Heather would do anything for her brother. Anything. So, it hurt to see him struggling in school so much, and it made her angry. Really, she was exhausted. She'd been up to three A.M. the night before finishing a research paper that she hadn't had time for between Student Council and Track meets over the last week. She had definitely made sure her tea was caffeinated that morning. But she still smiled and laughed with Emma, waved cheerfully to Weezie (Louise)-a girl whose parents owned the largest farm in the community-and thoroughly brushed of Kyle for the third time that week. She had to.

Everything in her depended on it, depended on her performance. It wasn't for herself, making her life better, but her family's. There were so many secrets in her life, so many quiet little white lies in her house. She could only assume that there was a reason, and she knew that it was a good reason, for why else would her parents withhold information? So, Heather preformed. She went as far and as hard as she could in everything she did, worked more than everyone else in her grade put together. And stuffed the pain deep, deep down. Nothing was allowed to hurt her, nothing was allowed to matter. But her infernal, feeling heart refused to obey this one, simple command. She felt. And she felt so much more than she wanted to.

So pain was a constant in Heather's life-pain from school, pain from home, pain even, sometimes, from Church. Right now the pain was pounding loudly in her skull, drumming against her forehead. They pulled up to the red-brick school house and she had to pause and clutch the seat for a long moment before the floor steadied. Someone brushed past her. She looked up and saw one of the new boys-the younger, she presumed.

"Pardon me." He muttered quietly, his accent strange and definitely not the kind from Tennessee.

"Smalls-" The voice of the older brother hissed quietly. Was that his name? "Come on." The older leaned closer and whispered something into the younger's ear. The younger boy nodded, shot a wary-or maybe nervous-glance at Heather before hurrying to the front of the bus and out the door. Heather watched them, oddly transfixed. Strange. Very strange. The accent-what was it? English, maybe? Yes-that must be it. Emma shook her gently.

"Heather?" She asked, sounding a little concerned. "You look like you're about to pass out." Heather gave her a smile and at once decided not to tell her about what she had overheard. Gossip was a poison she had no interest in drinking.

"I'm fine. It was just a late night." Emma nodded but didn't seem all that convinced.

"I feel like you have a lot of late nights." She said, eyes narrowed, as they walked up to the school.

"I do. But unless I can get someone to do my chemistry homework for me, that isn't going to change." Heather responded, a little overwhelmed by how many people were in the building. It was always this way in the morning; before classes started the halls were packed so full that Heather wished she hadn't come.

"You could ask for help." Emma emphasized the last word and popped the p. "Heather, honestly, you don't need to do everything yourself." Heather shrugged and replied,

"C'mon. We'll be late if we don't hurry." Emma shot her a playful glare and said,

"Fine. You get off the hook once. But next time I won't drop it." She did. She always did. Heather knew Emma was well-meaning, knew that her friend was only trying to help, but what Emma could never understand was that she couldn't help. Heather's problems were her own, not anyone else's, and that meant that Heather had to deal with them on her own. She couldn't bring herself to burden those she loved with all her inner turmoil, even when it felt like she was drowning.

"Thank you, Miss Longtreader." Her teacher said as Heather placed the research paper on her desk. "I hope you didn't do this all-last night." Heather was sure that the teacher was joking, but she still blushed and fumbled for words until she was saved by the bell. "Alright class!" The teacher called; her voice sharp as she cast a roving glance that found Kyle's none-to-innocent face from where he was seated in the back. "Your Research Paper on John Adams is due today; I hope you all remembered." From the frantic looks on a few of the boy's faces, clearly that was not the case. Surprisingly, Kyle was not among that group and sent Heather a smug look as the teacher collected the papers. Heather rolled her eyes and returned to her scribbling, ink-stained, note-book pages.

If there was one thing Heather was ever called on the carpet for at school, it was how messy some of her assignments could be. Especially if she had done them in a notebook. Perpetual ink stains and random sentences in the margins were the bane of Heather's existence and one of the greatest annoyances to her teachers'. She had a bad habit of simply grabbing whatever notebook she had handy when she wanted to write, which resulted in having a half-finished novel in her science notebook, three different poems scribbled onto the inside cover of her history textbook, and one or two short stories written on the backs of old homework assignments. It was not her work that was the issue-actually, her teachers said, her stories were quite good-but the fact that this was American history, and not English, class.

