"Can't you get down with your magical powers, witch?" a maniacal voice taunted.

Muireall hung suspended by her arms from a tree branch with two cloth jump ropes. Around her stood a group of six teenage boys, with six sneering faces taking pleasure in her helplessness. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and no one was around to witness the cruel torture.

Muireall had been approached by the bullies when school let out. Everyone else was too caught up in the flurry of kids to notice that something was off in how they forcibly led her away into the woods. She knew that she was in for pain, but she hadn't known it would involve stringing her up like a piñata. She had tried to flee, but there wasn't any real chance of escape.

Scottie sauntered closer until he was inches away from Muireall's face.

"I've told you before not to come back to this school, freak. I would have thought you were smart enough to listen to my warning. But I guess you're as stupid as you are ugly."

This comment earned a few laughs from Scottie's friends, but a couple of them shifted their eyes nervously. Bullying Muireall was normal, but they knew that this was crossing a line.

Muireall's shoulders screamed in agony. Were they dislocated? Muireall didn't know, but she had bigger things to worry about right then.

"Well? Don't have anything to say, Dunning?" taunted Frank Gallagher, Scottie's right-hand man. He was even more sadistic than Scottie was and would have been suspended if Scottie didn't rein him in. There was nothing so satisfying as seeing another creature in pain. His bright red hair appeared like flames to Muireall's fading vision.

Muireall felt so tired... Her head was too heavy to hold up anymore. It dropped down as though she was dead.

Scottie grabbed her chin and lifted her head up to look him in the eye.

"Didn't you hear me, witch?!" he shouted in her face, "Do you want me to-"

Muireall jerked awake with a gasp. Her hair was matted with sweat and her heart was racing. Her eyes darted around the room in fear only to find she was safe in her bed. Muireall sighed in relief. She had been dreaming, but she wished it was only that.

Lifting herself up on her elbows, Muireall examined her shoulders, bare except for the thin strap of her pajama top. Even against the tannish tint, her skin still displayed the truth. Yellow bruises decorated all around her shoulders, grim reminders of what had occurred a week earlier. No one had punished those boys for what they did that day. Muireall wasn't even sure what had happened. She had lost consciousness after Frank had punched her in the stomach. When she woke, she lay alone on the ground. She was bruised and beaten, but at least she was free from the jump ropes. She had staggered home and gone to sleep as soon as she got to her bed. The next day Muireall had claimed that she was sick, so her mother had let her stay home. After that, Muireall had returned to school, but was careful to avoid all the boys who had tortured her.

And two days later, Scottie Whittaker turned up dead in Fairlin Lake.

It was Monday, so Muireall dragged herself out of bed to face the people who held her responsible for Scottie's death. Even though the students had feared him, they also admired and envied Scottie. He had been the star of the school, the one who had led Hampton High to unprecedented glory with the swim team. Before Scottie came along, Hampton High hadn't excelled in any sports and its scholars were okay at best. The young Whittaker had puffed up all of Hampton's ego when he began winning trophies. Suddenly, the town had something to boast about.

But where did that leave them now when their champion was rotting in the dirt?

Muireall neither knew nor cared. School spirit had always seemed stupid to her. Besides, the swim team members were the ones who led the school in harassing her, so why should she root for them? If Muireall was forced to feel anything about Hampton's decreasing chances of fame, she would choose pleasure of disappointment every time. It served them right after all the terrible things her classmates had done to her. But Muireall preferred to exercise apathy, rather than let her bitter feelings come to the surface.

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The sun shone brightly that day, oblivious to the dark mood hovering over the town. Roland Whittaker paced in his office as he bellowed on the phone. He demanded that the police department investigate things further or else. The officer he spoke to didn't want to find out what Mr. Whittaker would do if nothing turned up about his son's death, so he promised Mr. Whittaker that they would do everything in their power to find out what happened. Roland could hear the other man's voice tremble in fear. That was the sound he liked to hear. Fear made things happen.

"I'll expect a call from you within seventy-two hours," Mr. Whittaker stated and hung up.

"Don't you think you were a little harsh, darling?" his wife Hazel asked. She sat in a plush chair at one side of the room.

"These people need to know the gravity of the situation. I guarantee that none of them would rest if this had happened to their own son. And I'm not going to let them rest when it happens to mine!" Roland bellowed, his voice growing louder the more he spoke. He wasn't used to things not turning out like he wanted them to. This "accident" had not been on his agenda and had ruined all his great plans for Scottie. Hazel couldn't possibly understand. No one understood the depth of Roland's ambitions.

Hazel looked away in chagrin. She should have known better than to question her husband. He didn't tolerate anyone questioning him, not even her.

"No matter what it takes, Hazel, I will get to the bottom of this," Roland promised.

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When Muireall trudged up to the school entrance, she breathed in deeply to prepare herself for whatever may occur after she opened the door. Other students were meandering inside as though they were only half-awake. They were aware enough to give Muireall the same berth they usually did as they passed her though. Would everyone treat her the same as always? Would the swimming team treat her any differently with Scottie gone?

Wrenching open the door, Muireall stepped inside and scurried down the hall to her locker. There were only ten minutes until class started, so teenagers frantically crammed their bags with books from lockers and flew down the halls to their homerooms. Muireall didn't need to hurry since she only had to go across the hall to get to Ms. Farling's room. She entered the combination for her locker and grabbed a couple books from it.

As Muireall bent down to put the books in her backpack, she felt a push from behind and lost her balance. She tumbled face first and scraped her cheek against the floor. Her nose also collided, and wetness trickled near her mouth. She braced herself to get up when she sensed a body close beside her.

