The older students are allowed to roam until the bell rings, but the freshmen are herded into the auditorium. I trudge down the aisle, eyes scanning for a seat. Everywhere I look, someone's pulling their bag close, casting a quick, guarded glance at me before looking away. It's like a game of musical chairs, but everyone's trying to make sure I don't get a place to sit.

I'm about to turn and slip out, maybe hide in the bathroom until first period starts, when I hear a soft voice beside me.

"You can sit here, if you want."

I stop, a little startled. My gaze snaps to the voice, and there's a girl with shaggy blue hair sitting in the middle of the row, her hand still resting on the empty seat beside her.

I hesitate, unsure if I've heard her right or if this is some kind of joke. I glance at the row behind me, but no one's looking. No one cares. Maybe I should just keep walking, disappear into the crowd, but my feet won't move.

"Um," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure?"

She looks up then, her hair covers half of her face. How does she even see? "Yes. I am."

I nod, quickly, and sit down, careful not to make too much noise as I slide into the seat. My bag drops onto the floor with a thud, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Very smooth, Lori.

We both sit in silence for a moment, the low hum of the auditorium around us. The other kids keep talking and laughing.

"Thanks," I say after a beat, trying to sound normal. "I, uh, like your hair."

"Likewise."

Now what? I'm not exactly the best conversationalist. But there's just something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on. I don't think I've ever seen her before - in school or around town. Is she new?

I turn back to her, but before I can say anything, but she's gone. What in the world?

The lights in the auditorium suddenly dim, casting everything in a dull haze, signaling that the assembly is about to begin. I shake my head. That was... strange. Who was that girl? Why did she take off so suddenly?

I pull my focus to the front of the auditorium, where the principal begins talking about the new year.

After the assembly ends, I push my way through the crowd and head down the hall, trying to find my locker without drawing attention. I pull the crumpled piece of paper with my combination from my pocket, but before I can unfold it, something catches my eye.

A small piece of paper is wedged into the crack of my locker, half-hidden.

What the-?

I glance over my shoulder, then to my right, instinctively checking for any groups of kids watching me, whispering behind their hands. But the hallway's full of busy students, heads bent in conversation, none of them paying me any mind.

Still, something feels off.

I reach up, hesitating for a moment, then carefully slide the paper out. It's a postcard. The front features a sunset over a beach, vibrant oranges and pinks blending into the horizon. The words Greetings from Beach City are emblazoned across the top in bold, colorful letters.

My heart skips. That's the place I was born. How did this get here?

I flip the card over. The other side is blank. No message, no name, nothing. Weird.

Before I can make sense of it, the first bell rings. I quickly shove the card into my backpack, telling myself I'll figure it out later.

The rest of the day drags. My mind stays miles away from my classes, looping around that postcard, the mystery girl. I try to focus, but it's like I'm watching everything through a fog. What is going on?

As the final bell rings, a wave of students spills into the hallway, eager to escape for the day. I grab my things from my locker and turn to leave, half-focused on finding Nicole.

But before I can take a step, cold hands clamp down over my eyes, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Gotcha!" A boy's voice rings out, too loud, too familiar. A laugh follows, sharp and mocking.

Anthony.

Sabrina.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut. I don't have to look to know who it is. Their voices, their laughter—it's all the same as it was back in middle school.

I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens, dragging me further into the hallway. My heart is hammering in my chest as I struggle wildly against my captor, wishing I could just disappear into the crowd, wishing I hadn't been stupid enough to walk down this hall alone. "Noooo! Let me go! Let-"

My shout cuts off in a sharp gasp as I'm slammed backward into a wall. The impact sends a jolt through my spine, and everything spins for a moment. There's a deafening slam—the kind of sound that feels like it reverberates inside your chest—followed by muffled laughter.

"Wha-HEY!" I bang my fists against the inside of the metal door.

I hear Sabrina laughing. "Oh my god, your face!"

"School's back in session, Lori!" Anthony taunts me.

"Let me out, you freaks!" I shout at them.

"Aww, but we wanted to make sure your school year started with a bang!" Sabrina kicks the locker door. I yelp and cover my ears.

