Piper Fall, One Year Ago

Piper

Fall, One Year Ago

The bell rings, sending a hot surge of panic through me. I'm late to my first day of AP chemistry.

I'm never late. I thought it would only take ten minutes to bike from my house to Foothill High, but it took twenty. And I don't know my way around this place. For all I know, I could be on the wrong side of campus.

I hurry through the eerily empty halls, searching for someone who can point me in the direction of room thirty-three. I should've asked that janitor I passed a couple minutes ago. Doesn't anyone at this school take zero period? There's a light on in one of the classrooms, but when I try the door, it's locked.

Why did I ever let Miss Lewis talk me into this? Since Grayling High doesn't have all the AP science classes I need, my guidance counselor suggested commuting to the high school one town over for zero period. Both schools have been really accommodating—Miss Lewis even finagled an independent study for me during first period so I'd have time to bike to Grayling and still earn school credit.

This is how I repay everyone's generosity—by showing up late on day one.

Compared to my school, this place is uniform and sterile. It smells like lemons instead of that pungent chemical scent that barely masks the mildew back at Grayling High. Here, the panel lights in the hallway aren't buzzing, and there's no graffiti on the classroom doors. When I round another identical corner, I finally spot a brunette with a pristine bob pulling books from her locker. "Excuse me," I call out. "Where's room thirty-three?"

The girl begins to point when a smooth baritone cuts her off. "I'm on my way there right now, if you want me to show you."

I swivel to face the Good Samaritan, and a vein in my temple begins to pulse. The boy is covered in black from head to toe, and chains dangle from his waist. I throw a look of desperation at the girl, but she's shoving books into her backpack.

I swallow. "Sure. Thanks."