Chapter 1

Dear Mother,

We’re moving again, such a surprise, I know. It’s so tiring, every single time, and now is no different. The past four years have been just above the line of disaster, every day either packing or unpacking, some of the boxes don’t even get touched before we leave again. I just want to go back to London, I miss Lydia so much, I haven't been able to make any friends since we don't stay long enough for that to happen. I know that Father says he needs to move for his job, but I don't know how he can even begin to take it.

I'm worried about him though, he's always so jumpy. He puts on this brave face and makes a joke and later I find him leaning against a wall, staring into space with this horribly sad look in his eyes. I know that he misses you and my sister, but this sadness runs deeper than that. I think he feels like he's failed. I don't exactly know why I think that, but I can't shake that feeling. We've moved to Rochester, Minnesota in the U.S. now, I honestly think this is a good step since Father told me of how his brother lives here. They lost their daughter not too long ago too, she was only few years older than me, so I think it's a good idea to have us here.

I'm still looking for the answer of why you left and where you went, it's really begun to frustrate me. When I was little, I could just accept that you were gone, but now it's like a pebble in my shoe that I can't get out. Life overall is just a mess and continues to be, I can only hope that one day things will be normal. Whatever the heck that is.

I'll write again soon, love your daughter,

Annamarie Rose Olson

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Annamarie Olson leaned her head carelessly against the school bus window, ignoring the slight pain that jolted through her head at every crack and dent on the road. She stared at her reflection in the slightly fogged window, leaning her head back as the bus brakes engaged to pick up another kid. She still found riding a school bus to be strange, they hadn’t existed where she’d grown up.

Her long golden blonde curls closely framed her face, ever threatening to fall over her eyes at the next large bump. Her lips were pulled tight, betraying the anxiety that was stirring in her gut. Her button nose was just ever so resting against the cool glass, just enough to make the skin tingle. She met her own gaze, pursing her lips as she did so. She knew that someone was going to mention them today, they always did, every time she switched schools. Her hooded eyes weren’t the problem, neither was the dramatic upturn that caught some attention. It was the fact that no one could figure out what colour her eyes were actually supposed to be. They were ever-changing, every single colour and shade making its appearance at some point, depending on the light or her mood or whatever it was. She didn’t hate it, but really, she wished people would just stop bringing it up.

She let out a soft sigh, letting her breath fog the window further. She refocused her eyes on the pavement, creating an imaginary trail with her gaze while they drove along. Anything she could do to distract her from the inevitable pattern of going to a new school would make her day better.

Truly, it was getting old. They didn’t have much to move with just the two of them, but place after place, lifting boxes and dragging around what little furniture they hadn’t sold. She was only fifteen, and she really didn’t think she was supposed to feel old already. The one hope she held about this place, above all the rest they had been, was her uncle.

Throughout the years, her father had hardly spoken of their family at all. When he did, he always spoke of them in the past tense, leading her to believe for many years that they had no other family. So when he had told her about Joseph, his brother who was only a year older than himself, she had been confused, to say the least. She had heard him talking on the phone with him many times over the last couple of months, their conversations only ever serious or sombre. What they were talking about, however, she didn’t pry.

They had been living in Minnesota for a week at that point, and her opinion of the place was no different from many other places. Whether they stayed here or left, she just wanted to settle back down, just as they had when she was younger. She knew that her father had been a restless spirit since her mother was gone, having trusted friends watch her while he was gone for weeks at a time, sometimes coming home more disheartened than when he left. She missed him during the times he was gone, but he had always overcompensated when he came home, the affection and care he had shown her as a single father leaving her unable to hold resentment of any sort. She supposed he had waited until he deemed her old enough to travel with him, as the borderline nomadic lifestyle was not one for a kid. She had been able to see some amazing sights, however, travelling much further distances than most her age.

She shifted her posture as they pulled to another stop, knowing that they had to be nearing the end of the pickup route. The bus had already been moderately full when she had boarded, though she still had the pleasure of not having to share her seat; something she hoped would not change.