"Miss Longtreader, please pay attention." Wait, what was happening? How had she missed the first five minutes of the lesson? Guilt struck her, and she stuffed the notebook far down into her bag, willing herself to forget it's existence. She paid dutiful attention to the rest of the lesson.

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.

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Emma was lonely. She always had been; even with Heather, with Picket, with Heyna. This was alright, she supposed. She liked being by herself. She liked the time to think, she preferred doing things on her own. But when she was around someone like Heather, who people seemed to gravitate towards, who had so many acquaintances and friends that it was mind-boggling, she realized that though she liked being alone, she didn't fancy being lonely.

It was the greatest irony of the age, Emma believed, that Heather of all people had gained such a steady popularity. She wasn't loud or brash like the other students their peers favored-at least, she wasn't charismatic. But she had a gentle, kind way that brought people together. She was trustworthy and, in that way, easily won others to her side.

Emma…was known. She had friends. A lot of them, in fact. More than most, she thought. But it never felt like enough. Even Heather felt far away when things were difficult. She, at least, had her brother when tough times came. Emma had no one.

Emma had come into the world alone. Her mother had died giving birth, and her father was never spoken of, and Emma had learned not to ask questions. She assumed he was either dead or in prison, which wasn't a great legacy. It was just her and her adopted father, and though he loved her very much, his business kept him busy more often than not. They were well-off and Emma had never wanted for any material need, in fact, she'd had a great deal more than she believed necessary, and if only she had known a mother or something of a similar sort, Emma promised herself she would be quite happy and not ask for anything more.

But her prayers to God always seemed to hit a wall or go unheard, and though she had never been bitter or angry about this, it did instill in her a deep sadness that she refused to show to anyone. She feared the consequences too much.

So instead, Emma plodded on through life, stubbornly going forward no matter what trials or tribulations were thrown in her path. It was this obstinacy that kept her from sinking into a pit of despair and misery.

"Emma, you're still coming over after school?" Emma looked up from poking at her lunch, which she'd been about to take a bit out of, to respond to Heather's question.

"Why would that have changed?"

"Well, with the homework load…..." The rest of the girls at the table laughed as Heather groaned. Emma realized that only two other girls were sitting with them, contrary to the usual. Weezie and Heyna were her two closest friends outside of Heather-and they couldn't have been more opposite. Heyna didn't talk much and was considerably serious about most matters. She was extremely into martial arts and that sort of thing-combat, fighting skills that had never interested Emma very much. Weezie, on the other hand, could have been compared to sunshine for all her cheerful manner. She was funny, knew how to make people laugh. She liked archery and was okay at it, if Emma was being honest. Her greatest skill lay in how she interacted with others. Her eyes were flitting around the room, as she chewed her sandwich.

"Who're those guys?" She asked, gesturing to a couple of boys sitting in the back. They looked like siblings, if Emma had to guess. Heather shrugged.

"They moved in about a mile east from us. I don't know who they are. I've seen the younger one riding his bike up and down the road a few times, but he never stops or even responds when I wave."

"Weirdos." Weezie pronounced.

"Maybe." Heather responded diplomatically. "I don't think that things are very easy for them."

"They aren't for most people in this town." Emma countered.

"No." Heather mused. "But something seems a little off about this one. I've never seen their parents or guardians-it's just them. And they moved into that old house-you know, the one we used to think was haunted? It's that one."

"That house isn't haunted anymore than a graveyard is." Heyna said. "I always told you so."

"Imagination heeds no logic." Heather responded. "But I agree, it isn't. And there's people there now, I just wish I knew who they were."

"Curiosity killed the cat." Heyna warned. "Keep your nose out of it." Heather rolled her eyes. The two had always had a bit of a rivalry, never quite getting along, for some, unknown reason.

"Curiosity is the mother of invention." Heather countered.

"There's nothing inventive about this. It's just a couple of strange boys; bet they'll be gone by the end of the semester." Heather hummed but didn't reply. Suddenly, the fire alarms began to ring.

"Fire drill." Weezie sighed. Emma smelled smoke.

"No." They all turned. Thick, black, ugly smoke was filtering through the doors out into the main hall.