When school started the following week, my stomach was in knots. I had been sitting in my car in the student parking lot for fifteen minutes. The thing that freaked me out the most was everyone being able to see the scar from The Accident, the one that starts around my left temple, going down my cheek and neck, and splits right above my armpit, one half making a straight line down to my hip, and the other going down my arm, and wrapping around my wrist.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Looking straight ahead, I quickly walked to my homeroom, for Junior's with last names A through C.

People stared and whispered, pointing at me. Hannah Butler "accidently" whispered a little too loud to Piper Adams that I was a freak. Tony Cooke told Jake Beaumont I was Freddy Krueger's latest victim.

I wanted to cry.

Just then, the bell rang and Ms. Silver came in, carrying our schedules. When she passed them out, mine was still warm from the printer as I held it in my hand.

Campbell, Alex

Pre-Calculus—Davids
AP English III—White
History III—Coleman
French III—Alby
Gym—Campbell
Chemistry III—Neiman
Study Hall—Vasquez

I was happy to learn that I got Ms. Vasquez for study hall; she doesn't care what the class does. And Madame Alby is a really lenient grader. But getting Mr. Coleman for history was the worst. Sometimes he'd write on my paper that I had the correct answer, but it wasn't the answer he was looking for. What does that even mean?

After stuffing my schedule into my bag, I started walking towards the quad, where I agreed to meet my friends. We decided to skip the welcome back assembly, since every year it's the same thing; just talking about the goals of the new school year and how academics are important.

When I walked outside, they were standing by the vending machines, buying food and drinks. After we bought our usual snacks, we headed for the trail that was behind the school, so we wouldn't get caught ditching.

Miriam Goldstein leaded the way to the secluded set of picnic tables. She was wearing a floral sundress with ballet flats, accompanied with a set of bangles on her arm. Her hair is long, dark brown, and goes halfway down her back. She always wears a gold Star of David necklace, no matter what, and has thin reading glasses. She has a younger sister named Talia—who looks a lot like Miriam—who's thirteen and an older brother named Aaron, who's seventeen and a Senior this year. I'd be lying if I said I never made out with him.

Next is Isobel Masters. She has the prettiest auburn hair I've ever seen, even though she rarely wears it down, and crystal blue eyes to match. She's wearing a worn-out t-shirt, dark jeans, and her Converse; she wears them whenever she can. Her mom is acclaimed food critic Carol Masters and her dad is John Masters, owner of The Wren House, the restaurant at our country club. Really, Isobel could buy anything with a Coach or BCBG label, but she downplays everything, which I respect her for. Her older sister, Jasmine, is just as pretty as Isobel and is trying to become a model, so don't be surprised if you see Jasmine Masters billboards soon.

Finally is my best friend, Taylor Reed. We've known each other since we were six, which is when she moved to our neighborhood. She lives with her dad, step-mom, and three younger brothers, Mark who is fourteen, Zach who is eleven, and Jason who is nine. Her mom died seven years ago after a battle with breast cancer. Her dad remarried to a girl named Stephanie four years ago, and I personally like her more than Taylor's mom. Taylor has dirty blonde hair—the same color as Peyton's—and dark brown eyes, her face covered in freckles. The thing is, even though she's drop-dead gorgeous with flawless skin and—I'm not going to lie—big breasts, she came out to me over the summer as bisexual, leaning gay. I'm the only one who knows, and it's an honor that she trusts me enough to tell me. Overall, she's a great friend that I can always count on, no matter what.

"Give me some Skittles," Isobel asked Miriam, and she passed the bag. "Ew, why are there so many yellow ones in here?"

"Because they're the best!" Taylor exclaimed. "Give me some if you don't want 'em." Isobel gave a handful of Skittles to Taylor.

"Has anyone noticed any new guys?" Isobel asked. "There's one in my homeroom. I think his name is Kurt. He's kind of hot."

Miriam scoffed. "How can he be with the name Kurt?" We all laughed.

Before too long, kids were filling the quad, telling us that the assembly was over and it was time to get to first hour.

By the time I got to study hall, I was ready for the day to be over. So many stares, so many snickers. But Aaron was sitting alone at a table, so I sat across from him.

"Hey," I said, putting my chemistry textbook down in front of me.

"Hey Alex." He was writing in his journal.

Aaron and I weren't official, and I never really liked him that much. But sometimes he'd text me from his car outside, and he was a nice distraction from homework, so I'd put aside my textbooks, tell my parents I was going for a walk, and get in his car. He'd drive down the street a little bit, and then pull over by a stop sign, cut the ignition, and we'd make out for a while. I never let him get under my clothes, but it was still fun. The only people who knew were Peyton and Taylor. But ever since The Accident, I'd decline his invitations, while his car would wait outside for a few minutes for me to change my mind. He'd drive away eventually.

He looked up and eyed my scars. He hadn't seen them yet. When I caught him staring, he smiled at me. "They give you character. I like them."

"Thanks," I mumbled.

He continued writing and I took out a notebook to start my chemistry homework.

"Um, Alex?" I looked up and saw Ross Kennicot standing next to me. "You're in my chemistry class, right?" He motioned to my textbook.

"I…I don't think so…"

"Mr. Neiman, sixth hour? The class we were just in?"

I was confused. "You sure?"

"I sit next to you, Alex."

"Oh."

Something about Ross Kennicot is that he's such a silent type; it's easy to forget about him. In freshmen year, he was in my group for a history assignment, and the other two people and I forgot he was in our group. We didn't even put his name on the PowerPoint.

He cleared his throat. "Can I copy down the assignment from you?"

"Sure." I grabbed the chair that was next to me and pulled it close. "Sit down. Maybe you could help me on some of these problems."

I looked over at Aaron. He was giving me a disapproving glare while gathering his things and moving to a different table. I mouthed, What? when he sat down, but he just rolled his eyes and went back to his journal.

"I'm sorry," Ross told me.

"Aaron's a dick sometimes. Don't worry about him."

"I, uh, meant about you and your sister. My mom was one of the officers at the scene."

"Thanks Ross."

"It must be hard on you."

"I guess."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

I glared at him. "Not really."

"Talking to someone can really help."

"How would you know?" My voice was harsh.

He took a deep breath. "My dad and older brother were killed by a drunk driver five years ago."

Now I felt like a bitch. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I didn't…"

"It's fine."

There was silence between us for a couple of minutes before the bell rang.

"Well, if you ever want someone to talk to…" He ripped a sheet out of his notebook with his phone number on it and handed it to me before leaving the classroom.

Another chapter done! I'm hoping to get one done a week.

Coming Up:

A Surprise from Taylor

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