She shuffled her feet in discomfort, her fingers gripping each other in her lap. Contrary to what people in towns or smaller cities she’d lived in, growing up in a big city did not make her comfortable in crowds. They were suffocating, the clamour of voices, especially children’s, made her ears ring, and their unspoken voices in the back of her head became so loud she couldn’t pretend they weren’t there anymore. Her father had taught her that talking about the things others said without speaking aloud was considered incredibly rude by most people, and indeed whenever she accidentally brought up something that an unspoken voice had said, others acted shocked and completely disturbed, as though she’d broken the biggest rule in human society. So, she tried to ignore the continuous noise and forced it down, like everyone else was presumably doing.

It did confuse her though when some other people said that hearing unspoken voices was a bad sign of schizophrenia. How could anyone possibly know the difference between that and regular chatter? She sank in her seat, her arm brushing along the textured material of her backpack. Outside, houses continued to fly by, their designs and colours all seemingly the same. She shivered as the girl seated a few seats in front of her reached up and pulled the small window open. The blend of sweet grass and the musty rain from earlier that morning sent a fuzzy feeling through her body: the smell of spring.

The bus took a right turn, revealing the view of the school from her seat on the left side of the vehicle. She sat up in her seat, her hand unconsciously sweeping her hair back from her face, wincing slightly as her index finger caught and released a small tangle.

They passed a small, unfenced baseball field, a large grassy field rising on the edges up to the road they were now driving on. Further to the back of the field, a fenced-in sports field of some sort, with audience stands surrounding it blocked out the view of the neighbourhood behind. She turned her attention to the school itself, the cold, concrete structure nothing more than a three-story cube. It was almost comedic, how much it looked like a prison, the only pieces missing being the guards and barbed wire fences. Well, the fence around the sports field looks similar enough, she decided. As they grew closer, she could see brown brick accents in small alcoves that lined the walk along the ground floor, the only colour being a rusted blue accent under each window, all of which added insult to injury and made the building look completely bizarre.

The bus made a final left turn into the oval-shaped unloading zone, stopping just short of being in front of the only indent in the structure. As soon as they halted, every student stood and began shoving their way into the narrow aisle. Anna shouldered her backpack, the bag feeling unnaturally empty against her. She stood slowly, eyes darting to each person who passed. She knew that she was average in height at five-foot-four inches, but so many of the other students walking through easily dwarfed her.

Finally, the flow had begun to slow, only a few other others scattered throughout the vehicle being patient enough to wait. She shifted out of her seat carefully, her feet hesitating more than her head as they momentarily paused on the last step down to the pavement. A scoff and a light push on her backpack from the boy behind her caused her to take the last step, having to try and prevent herself from stumbling further as he pushed past her, jogging over to join a group of other boys who looked her age.

She continued at a slow pace away from the bus, looking around at the groups gathered around the entrance, only a few students making the journey directly into the building. She lowered her gaze, somewhat self-conscious as her mind bustled with the whispers in her head, her face suddenly scrunching up at the state of the pavement. The path made of pebbles sealed in concrete was covered in inch-wide black circles, some were brown or grey as well, but the majority were black. Newer circles of green or pink gave her the answer that she didn’t want to know, every single spot was where a student squished a piece of gum into the ground.

She raised her gaze again, trying to shove that knowledge from her active steps toward the main entrance. The doors themselves were nothing special, just a row of glass with plain concrete steps leading up to them. Above the doors, several large windows overlooked the entrance; the silhouettes of students inside could just be seen behind the glare of the sun.

A shiver ran down her spine, her muscles tightening automatically, the feeling of being watched overwhelming her senses. She glanced around, her body growing warmer under the mysterious scrutiny. A voice suddenly rose, above the rest inside her head. A clear voice amid the fray, directly into her head. Who are you?

Her breath stuttered, her pace freezing in place as her search for the gaze intensified. It had been the voice of a boy, his voice already dropped to a baritone, with an accent she couldn’t quite identify, yet seemed so familiar at the same time. She swept her gaze along the faces in the crowd, her skin itching as it finally landed on a dark-haired boy wearing all black leaning against the wall, strangely vivid golden eyes narrowed carefully at her. He almost looked like he was supposed to be in high school, his muscular build telling her immediately he was some kind of athlete. His skin was a warm amber tan, and his wavy, dark brown hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed before being hit by a windstorm. His features were sharp, narrow almond-shaped eyes observant. He was quite a bit taller than she was, probably closer to five-foot, eight. His posture was casual and curious, yet there was something about him that resembled a predator on the hunt.

