I don't usually skip class. I'm one of those students who actually enjoys going to school. How can I not? It's the best decision, and $8,000 dollars my parents have ever spent. St. John's Academy For The Performing Arts is like my home. Except- I'm ignored by my family. Which of course, instead of parents and siblings, are my classmates. In a school like this, you're supposed to be close with your classmates, right?

Wrong.

I'm standing in the girl's bathroom, my hands gripping the marble counter so tightly my knuckles turn white. My sobs echo around the room, since it's so big, at least twenty stalls lining the walls. There are posters all over the white tiles, reminding girls about STD's and Teen Pregnancy. My backpack is on the floor at my feet, my phone vibrating loudly. But I ignore it, not taking my eyes off of the girl in the mirror, staring back at me. I hate her. I hate her with every damn ounce of my being. She stares back, her eyes wide, lips curled with distaste. Through the dirty glass, the cracks girl's had made in the past, and ancient smudged lipstick stains; I'm staring at myself.

I guess this is the part where I explain I'm being bullied or harassed, but that's not it.

I, Lili Reinhart, am completely invisible.

I spend exactly 6.5 hours at St John's every day, and I must say like three words in total. Four or five if I'm called on in class. But I keep my head down, corking my headphones in and hiding behind my long blonde hair which I've realized is the reason why I'm invisible. My classmates go along in their lives, making plans, laughing, messing around in class. While I binge Netflix shows with my phone strategically placed on my lap at lunch. Once there was someone. Right at the beginning of Freshman year. She'd asked me what I was watching, and at the time, it was Shadow Hunters.

After giving me a weird look, she'd gotten up and walked away. A few days later, I found out her name was Cam, and she was dared to come and speak to me. I can't say it didn't hurt me, but I still had hoped- back then. That I'd find someone. My own friends.

Unfortunately, that hasn't happened yet.

I score a mediocre 5 on what I can only call the social scale. Meaning I'm not hated. I'm not loved. I'm just a ghost. Which I didn't care about in my freshman year. After the Cam incident I stayed in the library, reading through books I'd already read and could memorize perfectly. But I'm a sophomore now. The kids I go to school with are going to be the next big thing! Singers, dancers, actors. They're all here. The next generation of Vampire Diaries actors, swarming around me. It's like putting the most eccentric, creative and talented kids together for four whole years. And I'm yet to make friends. The thing is, I have classes with kids I feel like I'd get along with. I just can't get past that first hurdle; speech. Normal, human speaking. I suffer from anxiety, so it's not exactly surprising that my chest physically aches when I try and talk to someone. But I've been taking meds for two years now. I should be getting better, not deteriorating.

Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to be an actress. The audition to get into St. John's was to either sing, act, or dance. I cant sing. The last time I tried to sing, mom told me I sounded like a cat being strangled. Whether she was joking or not, I haven't tried to since. Only purposely bad in the shower. Dancing isn't my thing either. I'm clumsy, always tripping over my feet and stumbling my way through life, without even trying to dance, so that's also off the table.

The only thing I can really do is act. I'd been making my own little movies since I was little. When I was five, it was on my mother's camcorder, and when I was fourteen- directing a low-budget zombie movie with my friends before St Johns. It was with my iPhone. For my audition, I did Cady's beginning monologue from Mean Girls. The night before I was so nervous I nearly threw up, but when I was on stage with my script, shaking so badly I could hardly read the words printed in front of me. Something just clicked. I could tell I'd impressed the judges, from their smiles and sly nods.

Staring at myself in the mirror I tug strands of my long blonde hair hanging like rats tails in front of my eyes. I'm not ugly. I know that. I'm just- simple. Mundane. I'm tall and lean with pale skin, too many freckles to handle and green eyes. Though the hair really ruins my look. It looks so childish. The blunt scissors I took from home are balanced on the marble counter top, the blades scathing the surface. The girl's bathroom isn't exactly the best place to completely restyle my hair, but it was the only place I had. If mom finds out I've cut my hair, she'll ground me till I'm thirty-five.

