SERENA

  The gates of St. Edith’s looked like they belonged in a horror movie.

  Tall. Black. Spiked at the top like they were trying to keep people in, not out.

  I stood in front of them with a suitcase that had one busted wheel and a duffel bag slung over my shoulder. The taxi I came in had already disappeared down the winding road. Not surprisingly, my mom hadn’t even bothered to come out and say goodbye to her only child. It was like she couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Just a quick hug, a distracted “Text me later,” and the slam of the car door.

  Classic Davis parenting.

  I looked up at the school. The white walls gleamed like they had something to prove. It screamed rich and polished. Vines crawled up one side of the main building, trimmed into perfect lines. Even nature wasn’t allowed to be messy here.

  I adjusted my wrinkled blazer and took a deep breath.

  “Don’t freak out,” I hummed to myself.

  Inside, the hallways stretched endlessly. Tall ceilings, heavy doors, echoing footsteps. The place smelled like lemon-scented disinfectant, old books, and old money. The kind of place that could eat you alive if you didn’t walk fast and keep your mouth shut.

  Too anxious to ask for help, I wandered until I found my dorm—Room 204, second floor of Della Hall. I knocked once and stepped in.

  Three girls looked up. The air instantly shifted. My chest tightened.

  The one on the top bunk eyed me. “You the transfer?”

  “Yeah. Serena.”

  “Aliyah. That’s my bed, that closet, and that charger. Don’t touch my stuff.”

  Damn. I’m roommates with a bitch.

  Another girl, cross-legged on the floor, smiled. “Hey. I’m Joey. Tenth grade, just like you. Don’t let her scare you—she’s only evil before breakfast.”

  I laughed. “Nice to meet you.”

  The last girl, hoodie up and earbuds in, barely looked at me.

  “Aimee,” Joey said, nodding toward her. “She’s chill. Just quiet.”

  I claimed the only empty bunk—bottom, under a bunch of K-pop posters I didn’t recognize. If it wasn’t BlackPink, I wasn’t interested.

  While I unpacked, I tried to ignore Aliyah’s laser stare. Everything about me felt off. Like every girl here had been handcrafted from the same mold and I was the glitch in the system.

  At least I got to choose my uniform—pants instead of skirts. My shirt was loose but crisp. Tie shoved in my pocket. Long hair down, because I liked it that way.

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  “Where are you from?” Joey asked.

  “Colombia. Moved here after... stuff.”

  She nodded. No pressure. I liked her already.

  Aliyah snorted. I ignored it. This year already felt like a storm waiting to hit.

  The chapel looked like something out of a gothic cathedral—vaulted ceilings, stained-glass windows, and rows of heavy wooden pews. I slid into one near the back. Alone.

  The place buzzed with soft energy. Girls fixing their ties. Whispering. Taking selfies. I kept my head down, texting old friends, pretending I didn’t feel the eyes on me.

  “That’s the new girl.”

  “Why’s her hair like that?”

  “She looks like she plays basketball and never smiles.”

  I heard them. Loud and proud.

  Joey slid into the pew beside me.

  “You get used to the whispers,” she murmured.

  “I don’t plan to.”

  Before she could respond, the doors creaked open. Silence hit like a brick.

  “Prefects,” someone whispered.

  They entered in two lines—six girls. Each in perfectly tailored uniforms, black sashes edged with gold. They didn’t walk. They glided. Aliyah was among them.

  Then came the one in the center.

  “Her. Wow.”

  “I know,” Joey breathed.

  Tall. Dark skin glowing in the stained light. Long legs, calm presence. She moved like the room belonged to her. Eyes unreadable. Mouth set in a firm, uninterested line.

  She stepped up to the podium and her voice rang out, calm and low.

  “Welcome to St. Edith’s.”

  My breath caught. It wasn’t what she said—it was how she said it. Like she meant it, and didn’t, at the same time.

  “If you’re new, brace yourselves. This place changes people. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes... not.”

  Nervous laughter. Shuffling feet.

  “I’m Taylor Troy. Head Girl. If you have questions, don’t ask me unless it’s important.”

  More laughter.

  Of course she’s Head Girl. She’s a goddess.

  “But seriously—find your people. Keep your head up. Don’t lose yourself trying to be what you think you’re supposed to be. That’s all.”

  Short. Sharp. Done.

  As she stepped down and walked past the pews, she passed right by us.

  For one second, she glanced in our direction.

  Our eyes met. I swallowed hard.

  It lasted a heartbeat. Maybe less. Maybe I imagined it.

  But it happened. And it burned itself into my stupid, traitorous brain.

  Joey elbowed me.

  “Careful,” she whispered. “That one? Breaks hearts and doesn’t look back.”

  It’s official. This school is about to fuck me up.

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. Taylor Troy haunted my brain.

  I lay there with earbuds in, music off, just staring at the ceiling.

  Eventually, I got up, slipped on flip-flops, and headed for the door.

  Joey snored softly. Aimee had fallen asleep with a book on her chest.

  Aliyah was scrolling on her phone, face lit by the glow.

  “It’s the Head Prefect’s duty,” she said without looking up. “Would be a shame to get suspended on day one.”

  I ignored her and slipped out.

  I wandered the halls, empty and humming with night silence. Just walking. Trying to breathe.

  Then—like something out of a TV show—the hallway lights flicked on.

  Taylor Troy.

  Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Still in uniform. Still perfect.

  “Well, well, well,” she said. “Didn’t think the new girl would be the type to break rules.”

  I melted.

  “I’m... yeah... sorry,” I stammered. “I couldn’t sleep so I—”

  She chuckled. “Relax, new girl. I’m not here to write you up.”

  I blinked.

  She stepped closer. My breath caught.

  “You’ve been staring since assembly,” she said. “Figured it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other.”

  I blinked again. “What?”

  Taylor tilted her head, amused.

  “Good night, new girl.”

  She walked away.

  I stood there. Stunned.

  Ruined.

  Back in my room, I searched: St. Edith’s Gossip Blog.

  The top post was about a girl who got detention for vaping behind the chapel. These people had no chill.

  Then I searched: Taylor Troy.

  Nothing. No Instagram. No TikTok. Not even a tagged photo. She was a ghost.

  Taylor Troy, who are you?

  Day one down.

  And for the first time since I got here—I felt something.

  I didn’t know what it was yet. But it was loud.

  And it had her name on it.