. This was different. She was there, I could sense that much, but I couldn't reach her. Like pressing my hand against glass.

I pulled my hand back.

"You felt the difference." She almost smiled. "That's called shielding. It's something you can learn."

"That's what the school teaches?"

"Among other things." She studied me for a moment longer. "You're already isolated, Eli. I can see it. The way you hang back. The way people give you space without knowing why. It's going to get worse before it gets better. That's how it works with people like us."

She let that land. People like us.

She held out a card. I took it without thinking.

Vivian Cross. Instructor, Mudwick.

Below that, a phone number.

And below that, just two words: You belong.

"When you're ready to learn more, call that number."

She started to walk away.

"Wait," I said. "You can't just—that's it? You drop all this and leave?"

She stopped. Looked back at me.

"You've had a shock. Several shocks, from the look of you. You need time to process." Something like sympathy crossed her face. "But Eli? What you have is going to get stronger. And when it does, you're going to need help. People who understand."

"Call the number," she said. "Or don't. But when the walls start closing in—and they will—remember that there's somewhere else you could be. Somewhere you'd actually fit."

Then she turned and walked away, disappearing through the auditorium doors.

I stood there for a long time, holding the card, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I was alone. Just me and the rows of folding seats and the lingering echo of her voice.

You're not broken. You're just aware.

I wanted that to be true more than I'd ever wanted anything.

The rest of the day was a slow-motion disaster.

I skipped lunch. Hid in the library, hunched over a table in the back corner where nobody ever went. Shelby's texts piled up on my phone, unanswered.

where are you?

eli please. youre scaring me.

did i do something? just tell me

I couldn't answer. Couldn't explain. Everything I'd thought I knew about my life was crumbling, and some stranger had just walked into my school and told me there was a name for what I was. A place for people like me.

It should have felt like a trap. It probably was a trap.

But she'd known things. The feeling things from people. The flickers. The recent shock that scared me. She'd known all of it.

And when I'd touched her hand, I'd felt nothing. For the first time in my life, I'd touched someone and there was just silence. Not emptiness. Silence. The difference mattered, somehow.

That wasn't a trick. That was real.

The librarian, Mrs. Petrosky, found me during seventh period. She had the particular expression adults get when they've been asked to track down a specific kid.

"Eli? The guidance office wants to see you."

Of course they did. I'd skipped three classes. I'd had a visible meltdown in the hallway. Someone had reported something.

Mr. Reeves was waiting for me. He was younger than most of the teachers, with a beard he probably thought made him look wise and understanding. I'd shaken his hand once, back in seventh grade. What I'd felt from him then was buried resentment and the particular exhaustion of someone who'd dreamed of being something else.

"Eli. Have a seat." He gestured at the chair across from his desk. "Some of your teachers are concerned about you."

I sat. Didn't say anything.

"You missed several classes yesterday. And today you've been... withdrawn. More than usual." He leaned forward, doing his best impression of caring. "Is everything okay at home?"

"Fine."

"Your friend Shelby mentioned you've been avoiding her."

So Shelby had talked to guidance. Great. That was going to help the rumor situation.

"We had a disagreement."

"About?"

"Personal stuff."

Mr. Reeves nodded like this was profound. "Friendships can be complicated at your age. Lots of changes happening. It's normal to feel overwhelmed."

I wanted to laugh. Normal. If he only knew.

"I'm fine," I said. "Just having a rough week."

"Your father—"

"Is fine. Everything is fine. Can I go?"

He studied me for a long moment. I could feel him trying to decide if I was a real problem or just a weird kid having a bad couple of days. The calculation happening behind his eyes.

"Okay," he said finally. "But Eli? My door is always open. If you need to talk."

"Thanks."

I got out of there as fast as I could.

After school, I walked home the long way. Through the park instead of past the church. Along the creek that ran behind the old mill. The October air was cold and leaves crunched under my feet.

I kept turning the card over in my hands.

You belong.

Two words. They shouldn't have meant anything. They were probably printed on every card she handed out, part of the recruitment pitch for whatever this school really was.

But I couldn't stop looking at them.

Dad was in the kitchen when I got home. He was stirring something in a pot, the radio playing softly.

"Hey," he said. "You're late."

"Took the long way."

"Everything okay at school?"

"Yeah. Fine."

He studied me for a moment, his hand going to his pocket the way it always did when he was thinking. I knew he was turning over his lucky coin in there, the old silver one he never went anywhere without. I could see him wanting to push, wanting to ask more questions. But that wasn't how we worked. We'd gotten good at not talking about things after Mom died. It was easier that way. Safer.

"Soup's almost ready," he said. "Set the table?"

"Sure."

I moved around the kitchen on autopilot. Bowls. Spoons. Napkins. The familiar routine of dinner in a house that always felt too quiet.

Dad asked about homework. I said something vague. He didn't push.

After dinner, I went upstairs. Closed my door. Pulled out the card and stared at it.

I thought about calling the number. I thought about throwing the card away. I thought about Cross studying me like I was something she hadn't seen before, calling me unusual without explaining why.

Different isn't bad, she'd said. But I'd heard enough adults say things like that to know what it really meant. Different was almost always bad. Different was what got you avoided on buses and whispered about in hallways and assigned to work with the teacher because nobody wanted to be your partner.

I tucked the card into the drawer of my nightstand, next to an old photo of my mom and a rock I'd found on the beach the summer before she died.

Then I lay on my bed and stared at the rabbit stain on the ceiling and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now.

The answer, when it came, was simple.

Nothing. I was going to do nothing. I was going to go to school tomorrow and avoid Shelby and keep my head down and pretend that none of this was happening. The whispers would die down. People would find something else to talk about. Everything would go back to normal.

That was the plan.

Plans, as I was about to learn, don't always work out the way you hope.