It doesn't take me long to start hacking at my locks. Trying not to look at the build-up of fluffy blonde hair piling in the sink. If someone happened to come in now, and they could since I didn't lock the door. They'll think I've lost my mind.

Lili Reinhart has lost her damn mind! They'd whisper through word of mouth. The lock on the girl's bathroom door is broken., thanks to an incident a few months ago when two seniors had tried to rip each faces off over a boy. It's always over a boy.

It's the last classes of the day, so I don't really expect anyone bounding in. Though even saying that mantra to myself doesn't stop me from having a panic attack every time I hear the slightest sound. The noise of the scissors makes me feel nervous; snip, snip snipping away at my hair. But it also exhilarates me. The shorter my hair gets, the brighter smile my becomes. After ten minutes of hacking away at my hair, not bothering about length or quantity, I drop the scissors in the sink and grin at my reflection. It's not too short to freak out over it. It's just right, no longer brushing my tailbone. It sits perfectly on my shoulders. I stand there for a few minutes, staring at the pile of hair in the faucet before a slightly crazy idea pops into my head.

I'd bought a tube of Red hair dye a few weeks ago, keeping it hidden in my backpack from mom's prying eyes. I'm digging around in my pack before I consciously know what I'm doing. Finding the small tube tucked between my battered copy of Harry Potter and an old script from months ago, I pull the tube of dye out and drop it onto the counter. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Cutting my hair is bad enough, but dyeing it too?

But I can't stop thinking about how cool a dozen red streaks will look. It's different. It's weird. It's this school's motto. I pull off my sweater before I can change my mind, turn on the faucet and start wetting my hair. I pop open the tube with a hairpin and squeeze out the dye into my hands. There are no gloves, nothing to protect my skin, but by now the idea of dyeing streaks into my new hairstyle is sending shivers of exhilaration up and down my spine. It takes a while, but finally, I'm standing in front the mirror with damp hair, streaked red, dangling in my face. I grab tissue paper dry each streak. The stink of ammonia from the dye tingles in my throat, seeping into my nose. It makes me feel nauseous. I'm pulling my sweater back on, dragging a brush through my newly dyed hair, when the door flies open, and I freeze.

I've cleaned up most of the hair, but there are still piles of it on the floor. The tube of dye is still in the sink, floating in a pool of water tinged scarlet. The scissors are there too, and It hits me how bad this looks. I spin around, trying to ignore the splashes of dye down my sweater, but my mouth isn't working. The words I can explain! are on my lips.

But that's the thing. I can't explain. Mr Garret, my History teacher is standing in the doorway, frowning at me as if I'm an optical illusion. I don't blame him. I must look pretty crazy as I'm fighting for both my breath and speakable words while trying to desperately hide what looks like a scene off of a Saw movie. I didn't realize the mess I'd made. Mr Garret is a forty-year-old man who looks like he's just stepped out of an OAP's home. His greying hair, wrinkly face and obsession with the war make him seem ninety years old when he's practically my dad's age. I wonder if I've actually caused him to have a heart attack as he too stumbles with speech. "Miss Reinhart?" He chokes out. "What on earth are you doing?"

I guess the smart ass answer would be; "Dyeing my hair, what does it look like?"

Except I'm not that kind of girl. I don't have snappy comebacks, and I literally start to tear up if anyone raises their voice at me. So I don't say anything, instead waiting for Mr Garret to spontaneously combust. But he doesn't. Much to my disdain. His expression, however, twists into one of horror. "Lili?" he's seems to have found his voice, which is a start, I guess. I straighten up and tuck strands of my newly dyed hair behind my ear.

What I'm not expecting next, is the chuckle. "In all my years at this school," his icy blue eyes are practically boring into mine. "I've never seen a kid wash, cut and dye their hair in the school bathroom." When I try and correct him, he shakes his head and taps his watch. "Lili, it's quarter to three in the afternoon," his eyebrow quirks. "May I ask why you're evading your last lesson of the day to give yourself a makeover?"

Struggling not to correct him again, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and the girl in the reflection looks nothing like me, and my breath catches in my throat.