Even as a redheaded girl with thick glasses and a tall skinny boy joined him there, he didn’t break his gaze, watching her even while responding to something the redhead said. She couldn’t say how, or why, but she knew the question was his.

She stared back, eyes wide, unsure of what was happening or what she was supposed to do next. She watched as he laughed, his eyes going to the redhead for only a split second before returning to her. His head tilted slightly at her, an amused tick pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She forced her gaze away, suddenly aware of how bizarre she looked, one foot frozen forward in a step she hadn’t fully taken. She mentally shook herself, continuing faster than before, pulling the door open with more force than she intended.

She paused once she made it through the second set of doors, the hallways now much busier than when she had taken her blur of a tour the week prior. Tall, thin, blue lockers lined the walls of the hallways, and to her right, the three gyms the school sported lined the entire side of the building. She glanced to where she knew the office to be, off to her left, before pulling her written-out schedule from her coat pocket. To say what had occurred outside was strange would be an understatement. Despite the many places she had gone, nothing like that had happened before. Then again, she was growing up, and her father had warned her that boys might start noticing her in different ways and that those thoughts tended to be stronger. She wasn’t sure though, something felt off. It was very direct. For the moment at least, she wanted to forget it happened, to just go on with her planned, predictable first day of meeting her new teachers and classmates that she would only know for a short while before moving on again.

She turned around the short wall that hid the stairway that rested beside the entrance, heading straight down the long staircase, her footsteps echoing in the empty, tower-like space. Her locker was in the basement, not far from the stairs. She rolled her eyes as she passed the boys’ locker room, hearing the younger kids inside yelling nonsensical insults at each other before the first class of the day began.

She glanced at the paper in her hand, following the numbers down until she reached her own. She put in the combination that her father had ever so helpfully made a song for her to remember by; forty-two, thirty, forty-six. The tune was so annoyingly catchy, she wasn’t worried about suddenly forgetting it.

The locker opened with a slight creak, the inside a muddled mess of peeling tan paint, rust, and black spray paint attempting to block out the curse words someone had carved into the back. She slid her backpack down her arm, catching the strap before it hit the floor, and hanging it on the inside hook. She then slipped her anorak off, revealing the light green jumper she wore underneath, having to push the anorak carefully around her backpack. As usual, with thinner lockers, she wondered how difficult fitting everything would be after having more than just her binder and a book inside. It didn’t matter though; she never stayed long enough for things to build up anyway.

She jumped as a blaring beep rang out through the hallway, other students hardly moving at the noise. She quickly unzipped her backpack, her schedule wrinkling slightly as it was pressed into her lower palm by her last two fingers. She pulled her binder free of the bag, the question of why she hadn’t pulled it out before putting her backpack in the locker coming to mind.

With a quick slam of the locker, she spun on her heel, lifting the paper once again. Her first class was on the top floor; in fact, most of her classes were. She went to the stairs she had gone down earlier, stopping short as she just about slammed face-first into someone dressed in black. “Sorry,” she murmured, glancing up, ready to continue on her way before stopping short.

Sharp golden eyes looked down at her, an odd look on the boy’s face. “Hi,” a small smile played on his lips.

“Hi?” She tried for a smile back, it probably came off more like a grimace. She swerved away from him, reminding herself once again to return to her plan. Ignore the weird boy.

She practically ran up the two flights of stairs, stopping as she reached the top. The large windows she had seen earlier opened up beside her. She walked along the hall until she got to the room her geography class would be in on the left side of the hall.

She sucked in a breath before crossing the threshold, posters covered the walls; historical figures, geographical sights, and nearly decade-old memes alike were stationed around the room. Rows of desks were laid out in front of her, and only a few of the seats were filled. In the back corner of the room, beside the row of windows looking out the front of the school, was a large metal desk. An older man engrossed in a book sat, calmly sipping what she guessed was coffee from a travel mug.

She approached him carefully, extremely aware of how her fingers tightened around her binder. “Sir?” She forced her voice out, holding back a wince at her awkwardness. She’d been through this enough, why hadn’t that changed yet?

