Teachers have such power over their students. I am so lucky to have had you: a source of motivation, a person who believes in me—sometimes more than I believed in myself—and a friend. Can you imagine the beauty that would exist in the world if every person had a teacher like you in their lives?

Your legacy lives on in your students. It lives on in these books, because you are a part of them.

Your biggest fan,

Scarlett

Content Warning

This book contains scenes that depict suicide. Specifically referenced in chapters 1, 3, 4, 17, 20, 21, 22, 23, 30, 33, 37, and 42.

If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Please do not struggle in silence. People care. Your friends and family care. I care.

Chapter One

Anora and the Dead Girl

I lean forward in my seat and stare at my reflection in the car mirror, assessing my work. I took my time putting makeup on this morning, choosing a brown shadow and black liner that make my eyes look more yellow than green. My dark hair cascades over my shoulders. By the end of the day, it will be mostly straight, too heavy to sustain the curls it took an hour to fix. I practice a smile, checking to see if any lipstick transferred to my teeth but also testing to see if I can manage to make it look real. This is my chance at a new beginning, and as long as I’m careful, the past won’t bleed into the future.

I glance at Mom. Even now, she keeps her gaze forward, hands tight on the steering wheel, navigating the rented Ford Focus around another bend in this hopeless road. I can’t help feeling guilty. I’m the reason she has to start over too.

You’ll make so many friends, a voice rumbles in my head. If he were still here, it’s the kind of encouragement my poppa would give. I smile at the thought and straighten in my seat, clasping the round coin at my neck—my poppa’s coin.

Another bend and Mom turns down a white concrete drive, flanked by a set of redbrick pillars. A black plate with gold letters identifies this as Nacoma Knight Academy—my new high school in Oklahoma. Everything about it online seemed vague. Mom said it was an “alternative” school, but I don’t know what that means—is it for delinquents? Even with my background, I knew the main reason Mom chose this place was because they employ highly trained counselors, and that’s what she felt I needed more than anything.

Suddenly my skin grows hot, as if the sun has moved inches from my face, and I know something’s not right.

Oh no.