My face looks bolder, brighter, now my hair isn't obstructing my eyes. Instead, it's behind my ears. No longer a nuisance. I absently play with a strand. I'll have to completely rethink my style with this new hair. I'm used to long sweaters over leggings, but I have the strongest urge to try out the summer dress mom got me ages ago. When I tried it on after she bought it, the damn thing hung off my slim body and my none-existant curves. While my hair cascaded down my back. The shop assistant's eyes had nearly bugged out of her head when I politely said I was sixteen after she referred me to the kid's section. That had been happening all my life. I'd always been handed the kid's menu at Mcdonalds, and I had no relationship whatsoever with the male or female species. I was a sixteen-year-old trapped in the body of a little kid. Though not anymore.

Despite everything, my lips curve into a small smile. I like the way I look, and that's big coming from me. I'm the opposite of photogenic. I hate seeing myself in photo's, even looking in the mirror. Though now I'm proud of the girl standing in the mirror.

"Lili?" Mr Garret snaps me out of it, and when I can only open and close my mouth soundlessly like a goldfish, he sighs and rolls his eyes. "No explanation?" He demands. "What, do you have a - I don't know, a date?"

My cheeks flame. I want to crawl into the ground. Shaking my head, I stare at the floor, and the teacher clears his throat. "Whatever your excuse is, Miss Reinhart. You can't do this on school property, do you understand me?" Mr Garret lets out a breath. "You could have stained the counters bright Red! What on earth were you thinking?"

I continue to glare at the tiled floor, at my converse's laces dyed scarlet.

"Alright, come with me," He mutters, after what feels like hours of torture. "Since you've missed most of your class, you can start detention early."

"Detention?" Words finally manage to escape my lips in a high pitched squeak as my head snaps up. I've never had a detention. If mom finds the salmon coloured slip of paper in my bag, she'll be mad. But if I hide it, I'm pretty sure I'll be grounded for life.

Mr Garret splutters out a laugh. muttering something about having a proper punishment, and my heart sinks into my chest. He tells me to grab my bag, and I clean up as much as I can before growing impatient; reminding me that's what the cleaner is for.

On my way out of the bathroom, doing the walk of shame, he holds the door open for me. "Don't worry, you're not the only kid I've found truanting."

What's that supposed to mean? When I walk or rather stumble back out of the girl's bathroom, I suddenly feel incredibly exposed. I no longer have my long hair to hide behind and when I see the group of kids leaning against the lockers looking impatient, Mr Garret's words suddenly make sense. There were three of them, two guys and a girl. I knew none of them. The girl looks Brazilian. She has olive skin and short dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, a ratty baseball cap sitting on her head. She wears a faded purple tee under denim overalls and converse, a threaded backpack slung over her shoulders.

The girl is tapping away at her phone, her lips curled into a sly smile. I wonder if she's texting someone. The two boy's standing next to her look to be in various stages of impatience. "Mr Garret, finally!" One of the boys straightens up from his position slumped against the line of lockers. His mop of scruffy dark hair and golden skin make my heart jump a little. He looked a little bit like a young Leonardo D'caprio. That was, however, until he opened his mouth. Young Leo straightens the collar of his shirt, letting out a breath. He catches my eye, and the moment his lips curl into a smirk, his eyes shining, I really regret everything I'd done in the past hour. Which includes finding him the least bit attractive.

"Dude," the boy chuckles. He cocks an eyebrow with a quizzical grin, folding his arms. "Were you dyeing your hair in the girl's bathroom?"

My hair is still damp, strands of it tickling my chin. I can smell myself. The unmistakable stench of ammonia spiking my nose and throat. They can probably smell it.

The other boy, a nervous looking kid in a band shirt and ruffed up jeans with a shock of light brown hair looks up from the floor, his gaze landing on me. The girl's attention snaps up from her phone and she too eyes me curiously. My cheeks burn and I try to ignore Young Leo's piercing gaze. They might not have noticed if Young Leo hadn't opened his mouth. I feel like a circus act, immediately self-conscious of the ruby stains decorating my sweater staining my hands. I try and hide them the best I can, but that only attracts more attention. I glance at Mr Garret for help, but he's muttering to himself, emptying his blazer pockets. No doubt rooting for his book of detention slips.