The man, Mr. Wilson, immediately set his coffee down, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, extenuating the wrinkles on his forehead. “Can I help you?” He reached for a bookmark that was resting on the desktop, quickly stuffing it into the page before closing the book with an audible snap.

“I’m Annamarie,” she began. “I’m new.” She stopped, waiting for him to take off from there.

“Oh yes,” he reached for a pile of paperwork, flipping through them quickly before finding what he was looking for. “We’re in the middle of learning about South Asia currently,” he glanced at her, holding out the small pile of papers in his hand. “Keep up the best you can, we’ll see about whether you’re able to take the test we have at the end of the week.”

She nodded, only half paying attention as a random pop song began playing over the loudspeaker. She blinked in confusion before turning her attention back to her teacher.

“Your seat will be third from the back over there,” he gestured to the last row beside a short row of cabinets that sat along the wall that connected to the hall. She gave a nod and a small ‘thank you’ before starting to turn. “Thank you, Ms. Olson,” he stood from his chair, grunting a little at the motion. She paused at the use of her last name, unusual in her experiences in schools as of late.

She went to her seat, sinking down into her chair and placing her binder centred before her. She folded her hands in her lap just as a flood of students began to come in, chair after chair being filled across the classroom. She fiddled with her fingers, wondering if this was the type of teacher to introduce her as a new student or not. Most were, but there was the occasional blessing of them letting her fade into the background without such a spectacle.

Her hope for any possibility of an easy class period was crushed as right when the loud beep that signified class had started, the boy with the golden eyes rushed through the door. “Mr. Samuels,” Mr. Wilson walked between the far two rows of seats, not even looking at the boy. “Pushing your luck again, I see.”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” the boy let out a laugh, taking a step towards the row of seats she was seated in before stopping. Surprise filled his gaze when he looked at her, one eyebrow quirking up before the amused smile she had seen him with earlier returned. Anna couldn’t help the narrowing of her eyes, the boy’s accent catching her memory. It sounded so familiar, yet she couldn’t identify it.

Mr. Wilson turned, frowning at the boy who was just standing in place. “Did you forget where your seat is, Mr. Samuels?”

“Nope,” the boy had the decency to flush slightly as a couple of giggles came from somewhere in the room. He continued the path until he stopped at the seat directly in front of her own. Great.

Just my luck… she thought as he looked over his shoulder to give her another glance.

“I’m Jacob,” he whispered, giving her a small grin.

“Anna,” she mumbled.

“I have a feeling we’ll keep running into each other,” his grin grew slightly before he turned back to the front.

She stared at the back of his head for a second longer, wondering what she did to deserve this. This is going to be a long couple months.

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Anna’s day seemed to drag by, with each of her teachers doing exactly as she predicted them to do. What she hadn’t expected was for Jacob to be in three of the four hours before lunch. He had seemed to appoint himself to be her personal tour guide for the day, easily keeping pace with her.

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be creeped out, flattered or annoyed; maybe a bit of each. He kept asking questions that didn’t seem to make any sense, about where she had lived, her family, et. cetera. After him doing this for a while, she just stopped paying attention. She couldn’t figure out why he was so intrigued, she couldn’t be that interesting.

She now found herself with a tray of food, momentarily paused as she looked across the crowded cafeteria. Each table seemed to have its established group, some reflecting the classic clique tropes that were so often seen in so many shows and films, while others were harder to identify. As many times as she had done this, it never got any easier.

The cafeteria itself was decently sized, based in the basement of the school. Large windows looked out to a small blacktop, the large green field behind the school beyond it. Behind her, students were still filing into four separate lines for food, flowing in from the open connection to the hallway, some cutting between tables while others passed through evenly spaced openings. The walls were plain white, excluding a strange mural that covered the far wall: different foods spilling out of a lunchbox, faces painted onto each.

Friend groups were so often made within the first couple weeks of the school year, leaving her to fend for herself in situations like this. Most of the time she didn’t mind, being alone wasn’t as bad as the rest of the world thought it to be. Even so, it didn’t stop her from wishing she had friends to talk to. The closest thing she had to a friend anymore was her cat, as she had left the one friend she had back in London four years prior.

