Her expression has been static over the last couple of weeks: impassive but with sadness and worry bubbling just beneath the exterior. She pushes her door open and exits the car. Her heels click on the pavement, and I work to even out my breathing, following her lead. Heads turn in our direction from the people standing in clusters in the parking lot, and each stare feels like fingers on my skin. Ignoring them, I focus on the school as we enter, looking up at the ceiling of the atrium that casts gloomy, blue light on everyone inside.

The whispering starts the minute the doors close behind us, sparking up in one place then spreading like wildfire. Sofia places a gentle hand on my arm to guide me to the front office, hesitating when she feels my rigid posture. Despite my best efforts to block out the background noise, I can’t help but hear a snatch of conversation before the door closes behind us.

Apparently she lost her memory. Do you think she’s faking it? Seems like something she’d do.

By the time we stand before the secretary, a plump woman with fiery red hair pulled back in a bun, my jaw is sore from clenching my teeth. The nameplate on her desk reads mrs. gallagher.

“Allie,” she says pleasantly, offering me the same kind of smile I’ve been receiving from everyone else, pitying and uncertain. “It’s great to see you.”

Sofia nudges my arm, prompting me to answer, “Thanks.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to make this transition easy for you,” she promises. “We want you to feel safe here, and comfortable. Anytime you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll be happy to help.”

Her exaggerated, friendly demeanor makes me wonder how long every adult will be this overly nice and treat me like I’m made of glass. The purpose of all of this is to make me feel normal, but normal people don’t get looked at as though they’re about to fall to pieces at any second. As Mrs. Gallagher pulls out a class schedule, I’m drawn to the window facing the hallway, watching the students as they walk past, some of them attempting to be discreet as they peer inside the office to get a peek at me.

There’s one face that catches my attention: a boy with inky brown hair and a strong jaw in the middle of grabbing something from his locker. He looks at me when he notices my stare, and his expression is a combination of stony and calculating, his eyes frigid, even from a distance.

My mind goes blank, and then he turns away as though nothing happened, disappearing down the hall. Something about the brief interaction makes my heart beat faster. Turning back to Mrs. Gallagher, I try to regain focus.