"Well?" Young Leo's tone is teasing, and the other two stare at me, waiting for me to answer. Leo leans forward, and I notice a Polaroid camera hanging around his neck from an ancient looking strip of frayed ribbon. God, could this guy get any more pretentious?

"That's enough Cole." Mr Garret growls. He holds up a dog-eared book of pink paper, and my stomach turns. Young Leo- or I guess "Cole" leans back into the lockers, rolling his eyes. "I didn't even do anything," he mutters "Like I told you ten minutes ago, I was taking pictures for my photography project." he gestures to his camera for emphasis.

Mr Garret scoffs. "And do you have a teacher's note or hall pass?"

"Will it really make a difference if I say no? Look, the system stinks, okay? How is it fair that I get reprimanded for doing something actually related to school, and then we have Mumford And Sons here," he points accusingly at the other boy. "Who decides to turn the cafeteria into his own private fucking concert in the middle of classes, and he barely gets shouted at?"

"Cole-" Mr Garret is losing his impatience. He's pulled out a pen, scrawling a little too violently on each one. I have no doubt he's deciding my fate for the next few hours.

"I'm not finished!" Cole hisses, exasperated. He's really getting himself worked up. "Then when I, a perfect example of what this school stands for, politely asks him to stop singing crappy covers, I'm dragged into detention with him?"

"Wait, hang on," The other boy seems to come to life, his eyes darkening. He straightens up, stuffing his hands in his jeans. I notice a foreign twang in his accent. Australian? Maybe Kiwi?

"Mate, you threw a tray at me!"

"Because you told me to get out! It's the cafeteria, genius. Anyone can go in there!"

I notice the girl is laughing, and I can't help smiling to myself. My hair is rapidly drying thanks to not having any air conditioning in the corridors. It's the middle of June and I'm already regretting my choice of outfit. My jeans are sticking to my legs.

"I said that's enough!" Mr Garret yells, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Cole, to my surprise, does actually shut up. He looks down, his eyes burning into the floor. The kiwi boy huffs, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

"Names." he demands. Cole opens his mouth to say something, but the teacher interrupts automatically. "If you use a fake name, you'll only get yourself in deeper trouble."

"Cole Mitchel Sprouse." The boy says, exasperated. "You literally teach me every day!"

"I don't teach all of you." Mr Garret grumbles. "You two!" he spits at the others, who jump. His mood has deteriorated since Cole opened his mouth. "Give me your names."

"Camila Mendes." Says the girl, smiling politely.

"KJ Apa." The Kiwi mutters.

Cole splutters. "KJ? What kind of name is that? It's two letters!"

KJ smirks at him, arching a brow. He doesn't look pissed. "I'm from New Zealand. We tend to have different names over there."

"Yeah, no shit." Cole shoots the boy a grin.

"Quiet." I start to wonder if steam is going to start streaming out of the teacher's ears. Mr Garret glances at me. I know he already knows my name, but I find myself spitting it out anyway; "Lili Reinhart."

There's a moment of silence, except Mr Garret's heavy breathing as he writes out each detention slip. Finally, the teacher hands them out to us. Cole screws his up and stuffs it in his pocket. I keep ahold of mine. "Okay, you kids talk amongst yourselves while I find you a supervisor. I've got work to do, I don't have time for babysitting."

Cole looks like he's about to come out with a snappy comeback, and we all anticipate it. But he just blows a raspberry, ignoring the teacher. "Stay here." Mr Garrett mutters, before turning and heading to the teacher's lounge at the end of the corridor.

"If any of you bother making a run for it, you could face temporary exclusion!" He shouts over his shoulder. I expect the boys to ignore the teacher's warning and walk off, but they stay put. I stare down my detention buddies, matching them to dancers, singers or actors. The Brazilian girl looks like she can do all three. Then again, so do the boys. I wonder if they're in the special program, where kids can study all three, and then go on to become A-list celebrities. I find it hard to imagine any of them on the red carpet.

When we're alone, Cole clears his throat mockingly. "So Camila, what did you do?" he murmurs, smirking at the dark-haired girl. Camila shrugs and pushes her phone into her bag. "Some other girls and I were caught smoking weed under the bleachers," she giggles. "No biggie, though. I flushed it before Mr G could find any evidence."