She spotted an emptier table in the far back corner of the space, the students seated there eating in silence. She quickly made her way to the table, picking the seat furthest from any of the others seated there.

Within seconds, just as she was picking up her apple to take a bite, a kid, probably twelve years old, plopped himself down in the seat directly to her left. His most notable trait was the wild mop of curly, light brown hair atop his head. He grinned at her, his rounded baby face making him look even younger than he probably was. His piercing light blue eyes slid over her, the action catching her off-guard.

“Hello, Angel,” He leaned towards her, his prepubescent voice dropping low, and the attempt at trying to sound older than he was almost funny. Almost. She glanced at the other students sitting at the table, none of them paying attention or caring enough to look to see what was happening. That, or this was a normal occurrence here. “What’s your name?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, his lips curling into what could barely be called a smirk.

She tried to subtly turn away from him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her alone.

“Oh,” his voice drawled out, “mysterious. I like that. Tell me though, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

She cringed at the classically overused line coming from a young kid, hiding the look on her face by taking a bite out of her apple. She was disappointed to find that it lacked the characteristic crisp crunch as she began to chew, at least momentarily relieved that she had an excuse not to respond.

“I hope you know CPR because you take my breath away,” his voice continued next to her. “Can you hold my hand, I want to be able to tell my friends about how I’ve been touched by an angel.”

She took another bite, confused about how anyone could be so socially inept to continue this cursed conversation if it could even be called that.

“I guess you can kiss heaven goodbye, it's a sin to look that good. You are so hot, it’s girls like you that are causing global warming.” She just about choked on her bite, her face scrunching in disgust. “Tell me your name, I’m sure it’s as beautiful as you. If not, you can just take mine.” She could see him wink at her in her peripheral vision.

“Evan,” the sharp voice of a girl made them both turn. A short girl her age stood a metre away with her hands on her hips, her annoyance clear. Her bright ginger hair was cut just below her shoulders, framing her face. She had an almost pixie-like look to her features, full cheeks, and wide, incredibly dark brown eyes, hints of red flashing in the light. She was very pretty, but that fact was overshadowed by her roughly ripped jeans and a baggy grey sweatshirt. Thick, black glasses rested on her freckled nose, only intensifying her glare. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Rachel,” Evan’s face broke into a grin. “You must be tired, after all, you ran through my thoughts all night long.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to leave people alone?” Rachel huffed, completely unfazed. “Haven’t you tormented us enough?”

“No need to be jealous, Spitfire,” Evan completely turned his attention to the other girl, much to Anna’s relief. “You know you’ll always be my number one.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rachel spat, crossing her arms and popping a hip as she shook her hair away from her face. “Just leave the poor girl alone.”

“Sorry, I got lost in your eyes there, do you happen to have a map to your heart?” Anna was becoming more convinced by the second that this boy learnt how to speak by reading awful pickup lines from the internet.

“Just shut up,” Rachel’s jaw set, chin tilted up in defiance. She turned her attention to Anna, expression softening slightly. “You can move if you’re uncomfortable, we have room at our table.”

Anna nodded, a warm feeling beginning to release her tense muscles. “Thank you,” she offered a smile.

“You’re British?!” Evan whirled back to her, suddenly slack-jawed, like the fact that she had an accent made all the difference.

She felt the urge to shake her head in exasperation, internally rolling her eyes. The way Americans responded to hearing the way she spoke was growing old. You could very well tell them magic existed and they would react the same way.

He made a loud humming noise, tilting his head as he looked her over once again.

She stood before he had a chance to begin speaking again, picking up her tray as she did so. She moved hesitantly to Rachel’s side, watching the other girl’s face carefully, looking for any sign that she hadn’t meant her offer.

They began to walk, Rachel glancing at her a couple of times before gesturing to a table close to the dish return station. Anna stopped, confused at the sight of Rachel sliding into the seat opposite of Jacob, rolling her eyes at something he said. The redhead looked at her quickly, probably just realizing she hadn’t followed to sit.

Anna took a breath, making a split-second decision to continue on, finding herself in the empty spot next to Jacob. As weird as the dark-haired boy was, there were worse things. She already knew, even with the prolonged stares and questions, he was a better deal than Evan.

