Chapter 1 — New Town, Old Fears
Marley
The moving truck rumbles away, leaving a cloud of dust and the faint, metallic tang of exhaust fumes lingering in the crisp autumn air. I stand on the cracked sidewalk in front of what is supposed to be our new home—the third in the last five years. The house stares back at me with its weathered shutters and peeling paint, as if daring me to find something redeemable about it.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my flannel, pulling it tighter against the chill that cuts through the thin fabric. "Charming," I mutter, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“Give it a chance, Marley,” Mom says, her tone brisk and determined, as if she’s trying to sell herself on this place as much as she is me. A steaming travel mug dangles precariously from one hand while the other adjusts the strap of her leather work bag. “It’s got character.”
“Yeah, so does a haunted house,” I deadpan, glancing at the sagging porch railing.
Mom sighs, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.” She starts scrolling through her phone, her thumb moving at breakneck speed. I recognize the look—already diving into work to avoid lingering too long on the unfamiliarity. It’s her way of coping, and I can’t really blame her. But it doesn’t stop the sting.
I fiddle with the chain around my neck, feeling the small silver compass pendant spin idly beneath my fingers. “Let’s get this over with,” I murmur, the words evaporating into the cool air as I step toward the house.
The key is cold and unfamiliar in my hand as I slide it into the lock. The door creaks open, revealing a dim, hollow space that smells faintly of old wood and something floral—like a distant echo of whoever lived here before. The house is furnished, technically, but just barely. The couch in the living room looks like it might swallow me whole, its faded upholstery sagging in defeat. The mismatched chairs around the dining table seem to mock the idea of coordination.
“Home sweet home,” I say under my breath, the sarcasm bouncing faintly off the walls. The emptiness swallows it whole.
Mom is already in the kitchen, unpacking her laptop, her focus shifting away from me and toward the ever-present demands of her job. I let my backpack slide off my shoulder, the thud of it hitting the floor startling in the quiet. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the staircase that twists upward and the narrow hallway leading to the dining room. Through a window, I catch a glimpse of the street outside. The trees are ablaze with fiery reds and oranges, the kind of postcard-perfect fall scene that feels almost too good to be true.
It’s beautiful, sure. But it doesn’t feel like mine. It doesn’t feel like home. I tug at my necklace again, grounding myself in the small, familiar weight of the pendant. The arrow spins under my thumb, chasing a direction it’ll never find. New town. New school. New people. Same old me.
---
The next morning, Cross High looms ahead of me like a fortress carved out of brick and ivy. The late-autumn sun filters through the vines clinging to its walls, casting shifting shadows on the ground. The air smells of leaves and damp pavement, punctuated by the sound of lockers slamming and voices rising in bursts of laughter.
I hesitate at the curb, tugging my flannel tighter as if the worn fabric can shield me from the weight of unfamiliar stares. “Okay, Marley,” I whisper, running my fingers over the cool surface of the compass pendant. “You’ve got this.”
Spoiler alert: I don’t feel like I’ve got this. But I force my feet forward anyway, weaving through the crowd. The closer I get, the louder the noise becomes—boisterous laughter, the shrill squeak of sneakers on tile, overlapping conversations. The hallway is a kaleidoscope of movement and sound, the kind of chaos that feels impossible to navigate without a map.
Athletes in letterman jackets swagger past, their voices booming like they’re competing for airspace. A trio of girls leans against a row of lockers, their laughter sharp and deliberate. Near the library, a quieter group huddles together, clutching sketchbooks and notebooks like shields. I tug at my flannel sleeves, trying not to feel like every glance is peeling back a layer I don’t want exposed.
I’m still trying to find my footing when a blur of yellow collides with me.
“Oh my gosh, sorry!” The girl stumbles back, laughing as she catches herself. Her curly dark hair spills out from beneath a bright yellow beanie, and the charm bracelet on her wrist jingles with every exaggerated motion. “Didn’t see you there.”
“No problem,” I manage, taking an instinctive step back.