Cole nods. "So we have a druggie on Team Detention," he mutters. "Nice."

"It's literally my first time, and I don't even think I inhaled correctly, asshole." But she's grinning at him, and he's smiling back.

"Team Detention, ay?" KJ scoffs, and Cole nods. I wonder if KJ is going to end everything he says with 'ay' though there's something about his accent that I love.

"Yes. I gave us a nickname," Cole replies. "Unless you can think of something better?"

The boy ignores him, but I catch the smile he's trying to hide.

"God, this school fucking sucks." Cole groans, voicing our thoughts out loud and slowly sliding to the floor and leaning back into the line of lockers. At first, I think he's only dramatising his words, but he doesn't get back up. After a moment, the Kiwi boy follows suite and then the girl drops down too with a sigh. I frown, and the three of them look up at me hopefully. Cole pats the floor half-heartedly. "You gonna join us, or are you going to stand there and die of heatstroke?"

Rolling my eyes at him, I bite back a retort before lowering myself too, stretching my legs out. He's right. The marble floor is cool and refreshing, and I find myself feeling comfortable. We must look ridiculous sitting on the floor, but it's too hot to stand, and my legs are aching. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, before Cole turns to me, and my heart flutters. I'm not sure if its fear flaring in my gut. I'm terrified of him teasing me again. But I also can't help noticing his eyes are this shade of green I've never seen before. He has that stupid smirk on his lips again.

"So what's your deal?" He murmurs. "Why did you dye your hair in the bathroom? I can feel the boy's bold brown eyes judging me.

I think about ignoring him, but that seems childish. Before I can hesitate, word vomit is tumbling from my lips.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," I reply, shrugging at the boy.

Cole nods, smiling. It's the first genuine smile I've seen grace his lips. "I mean I'd say it was smart, but I hate to tell you, you've dyed your hands." he chuckles, and I feel an inferno spreading across my cheeks. KJ sighs. He's sunk so far down he's practically lying on the floor.

"I think Lili looks pretty good." he murmurs. He's staring at the ceiling, thoughtfully. My name sounds strange with his accent and I like it. It sounds like; 'Lee-lee"

"Yeah, it doesn't look half bad," Camila smiles brightly at me. "Plus it's kick-ass you did it in the school's bathroom," she slips to KJ's level, her hair an ebony halo spread around her. "Where's Mr G gone?" she groans. "It's like 104 degrees, I'm sweating my makeup off."

"If we actually bake to death, I'm haunting Mr Garret for the rest of his measly old life." Cole grumbles.

Though the second the words come out of his mouth, the door to the teacher's lounge flings open, and the four of us shoot up on instinct. I grab for my bag and jump to my feet, while Cole and KJ help Camila up, who's giggling, staying on the ground.

"So these are the delinquents?" I vaguely recognise the teacher. I've seen him around. He looks far too young to be teaching, at least in his early twenties. He's striding down the corridor with a grin on his face, a pair of ray bans on. There's another kid tailing him, looking ready to hit something. He's tall and gangly with short dark hair. I can't help notice he's wearing a Childish Gambino shirt, and I automatically like him.

"Good afternoon!" The teacher greets us with a blinding smile, and I see the urge in Cole's eyes to either insult or tease the man, but he's somehow holding it in. Instead, he stands there quietly, eyeing the man curiously, his arms folded across his chest. The teacher's grin is too wide, too gleaming. Like a shark's grin.

"Not really," KJ says. "Mr Garret left us out here for nearly half an hour."

The teacher nods. "Sorry about that," he gestures to the kid behind him. "I was having a slight disagreement with Casey here."

"Slight disagreement?!" The boy- Casey steps forward, lugging his backpack with him. He lets out a harsh laugh. "Mr Consuelos, I've told you a million times-"

"Call me Mark." The teacher says calmly, ignoring the boy about to spontaneously combust. I swear I can see veins pulsing in Casey's forehead.

"Fine! Mark," Casey spits out the teacher's name like venom on his tongue. "I had a dentist appointment!" He insists.

