Slamming into a big body, I stumble, dropping my backpack, which is still partly unzipped after I rooted through it for the bottle of water. The contents spill out on the ground.
With mumbled apologies, I kneel to pick it all up as a set of legs pass me, and a voice tells me to watch where I’m going.Tears prick my eyes as I shove the pencil case inside the bag. I zip it back up and rise to my feet, not trusting my shaky legs to carry me inside.
Laughter drifts on the wind—the same boys who called me out minutes earlier. Nausea overwhelms me and my cheeks burn, which has nothing to do with the unnaturally hot weather.
As I enter the building, I keep my head down and clutch the bag to my chest. If I thought it would be cooler in here, I was wrong. The heat feels stifling and almost panic-inducing.
Weaving through crowds of strangers, who all turn their heads as I pass, I locate reception and place my bag on the counter.
The lady behind the desk peers at me from behind her kitten glasses. “You must be the second Barker sibling?” She hands me a file and then types a few notes on a very old, outdated computer. “You’ll find everything you need in there.”
Behind me, a girl with curly, green-dyed hair and black lipstick clears her throat. “Camryn Barker?”
The lady behind the counter ignores us.
Apparently, I’m dismissed.
Shouldering my bag, I turn to the girl. “That’s me.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Gwen.” She has a toothy smile and cute freckles on her nose.
Freckles that I envy.
“I’m here to show you around.” Gwen invades my space and forces me back. She swipes up the file on the desk, and then sets off walking, expecting me to follow.
I exchange a look with the receptionist, who lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Better hurry. She waits for no one.”
“You don’t say.”
I don’t miss the receptionist’s small smile as I make my way down the hallway, barely catching up to Gwen before she turns the corner in a whirlwind of cherry body spray and studded boots.
“So, new girl, is it true you moved into the Victorian estate behind Wilfred Miller’s farm?”
Distracted, I tear my gaze away from Dominic, who has not only found his lecture hall but also surrounded himself with big-busted women who ask him a million questions in their southern accents.
“Yes,” I reply, as his eyes clash with mine and darken. He looks away just as fast, and I face forward, clearing my throat.
“This is your lecture hall,” Gwen says, stopping so abruptly that I nearly crash into her. She taps the door beside her and steps back.
I take the file, turning page after page until I find my schedule, wondering why they still use paper files.
While I skim the information, her curious emerald eyes lined with kohl bore into me, and she scuffs the ground. “How much do you know of the estate’s history?”
“Not much,” I reply. “Have you seen the place? It was cheap because of how much repair work it needs.”
She takes my paperwork before I’ve had a chance to memorize my schedule, leaning closer. “It was cheap because no one wanted to buy it. The place is cursed.”
A chuckle of disbelief bubbles up from my chest. “Cursed?”
“People died in that house. You should look it up.”
She walks off before I can ask more questions. But I promptly follow, baffled and a little confused.
Gwen has an aura about her that I covet. She moves like she owns the place, and like other’s opinions of her are irrelevant.
I find it refreshing.
She shows me around the college, talking animatedly about everything under the sun until my social battery is drained and I feel ready to hide in the bathroom for the foreseeable future.