She hoped anyway.

Just as the thoughts ran through her head, he turned his attention to her, an amused grin dancing on his lips. “Evan, huh? Ow!” He jerked back, sending an indignant look at Rachel, who, Anna just realised, had kicked him under the table.

“You deserved that,” the girl snorted, plucking a grape from the small vine she had on her tray.

“I’m just saying,” he protested. “On her first day, what are the chances?”

“Quite high, actually,” Rachel grumbled.

Anna looked to the silent, third member of their party. A tall, lanky boy was hunched over his food. He was pretty thin, his cheekbones more defined than what she supposed they were supposed to look like. His skin was pale, like he spent all day inside, hidden from the sun. His eyes were a surprisingly rich blue; dark, but not quite navy, with prominent dark circles underneath them. He wore a rumpled blue flannel over a plain white tee shirt, and his short, mousy brown hair was decently neat, though rumpled in a couple of places near the back. Most worryingly though, she couldn’t help but notice the distant stare he wore, staring unseeingly at his food. She wasn’t sure if he had even noticed her presence yet.

Rachel cleared her throat, the boy turning slightly to look at her, blinking his eyes curiously. “This is Ben,” she introduced with a smile.

“Hi,” she greeted, her voice stunted. “I’m Anna.”

He gave a small, awkward wave with a fork held between his fingers. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was so quiet against the noise of the cafeteria she had to strain to hear him.

“Thank you,” Anna addressed Rachel, the other girl regarding her with unreadable eyes. “Really.”

The redhead shrugged, eyes glancing at Jacob for a moment. “Evan’s been at it for months, it started a little odd, but now it’s getting excessive.”

“Either way,” Anna shook her head lightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Rachel huffed.

Jacob let out a soft snort from beside Anna, she frowned at him, unsure of what he was laughing at. “You just want an excuse to yell at him again at this point,” he told her. “You complain about him all the time, but you love shutting him down more than you hate him.”

“Go eat a sock,” Rachel glared at him, the strange phrase passing through her lips easily; like it was normal.

“Tried that once,” Jacob’s voice was dead serious, his face deadpan. “Not all you chalk it up to be.”

Rachel let out a loud groan, laying her forehead down on the table to the side of her tray. Her hair draped out over the clear tabletop, pooling out in a fan-like shape around her head.

Jacob let out a snicker, turning her attention back to him. He silently moved his hand to his plastic utensils, he noticed Anna watching him, giving her a playful wink as he lifted the fork into his hand. Slowly, he reached out, angling the plasticware down towards Rachel’s hair, dragging it lightly through the bright locks.

Instantly, Rachel’s head shot up, Jacob pulling his hand back to avoid stabbing her head. Her eyes were wide, mouth parted. “You-” her indignant stutter caused a burst of laughter from him. “You TURKEY!”

He only laughed harder, his face turning red from the effort. Anna bit her lip to prevent her own giggles, Ben looking over at his friend with amused concern. Jacob’s laughter began to die down, his eyes sparkling when he opened them. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a turkey,” he managed. “Though, it might ruffle some feathers.”

“Stooop,” Rachel’s face twisted into a grimace.

“Aw, don’t get a fowl mood,” Jacob leaned an arm on the table, a smug grin growing across his lips.

Rachel pulled another grape from the vine, lightly tossing it at the dark-haired boy. It bounced off his chest, his hands instinctively flying up to catch it as it fell.

He raised it like one would toast a glass of champagne before popping it into his mouth. “Thanks,” he quipped.

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything more. It was clear she wasn’t truly annoyed with a hint of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth.

A pang of jealousy coursed through Anna as she watched them banter, and the fact that she didn’t have anyone to joke with as they did became more and more noticeable. At the same time, the clear care they felt for each other warmed her heart, and though Ben hadn’t said much at all, the looks he shot at the others were filled with the same sentiment. Yes, Jacob was weird, but for the first time in years, she felt accepted by anyone her age.

Hope began to rise in her chest, an undeniable desire to get to know these people making itself known. A part of her, a large part, wanted to see herself be friends with them. Now, the question was: how long until she was packing her bags once again?