Mark nods slowly. "Mmm hmm. And like I told YOU enough times for me to turn it into a song," his tone darkens, and Casey loses the fire in his eyes, stepping back. "Do you or do you not have a note?"

Casey seethes, gritting his teeth. "No," he says. "I said I left it in my-"

"No excuses!" Mr Consuelos cuts in. "Now, Mr Cott, if you'd like to join your fellow offenders."

Casey doesn't move, standing his ground and the teacher shrugs him off. "Fine, don't," he mutters. Then to the rest of us; "Hello! I'll be taking you for detention today. My name is officially Mr Consuelos, but really, call me Mark. Anyway! So I have exciting news!" he claps his hands together. "You kids are going to help me something." his smile is pretty contagious. I found myself nodding and smiling along with him.

"Help you with what?" Cole questions. Mark looks like he's about to burst from excitement. "Well, what would you guys say if I said we'll be going on a field trip?"

"I'd say no thanks, I'd rather hang myself," Casey grumbles. Though Mark only chuckles, grinning at us as if we're supposed to be impressed. "You're going to do some digging for me," he said. "We're going to take my car and drive up to the old fields. Now there's a very special artefact I've been searching for," his tone is the one parents use with a small child to get them excited. "I was going to do it myself," his eyes sparkle, and Cole rolls his eyes. "Imagine my luck when Mr Garret hands me six troublemakers?"

"Six?" Cole frowns. "No, wait, there's only-"

"The young lady I caught earlier, video blogging, or whatever you youngsters call it, is already in my car." He grins widely at us. "So, what do you say?"

Before we can say anything, he laughs. "Wait no, what am I saying? You don't have much of a choice!" He cackles before turning, taking off down the corridor. "Follow me!" He yells loudly, his voice echoing down the hall. "I've signed all the paperwork, no need to worry, I'm not kidnapping you guys yet," he's already pulling open the doors leading down to the school's entrance. I'm not surprised when none of us move.

"We're wasting daylight!" Mark yells impatiently when nobody follows his lead. We all stay frozen, staring at each other in disbelief. I start to wonder if the heat is getting to our head's, and all of that was some kind of vivid hallucination.

"Okay then." Cole laughs after a beat. "That happened."

"Did he just say he's not kidnapping us...yet?" KJ murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

Camila has dug in her bag for a textbook and is using it as a fan, wafting it in her face. "I can totally take him down if he tries to, you know, bury us alive."

Casey actually laughs. I've already pegged him as someone with no emotion except anger. The laugh is a surprise. "Hey, that actually makes me feel a whole lot better?" he says sarcastically. "I'll be sure to yell your name when he's strangling me to death."

Cole cuts in quickly.

"Okay, first of all, that's dark. Casey do you need someone to talk to?" He grinned when Casey, blushing slightly, shot him the finger, his lips pulled into a mocking smile.

"And second; "Come on, how can we miss this?" Cole throws his arms over KJ and Camila as if they'd been friends since kindergarten. "Seven of us piling into a car that's probably about eight hundred degrees since it's hot enough to literally cook our insides, with a teacher none of us have met and driving to an unknown location to dig for a piece of rock that might not even exist!" He flashes me and a tooth-rotting grin.

"What could possibly go wrong?"

The last member to join our group, or what Cole has infamously called us; Team Detention is called Madelaine. Mark quickly told us her name before rushing off back to his office to grab digging equipment. Madelaine is pastel edit come to life; tall and slim, with pale skin wearing a sundress and a denim jacket that fits her perfectly. She's the kind of girl I can only dream of looking like, with long dark red hair tied into a ponytail, a pair of Rayban's pushing back her fringe. Madeline is sitting in the driver's seat of Mark's car, a shiny Blue Civic, blasting music that can be heard the second we set foot outside. I feel the heat straight away, wincing when I dare lift my head and squint at the blaring sun. It's like stepping straight into an oven. I can smell the distinct aroma of burning tarmac as we wait for Mark to come back, hopefully, with a bucket of ice I can pour on my head. My new hair is already sticking to the back of my neck with sweat.

