Back at my locker, I trade out my English notebook and folder for the green ones labeled Chemistry. My locker neighbors are still nowhere to be seen, but that doesn't bother me. Their first class may have been in another wing of the school, so it would take them a little longer to get back. However, a realization hits me: I have no freaking clue where I'm going other than the room number in the Sciences Hall. But where is the Sciences Hall? This place should come with a map for new kids like me.
I strap on my Adventurer's Boots, close my locker, and press play on the Ash Woodward Cerebral Jukebox for epic empowering orchestral music that fills me with determination.
Ascending the stairs once more, I trace my steps back toward the front entrance. I pass signs that label the Mathematics Hall and the Arts Hall. My heart lightens and heavies in the same beat as I come across the Social Sciences Hall, teased by that middle child. Other students flock here and there, and part of me wants to ask someone if I'm at least headed in the right direction. But my tongue remains silent, quelled by a need to not stand out or cause a fuss.
Back at the main atrium, a hallway leads to the right. Lo and behold, there hangs the sign I've been searching for. Following those who have ventured this far, I find the right room. It's separated into two sections: desks on the right-hand side in a neat five-by-four grid, and on the left several tall black tables. Multiple steel cabinets line the wall behind these tables, likely full of miscellaneous scientific tools. Unlike in Mr. L'Amore's room, the unclaimed desks each have little paper name plates sitting atop them. Mine sits in the back corner near the tables.
The surrounding chitchat dies down at the sound of the bell. Mrs. Holiday, a short brunette, jumps right in with the basics of her plan for our Chemistry class. There's little interaction, but that doesn't bother me. I'd hate it if I had to dispense "fun facts" about myself for every class.
When time is up, I repeat my swapping process for World History. Ms. Greene, a tall and thin blonde, is the youngest teacher so far as she claims this to be her first year teaching full time. Good for her. Understandably, it's another round of the same ole preview for the year to come. I imagine that all of my classes will be like this for today. After all, it's important to lay the groundwork before diving into the subject matter.
At the end of World History, I make the trek back to my locker once more. From my backpack I pull out my PE kit: a gray tee with HGHS written in block letters and a pair of dark green shorts.
"You won't need those," her voice comes as I shut the door.
She stands at least a head shorter than me as she leans against the green metal. Her arms are crossed over her chest, casual and cool. Luscious deep red locks cascade over the shoulders of her black V-neck. A gray long-sleeve shirt sits underneath, and black fingerless gloves cover her hands. A pinch of snark flavors her arched eyebrow and delicate smirk. Her eyes, a curious tint of blue that hints at violet, have it too.
Sera's sudden appearance, or perhaps her appearance in general, steals my breath. That pull in my heart returns. Magnetic, her energy beckons my own. Call it yearning, call it a broken heart aching to be put back together, call it whatever you want. There's a force here singing a sweet siren song.
Does she hear it too? Does she feel this? Does she want to know me when she looks in my eyes? Or am I alone in this? Is this a one-sided desire? Is it truly just wounds begging to be healed, or at least temporarily mended?
"First day is always going over rules and safety stuff," Sera adds.
"Already been to PE or just basing this off prior knowledge?" I ask.
YOU ARE READING
Incinerate
ParanormalWhen Ash Woodward moves to a new town before the beginning of the school year, he makes it his goal to befriend anti-social track star Sera von Abaddon. As Ash traverses his new life with his new friends, mysteries arise as to who Sera truly is. But...