“I’m Gwen,” she says, thrusting out her hand before I can react. Her energy is like a shot of espresso I didn’t ask for, but her grin is disarming enough that I find myself shaking her hand before I’ve fully processed the moment. “You’re new, right? I would know if you weren’t—small town, small school. You get it.”
“Yeah, I’m Marley.” I let her enthusiasm wash over me, its warmth oddly comforting despite the early hour.
“Well, Marley, welcome to Cross High,” Gwen declares, her voice ringing out like it’s some kind of royal proclamation. “I’m officially adopting you as my new best friend. You’ll need one.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Wow. I didn’t even have to audition.”
She laughs, looping her arm through mine before I can protest. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Stick with me, and you’ll survive. Probably.”
Gwen takes off at a brisk pace, dragging me along as her charm bracelet jingles like a soundtrack to her relentless commentary. “That’s the gym,” she says, pointing to a set of double doors. “Unless you’re into the smell of Axe body spray and shattered dreams, I’d steer clear.”
I let out a snort before I can stop myself. Gwen grins, clearly pleased.
“Over there’s the art room—cool people hang there. Cafeteria food? Questionable, at best. And those guys—” She nods toward a group clustered by the lockers. “Trouble.”
My gaze follows hers, landing on a tall figure with dark, messy hair and a leather jacket that looks like it was made for leaning against things. He’s laughing at something one of his friends said, his piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He moves like he owns the space around him, every gesture casual yet deliberate. When his gaze flicks to mine, a slow, deliberate smirk curves his lips. Heat rushes to my face, and I snap my eyes away, gripping my necklace to steady myself.
“That’s Chase Hayden,” Gwen says, her tone a mix of exasperation and begrudging admiration. “Resident heartbreaker, professional brooder, and the reason half the girls here don’t trust their own judgment.”
“And the other half?” I ask, trying to sound unaffected.
“Still recovering,” Gwen deadpans. “Oh, and over there—” She gestures to a sandy-haired boy with an easy smile, chatting with a group of students like he’s known each of them forever. “That’s Zach Miller. Golden boy, all-around nice guy, and basically everyone’s hero.”
“Let me guess,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “They’re best friends but secretly rivals?”
Gwen stops mid-step, staring at me like I’ve just solved a Rubik’s cube blindfolded. “How’d you know?”
I shrug, playing it off, but my mind is already spinning. Two guys who could’ve walked straight out of a cliché, and I’m already tangled in their orbit. Fantastic.
---
By lunchtime, I’ve memorized the basics of Cross High’s layout and absorbed more gossip than I ever wanted. Gwen’s tour is as relentless as she is, but somehow, it helps. She flits between groups effortlessly, her confidence rubbing off on me just enough to keep me afloat.
“Hey, new girl!”
I freeze, turning to find Chase leaning casually against my locker, his smirk firmly in place. Up close, his blue eyes are sharper, like they could strip away all your carefully crafted defenses with a single look.
“You’ve got the wrong locker,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Maybe I just wanted to say hi,” he replies, his tone as teasing as his expression. There’s something else beneath the surface—curiosity, maybe? Or am I just imagining it?
“Well, you’ve said it.” I shoulder past him, my heart racing for reasons I’m not entirely ready to unpack.
“Guess I’ll be seeing you, Marley Davidson,” Chase calls after me, his voice a low hum that clings to the air.
How does he already know my name?
---
By the time the final bell rings, I’m drained. The crisp autumn air feels like salvation as I step outside, letting the tension of the day bleed away. Gwen falls into step beside me, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“So, how’s day one?” she asks, looping her arm through mine again.
“Surprisingly survivable,” I admit.
“Told you I’d take care of you,” she says with a grin. “Just wait until tomorrow. The real fun begins.”
As we head toward the parking lot, I glance back at the school. Chase stands by the steps, his gaze distant and unreadable. Zach walks past him, offering a friendly wave that Chase doesn’t return.
Something about the unspoken tension between them sticks with me, a thread of unease woven into the crisp autumn air. Surviving Cross High, I realize, is going to be a lot more complicated than I thought.