I'm not saying we're all thrilled to go on this detention-field trip, but there's an element of excitement buzzing around us. Even if Mark's little outing still sounds shady as hell. I'm still wondering what so-called artefact is it he's so desperate to find.

"You gotta be kidding me," Cole groans. The five of us wait next to the car while Ariana Grande reverberates around the parking lot. "Does he expect us all to fit in there?" he presses his face against the back windows, peering inside. Casey glares at the redhaired girl just casually rocking out in the driver's seat, while we slowly cook to death in the heat. "The question is; how did Ariana Grande Junior even get in there?"

"With the key, duh," Cole mutters. The boy shoves him.

Madelaine doesn't act like she's seen us, even if she has. She's sitting back, her eyes shut, a huge grin on her face. Mark has disappeared to grab water for us all after Cole made a joke that we were actually going die of dehydration. Which doesn't seem that funny anymore now I'm actually standing in the baking heat. Luckily, before we came outside, Camila noticed I wasn't exactly in the best clothes for a late afternoon digging session in the boiling sun, so now I stand in a pair of denim shorts and a long t-shirt and sandals. I don't bother asking why she has emergency outfits stuffed in her backpack, I'm just grateful to be out of my sweater. The others have made minor adjustments also, making themselves suitable for what I'm pretty sure is child labour in someone else's book. Cole has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, swapping his jeans for shorts, while KJ has completely abandoned his shirt altogether. I try hard not to stare at his incredibly built up and toned body. Camila doesn't exactly keep her thoughts to herself. The second the boy ripped his shirt off she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Uh, where have you been all of my life?" she had joked, giggling. But the girl was definitely checking him out. Her eyes flicked up and down his body, taking all of him in. I don't think I've ever seen a girl take that much interest in a guy. Though I'm not going to lie, KJ was one hell of a looker.

The Kiwi however, didn't seem to get the memo. "Are you flirtin' with me, ay?" he shoots her a smile, his brown eyes twinkling, and Cole makes a gagging noise.

Mark comes back, lugging a dozen bottles of water in a plastic carrier bag, and six shovels, throwing them all in the boot, before banging on the windows, signalling Madelaine to climb into the back seat. Funnily enough, he doesn't tell her to turn the music off, or even down. We all somehow pile into the back. I sit squeezed between Cole and KJ, while Madelaine, Casey and Camila sit literally pressed up against the windows, Casey practically in Camila's lap. Cole was right, it's roasting in the car. The leather seats burn into the backs of my legs. Mark jumps into the driver's seat and starts the car up. "There's a latch on the window if you want some fresh air!" he says cheerfully.

I'm not a rocket scientist, but I'm pretty sure having a bunch of high school kids squeezed into the back of a tiny car like this is illegal. There aren't even enough seatbelts to go around. If we crash, there's a chance of us all going through the windshield. Mark seems oblivious, however, instructing us to open the windows.

"Just under the glass, slide your hander under and pull the lever."

Casey finds it quickly, and thankfully the windows glide up, allowing us slight relief. "So where are we going again?" Cole speaks up, once Mark has reversed out of the parking lot. Ariana Grande is still playing. Madelaine and Casey have struck up a conversation, so good for them. The rest of us sit uncomfortably squeezed together like sardines. KJ's arm digs into my gut, but I don't say anything. Mark ignores Cole as he navigates late afternoon traffic, and after feeble attempts at getting his attention, the boy gives up.

The car ride doesn't take long. I spend most of it leaning over Cole, trying to bask in the breeze that blows my hair fervently. Casey tries sticking his head out of the window to get some air, since he is quite literally been squashed to death by Madelaine and Camila, but apparently, that's where Mark draws the line. That's where his authority came in. There's not much conversation, only the crackle of the radio as it plays outdated pop tunes that Mark hums along to, tapping the steering wheel impatiently through Red lights.