"Get comfy in there, Lori," Anthony says smugly, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "We'll check on you tomorrow."

"Byyyyeeee!" Sabrina calls back in a cheery, sing-song voice.

Their footsteps fade away, leaving a ringing silence behind them. The cold metal of the locker presses in on me, and I feel the walls closing in. I pull at the handle again, desperately this time, but it doesn't give. It's no use.

I feel a shiver crawl down my spine, and I try to steady my breath, but it's hard. The air inside feels thick, stale. My chest tightens, like I can't get enough of it. The darkness is suffocating.

This can't be happening.

I bang my fists against the door once more, harder now, but the sound feels so hollow. So pointless. My voice cracks when I shout, "Let me out! Please! Anybody!" But there's no response. No footsteps, no voices. Just the silence that stretches on forever.

I slump against the back wall, my back pressed against the cold metal, utterly defeated. My hands drop to my sides, and I let out a long, shaky breath. "Great. Perfect." The words fall from my lips in a bitter whisper, like a curse.

The locker feels even smaller now. The space feels like it's closing in on me, and the air is thick with the smell of rust and sweat. My heartbeat echoes in my chest, but everything else is eerily quiet, as if the world outside has forgotten I exist.

Nicole was wrong. High school sucks.

Oh, my love. In all my existence, I never knew what pure perfection looked like until meeting you. My little girl...

...What?

A voice. Soft, almost tender, like it's speaking directly into my soul.

My head snaps up. The voice—where is it coming from? My pulse spikes, and a cold shiver crawls down my spine. Am I hearing things now? Am I losing my mind?

The shadows around me seem to thicken, darkening the small locker even more, closing in around me like a living thing. The temperature drops, a chill creeping under my skin, until I feel as though I'm surrounded by ice. What the hell is happening?

Another voice, sharp and accusatory, slices through the thick air.

How could you do this, Blue? Did you not learn from what happened to Pink? How could you be so foolish? Do you have any idea what will happen when White finds out about this?

My chest tightens, my breath shallow, like the air has turned to lead. No, no, no...

I feel like I'm drowning, like my own body isn't mine anymore, like something is pulling me out of myself. I try to focus, but the words and the voices keep coming, relentless. The overwhelming weight of shame and sorrow floods through me like a tidal wave, and before I know it, I'm mouthing words that aren't mine, my throat tight with a guilt I don't understand.

"I'm sorry, Yellow..." The words are out before I can stop them.

I can barely process the thoughts racing through my mind. My body feels distant, like I'm trapped inside someone else's skin. My chest seizes again, a sharp pain in my ribs, and the room starts to blur, like the edges of reality are slipping away.

And just as I feel myself slipping into nothingness, the locker door suddenly springs open, and I fall face first onto the floor, gasping frantically for air. It takes a few moments before I realize that someone's kneeling over me.

I blink up to see an older boy, either a junior or senior, with a look that screams bad boy, straight out of an old high school movie. He's wearing a leather jacket that looks like it's been worn for years, with the edges of the sleeves frayed just enough to give it a well-worn, rebellious vibe. A pair of aviator sunglasses are perched on top of his head, glinting in the overhead fluorescent light, and his brown hair is slicked back in that effortlessly cool way that only some people can pull off. His brows are furrowed with concern, lips pressed into a tight line.

I let out a wheezy "Thank you."

"Of course. Easy now..." The boy takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. There's still that flicker of concern in his expression, as if he's afraid I might crumple into a heap right in front of him. "You good?"

I nod slowly, trying to calm the fluttering in my chest. The voices, the panic, the suffocating darkness of the locker—it feels like a bad dream now, something fading into the background. But his presence, steady and calm, has a way of anchoring me. Even though he looks like the type of guy who could probably break every rule without a second thought, there's something about him that makes me feel... safe. In a weird, unexpected way. "Y-Yeah...yeah, I'm good. How'd you get the door open?"

He smirks slightly. "Anyone can open these old lockers if they know the trick."

The words make me blink in surprise. "The trick?" I echo.

"Yeah," he continues casually. "These lockers are ancient. They're easy to jam up. But if you know where to push, you can pop 'em open." He taps the side of his head, his sunglasses shifting slightly. "Just a little pressure in the right spot and bam, you're in."

