Haven Criss was going slowly mad. She knew this fact, welcomed it, and nearly beckoned it with every step. At eighteen years old, she was already crotchety and old, desperate, cynical and almost borderline just plain mean.

“Look at them!” she shouted to her friend Megan as they walked down the hall one morning to class. Megan’s eyes widened and she looked around, desperately trying to find what the unfortunate source of Haven’s ire.

“The…the couple there?” Megan asked, pointing to a couple of Sophomores going at it in a very un-ladylike/gentlemanly fashion.

“Yes!” Haven shouted again, adjusting the strap on her messenger bag and stalking past them angrily. “The way they love each other…absolutely ridiculous. Who does that in a public school hallway? Nobody does that in a public school hallway! I have a mind to call the superintendent and tell him that the fifteen year olds in this school can’t keep their mouths to themselves, which is pathetic-”

“They’re most likely sixteen, Haven,” Megan murmured as they came to a hallway fork and she turned right. “Got to go to Precal.” Megan disappeared into a room and slammed the door behind her. Haven let out a small sigh and took a left turn at the fork, waving to the blank door.

It was hard work…pretending to care about everybody’s everything. Haven could actually care less. She was usually one of the quietest people you would ever meet, and outside of school, if anyone from any of her classes saw her, they would imagine that Haven had a twin or something, as this particular Haven would just be walking along, her mouth closed, lips pursed and silent.

She wanted to tell her friends, like Megan, that she wasn’t really like this. That she really had feelings. But she couldn’t…she’d developed the image inadvertently as a Freshman, and now that Senior year was nearly over, she couldn’t back out on it. Haven pushed open the door to her next class, Photography 4, and straddled her stool at the table gratefully.

If there had been one class where Haven could perform like her normal self, it was this one. She never spoke up, just edited her photo strips and moved on with her life. Haven wanted to be a photographer when she grew up, and had even taken Health and PE 101 over the summer leading up to Freshman year so she could be able to take Photography all four years of school.

“Hey Haven,” a voice came from above her head. Titania Garrett, a Junior, was tying an apron around her waist and trying to be as cordial and nice as she could.

“Hi Titania.” Haven said flatly, sighing and knuckling her eyes.

“Mind if I sit at your table today?” Titania asked, not waiting for an answer and plunking down at a stool across from Haven anyway. The door swung open again, and the 3D art teacher/photography teacher, Mr. Adelson, entered the room. Clay was streaked through his brown crew-cut hair, and caked all over the sleeves of his work shirt.

“Hey class.” Mr. Adelson said hurriedly, scurrying over to a sink to try and flake the clay off of his arms. Haven like it when he called them a class…their ‘class’ only consisted of five people. Not many people signed up for photography in their school, however, so Mr. Adelson got the go-ahead last year to have an extremely small Photo 4 class, for which he was extremely grateful, as he took the opportunity to write lesson plans during their class.

“What’s on the agenda?” Mark Savage called from the back of the room, where he was splayed up against the counter, his arms spread like an angel’s wings, one looped around the neck of his girlfriend, Penelope, who giggled every time you said anything to her.

“You know where you are in your photos,” Mr. Adelson said hurriedly. “If you don’t have an entire roll of what I would consider “our community” pictures, then take a pass and go around the school. If you do, go develop them,” he ran back to his desk, picked up a clipboard with a class roster on it, and called out the roll in a way that only Mr. Adelson can call it. “HavenhereTitaniahereMarkherePenelopeherewhere’sRachel?” We all understood, and shrugged.

“Absent, Mr. Adelson.” Penelope called. Mr. Adelson nodded to us.

“Get to work, sirs and madams.” Haven pushed back her stool, going to the box with the class’ negatives in it and riffling through them. She did indeed have the 24 shots required on one roll of proof…and from the looks of it, she was the only one.

“Haven, the only one finished?” Mr. Adelson said, smiling. “No surprise there.” He nodded toward the development room. “Go on and develop your negatives, dear.” Haven nodded, gently picking up her negatives and carrying them through the door into the darkroom. She turned on the red safety lights, turned off the regular lights, and set the negatives in a bucket, slowly and methodically pouring in some solution.

“Oh, excuse me.” came a boy’s voice from the corner where Haven had just placed her back. She felt her ears prick up, but shook her head, figuring it was just a figment of her imagination. Walls can’t talk, after all. “What’s your name? I’ve always meant to ask you these four years.” Haven’s eyes widened and she dropped the bottle of solution on the ground, watching it spill across the floor in a puddle.

“Where are you?” she asked, her voice fluctuating as she pretended not to be afraid and began to wipe up her spill.

“Right here.” The voice said calmly. Haven looked around frantically, hoping to see a little boy, the child of a teacher, perhaps, playing a joke on her from another corner.

“I don’t see you…” Haven said softly.

“Oh. My mistake.” The voice said. There was a soft, windy noise, and a beat later, a sixteen year old boy was standing in front of her, his hands clasped.

“You should go back to class,” Haven said quietly, feeling her public self coming on. “You shouldn’t be in a Senior class.” The boy laughed.

“I’m a Junior…that should be close enough. I…was a Junior, anyway.” He shook his head, reaching out to Haven to shake her hand. “I’m Soren.” Haven reached out involuntarily to shake his hand, an automatic reaction…but there was nothing to touch. She felt her stomach drop out.

“You’re…you…” She left the bottle of solution on the floor and ran to the wall where the light switch was, slipping in a puddle on the way. A pair of firm hands supported her back and stood her upright again, and a small, tinny laugh emitted from the same area. Haven quickly flicked the switch to turn on the regular lights, and the laugh turned into a small shriek before vanishing entirely.

The boy was gone. And what was more, the bottle of solution was upright and full, on the counter, and her proofs were in a light-safe plastic box, the lid tapped firmly down into place. Haven shook her head, blinking several times. She’d only imagined this, right? There was no boy named Soren anywhere…he didn’t actually exist. She must have just not slept enough the night before.

The bell sounded to go to their next class, and Haven shook her head, shutting the lab door behind her and running down the hall to her Economics class. Anything to get back to her loud, rowdy self…being quiet lead to hallucinations, apparently.