"You think you can get away with that, Dunning? You're going to pay for what you did to Scottie," whispered a familiar voice. She knew it was Frank Gallagher, but Muireall didn't dare to look at him. She stayed motionless until he drew back and walked off.

Once Frank was gone, Muireall shot up from the floor and sprinted down the hallway. She barely missed running into Cyrus Sherman, but she managed to move to the right at the last second.

"Watch it!" he called out as she ran past. Normally he was one of the only people halfway decent to Muireall of her classmates. He had never harassed her or said anything against her, at least as far as Muireall knew. But that didn't mean he was a friend or could be trusted. Cyrus was a pretty popular basketball player. He wasn't at the top of the food chain, but most of the upperclassmen knew who he was.

Muireall didn't apologize or even acknowledge that she heard him, for she was totally focused on her current goal: escape. So Muireall went to the one place she knew she wouldn't be bothered by Frank or any of his friends. What she didn't consider was that just because those boys hated the library so much they would never enter it didn't mean that she would be alone.

She slipped through the door to the library as surreptitiously as she could and wandered back to the aisle with U.S. history books. The librarian hadn't noticed Muireall's entry, so the woman continued munching on an apple obliviously.

Meanwhile, Muireall crumpled to the floor. She tried to steady her breathing, but hyperventilation seemed to be the only thing her lungs were capable of right then. Blood continued to leak from her nose, but Muireall didn't care enough to do anything about it. A few drops fell from her face as she attempted to empty herself of emotion.

"Muireall?" a female voice mumbled.

The terrified girl's head shot up to see who was speaking to her. It was a lovely blonde-haired girl Muireall recognized as Monique Sherman, Cyrus's sister.

"What do you want?" Muireall snarled.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't see how that concerns you."

Monique turned away in hurt at the acerbic tone. She closed her eyes and stood silently for a moment with her back to Muireall. Then she seemed to regain her composure and spun around to face the other girl again.

"If you don't let others help you, you'll only continue to make enemies," Monique stated firmly, "If you're content to be alone forever, suit yourself. If you change your mind though, remember that there are people out there who would be your friend if you gave them a chance."

"Thanks for the offer, but you don't make it sound too appealing," Muireall retorted.

Monique sighed in resignation and tromped off. Her ponytail bounced with each step until she was out of sight.

Although Muireall rejected Monique to her face, her words remained in Muireall's head for a long time. After pondering them for about thirty minutes, she decided she would just leave school. That was safer than sticking around since she had a couple of Frank's friends in her afternoon classes.

She wandered downtown a bit before she found herself in a small cafe that was newly opened. Muireall had overheard several of her peers praise its delicious menu items, so this seemed like a good place to kill some time. As long as she came home at the normal time, Greer would be none the wiser.

The yellow and blue floor tiles were bright, which added to the upbeat mood in the whole cafe. There were inspirational quotes on the walls, yellow flowers at the tables, a cute chalkboard menu... Muireall was definitely out of place here.

No other customers were inside at the moment, but when Muireall stepped up to the counter, a young man popped up from behind it.

"Welcome!" he exclaimed with a grin, "What can I get for you?"

"Well, I..." Muireall started, but was cut off.

"-Is that blood on your face?! Let me get you a paper towel!" shouted the guy. He frantically turned on the sink behind him and grabbed a wad of paper towels sitting nearby.

Muireall had completely forgotten about the nosebleed, but now she felt quite embarrassed for not having taken care of it.

The young man turned back with the now-moist paper towels and handed them to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His golden-hazel eyes glimmered with obvious concern.

"I'm... fine," Muireall lied with a deadpan expression.

The guy stared at her expectantly. Muireall again thought about what Monique said and decided to take a chance.

"Okay, I'm not really, but it doesn't matter. Why do you care anyway?" she admitted. She hadn't been able to keep the defensive question from slipping in at the end and instantly regretted it. Muireall winced because she knew she had just messed up any chance of friendliness with this guy.

The young man frowned for a split second, but then he brightened up.

"I guess I just don't like seeing people upset. Especially pretty girls," he replied with a wink.

Muireall's eyes widened as pink tinted her cheeks. She wasn't sure if he was flirting or not, but she definitely wasn't used to anyone thinking she was attractive, let alone saying it to her face.

"Um, o-okay," she stuttered, " Can I have a ham and cheese sandwich with pink lemonade?"

The young man grinned charmingly. "Of course. I'm Damien Glover. Do you go to Hampton High?"

Muireall was extremely uncomfortable at this point, but she nodded.

"Cool. That's where I just transferred to. I'm starting tomorrow, but I thought I'd give my dad a hand in the shop," he explained as he worked on her order.

Muireall wondered if that meant he was the owner, but she didn't dare ask. Instead she looked away and started peering at the floor as if it was extremely interesting.

After a moment, Damien realized she wasn't going to say anything else, so he answered the question she didn't ask.

"My dad's the owner. You didn't know you were talking to such an important guy, did you?"

Muireall made eye contact again. She shook her head slowly. What was with this guy? Couldn't he see she didn't want to talk anymore?

Damien set the food and drink on the counter and rang it up.

"What grade are you in?"

Muireall rolled her eyes in exasperation. He just wasn't getting the hint.

"I'm a junior, alright?" she snapped.

Disappointment flashed in Damien's eyes for a split second before it faded. Or had Muireall imagined it?

"Oh. Well, enjoy your food then," he muttered and turned away to work on something else.

Muireall grabbed her order and stumbled out of the cafe as quickly as she could without it looking suspicious. She could only handle so much friendliness at once. The sooner Damien realized that, the better.

She didn't notice Damien glance up at her as she exited, nor did she see the determined look in his eye.