"Huh. I had no idea," I admit, still a little shaken but oddly grateful. "Good to know for next time, I guess." I huff out a nervous laugh.

He shrugs. "Been there, done that."

I glance up at him, still trying to make sense of the fact that he's even talking to me—helping me, of all people. My mind feels scrambled, but the way he's standing there, waiting for me to say something, pulls me out of my haze.

"Name's Randy, by the way," he says. "You?"

"I'm Lori," I tell him. This whole situation is so surreal to me.

He gives me a quick nod. "Lori. That's a nice name." He pauses, studying me for a moment. "You're a freshman, right? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Yeah, I am," I reply. "First day, you know. It's...uh...been a lot."

"Freshmen... they can be brutal around here." He leans back against a locker. "But if you stick to your guns, keep your head down when you need to, you'll survive."

I cross my arms and stare down at my feet. "Yeah..."

Randy gives me a half-smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach his eyes but still holds a hint of understanding. "Trust me, I get it. First day's always like that. People want to test you, make you prove you belong. You just have to get through the first few weeks. Don't let the assholes get in your head. And when push comes to shove, don't be afraid to defend yourself. They'll try to mess with you, get a rise out of you. But the second they see you're not bothered? They'll leave you alone, and eventually, you'll find your people."

Gee, this sounds familiar. "God, you sound like my sister."

Randy chuckles, the sound low and dry. "Yeah? Well, sounds like your sister's got her head on straight." He shrugs, then his expression softens just a bit. "Sometimes the people who have your back say the same thing over and over 'cause they know what you need to hear."

"Yeah," I agree softly. "I guess she does."

A moment of silence passes between us, before he suddenly asks me, "You got your phone on you?"

"Yeah," I say, instinctively reaching into my pocket. "Why?"

"Pull it out," he says. "I'll give you my number."

I blink, surprised by the offer. The last thing I expected was an upperclassman, especially one like him, asking for my number. But there's no hesitation in his voice, no weird undertones, just a straightforwardness that almost catches me off guard. It makes me wonder if he genuinely wants to make sure I'm okay, or if he's just being his "keep-it-real" self.

"Uh, okay," I reply, pulling the phone out and unlocking it. "I guess I could use an emergency contact."

I'm joking. Mostly.

Randy grins, a hint of mischief creeping into his expression. "Exactly. After today, you might need one." He holds up his hand, waiting for me to type in his number.

I type in the digits, then hit save. "Got it," I say, sliding the phone back into my pocket. "Thanks."

"No problem," he says, nodding. "If anyone gives you trouble or you just need to talk, just shoot me a text."

I can feel the heat creeping up into my cheeks and turn away, hoping he doesn't notice.

"So, uh, you need a ride home?" he asks me.

I raise my eyebrows, taken aback by the question. A ride? It's a really generous offer, but I barely know this guy. It's not that I don't trust him. He probably saved my life today, after all.

"No, I'll just catch the late bus home," I tell him.

Randy shrugs, unfazed by my refusal. "No biggie. Just thought I ask." His lips curl into a small, easygoing grin. "See ya 'round, Lori. Stay out of lockers."

I can't help but chuckle despite myself, the tension in my chest loosening for the first time all day. "I will," I reply, and I throw him one last glance over my shoulder before I turn and head for the exit.

My mind is spinning as I walk down the hallway. I just made a friend. A guy friend. I glance over my shoulder, almost as if I expect Randy to still be there, leaning casually against the lockers, watching me. Was he maybe trying to ask me out? The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I freeze for a split second. Does he even like me like that? Do I even want that? I guess he is kind of cute...and cool, in kind of a messed up I've-seen-some-shit sort of way.

I mentally shake myself. No. Stop.

Today has been weird enough. The last thing I need is to add "crush on an upperclassman" to the mix. Not when I still haven't figured out how to survive the next few weeks of high school without getting shoved in a locker again or making it through lunch without having a panic attack. And giving anyone nearby a panic attack as well.

The late bus is already waiting when I step outside, and I let out a small sigh of relief. I survived the first day, at least.