I watch the New York streets fly by in a blur of colourful lights, the sun's overwhelming haze blanketing everything in a dreamy, mellow glow. I love living in New York; it's like a whole different world. It was a concrete jungle, a dream maker. Creative minds moved here for a new start, a daring move or drastic change. New York was definitely different from Missouri, where I'd grown up. Which was 80% fields and not much anything else. We easily went through the Tuesday afternoon rush hour, and when I start to see less cars, fewer people and the same shades of Grey and Black enveloping the city changes to vibrant springs of green; fields stretching forever, scaped by the bright blue sky. My heart jumps a little. Mark keeps driving; first down a long, winding road which doesn't look familiar. Though then again, none of this does. Mark throws the car into gear and we climb up a hill. Looking out of the window sends my stomach vaulting into my throat. I can see the New York skyline below- a vast concrete blur, towering buildings and the sun's reflection bouncing between them as it bobs along the horizon. I nearly faceplant the passenger seat when Mark finally stops the car, yanking his keys out of the ignition and jumping out. Camila voices all of our thoughts when we're left in silence, the radio still a hiss of white noise. I could vaguely hear Muse. "This is it?" she hisses.

Apparently? I mean, I guess it looks like a digging site.

"Hurry up!" Mark shouts from outside. His shoes crunch in the gravel as he heads to the boot, yanking it open. I take a second to take in our surroundings, the others twisting around too. The smell of body odour when we all shift in our seats makes me feel nauseous. The six of us are a sweaty mass of confusion. And we fucking reek. I'd put on deodorant this morning, tonnes of it. But I'd underestimated how hot it actually is.

KJ lets out a breath, his brown eyes are narrowed suspiciously as he kneels on the seat, watching Mark unloads the shovels and bottles of water. "Where the hell are we?"

"Where he sacrifices his victims." Camila murmurs, giggling when the boy rolled his eyes, shoving her playfully. There's a soft smile planted across his lips.

After a beat, I copy KJ and kneel on my seat, the others do the same. We're on a hill. All I can see is grass. Mounds and mounds of grass surrounding us. Has he parked us in a field? I twist my head, scanning for farmers or tourists hanging around. Except all that greets me is the sun shining directly in my eyes. I wince, shading them quickly. Cole lets out a breath. His forehead is dripping with perspiration, his hair a sweaty mess stuck to his forehead. He's frowning. "Okay, maybe he is going to murder us."

"We can only hope." Casey grumbles. He turns and fumbles for the latch on the door. "How do you get the damn thing open?" he hisses impatiently. There's a click and the door flies open, Casey tipping backwards and nearly tumbling out. Camila laughs. "Dude, are you okay?" Jumping out far too enthusiastically for someone about to take part in a back-breaking digging session, she ignores the boy's polite protests of; 'I'm fine!" and yanked him out too. When I jump out too, Mark is already handing me a shovel. I take it awkwardly. The damn thing weighs a tonne, and I struggle to even lift it.

"The spot right here where this young lady is standing," He gestures to me, and the others crowd around, lugging along their shovels. "This is where I want you to dig."

"And what are we looking for again?" Madelaine scans the ground, kicking a rock with the toe of her boot. Mark smiles brightly at her. "It's called The Deomonvitus."

"Isn't that the thing from Scooby Doo?" KJ says, and when we all look at him, he shrugs. "You know, the thing that sucks the souls from people?"

"You still watch Scooby Doo?" Casey lifts head at smirks at KJ. It's the closest to a smile I've ever seen him.

"I meant the movie, asshole." The Kiwi mutters. He looks like he might say something else, but Mark interrupts; "Less talking and more digging."

The sharp edge of Cole's shovel hits the ground as he scoops up a mound of dirt. "Are we digging our own graves?" he smirks at Mark, and the teacher rolls his eyes. "Will saying yes make you dig faster?"

Cole opens his mouth to answer, but Mark shakes his head. "Dig." he says. "If you find anything, let me know."

KJ's leaning on his shovel, already looking exhausted. Camila stands next to him, while Casey and Madeline haven't even picked theirs up yet. "And what will you be doing?" the kiwi questions, his brow arched.

Mark chuckles. "I'll be in my car, of course!" he shoots us another one of his shark grins. "With the air-conditioning blasting." he winks, before backing away to his car. "Wait, are you kidding me?!" Cole yells, straightening up. "You had air-conditioning all along?!"

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