Chapter 3 New School

Ivy Sinclair (POV)

Morning in Willow Creek didn’t feel like morning.

It felt like the world had been paused overnight and someone forgot to press play again.

I woke up before my alarm.

Again.

That was becoming a pattern I didn’t like.

The ceiling above me was still unfamiliar, which meant I hadn’t convinced myself yet that I belonged here. My brain usually adapted faster than this. New rooms, new schools, new “fresh starts”—I could usually trick myself into thinking it was normal within a few hours.

But not here.

Here felt… stubborn.

Like the house itself didn’t want to be lived in.

I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes.

For a moment, I simply listened.

Nothing.

No traffic. No neighbors. No distant noise of life happening somewhere else.

Just forest.

Always forest.

The silence reminded me of the night before.

The sound I’d heard outside.

The branch snapping somewhere beyond the window.

I told myself it had been an animal.

I didn’t believe myself.

I glanced toward the curtains.

They were still.

“Great,” I whispered. “I’m already arguing with myself before breakfast.”

I sighed.

“Great. I’ve moved into a horror movie.”

Somewhere downstairs, something dropped.

I froze.

Then my mother’s voice floated up calmly.

“It’s fine!”

“…That didn’t sound fine,” I muttered.

I got out of bed, pulled on my hoodie, and walked downstairs.

The kitchen looked like a war zone.

My mother stood in front of an open cabinet, staring at it like it had personally betrayed her. A bag of flour was on the counter. Somehow open. Flour was everywhere.

On the counter.

On the floor.

On her sleeve.

Even on the dog bowl, which we didn’t even have a dog for.

I stared at it for a second.

Apparently, chaos had unpacked before we did.

“Good morning,” I said slowly. “Or… flour apocalypse morning?”

She turned her head toward me.

For a second, I expected her usual calm, controlled expression.

Instead, she looked slightly tired.

And… almost human.

“We’re unpacking,” she said.

“I can see that.”

She nodded like that was helpful.

From the hallway, my father walked in holding a mug.

He took one look at the kitchen.

Paused.

Then said, very calmly, “Why is there flour on the ceiling?”

My mother blinked.

“It fell.”

There was a silence.

A long one.

Then my father nodded once.

“Fair.”

I stared at both of them.

“…We are not okay as a family,” I said.

My mother pointed at me with the spoon she was holding.

“Breakfast is cereal.”

“That’s not a sentence that fixes anything.”

“It’s cereal,” she repeated, like that solved global problems.

I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.

“So,” I said casually, “what’s the plan today? Unpack more trauma? Rearrange emotional instability in the living room?”

My father coughed slightly.

My mother ignored me completely.

Classic.

I drank my water.

It tasted… normal.

Which was almost suspicious in a house like this.

My father glanced at me.

“School today.”

Right.

School.

New place. New people. New version of pretending I was normal.

I hadn’t been looking forward to it.

Every new school meant the same questions.

Where did you come from?

Why did you move?

Do you have siblings?

Why don’t you have any childhood friends?

I had learned how to answer without actually answering.

“Awesome,” I said. “Can’t wait to reinvent myself socially and immediately regret it.”

My mother finally looked at me properly.

“You’ll be fine.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you said in the last town. And the one before that. And the one before that—”

“This one is different,” my father said.

I stopped.

That again.

I studied him.

He wasn’t joking.

He rarely did.

That was the problem.

“Different how?” I asked.

He hesitated.

Just a fraction.

Then:

“You’ll see.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be,” my mother said automatically.

I sighed.

“Great. Love emotional support like this.”

The ride to school was too quiet.

Again.

I sat in the back seat, watching the trees pass by like they were standing too close to the road on purpose.

Everything here felt… intentional.

Like the town had been designed with secrets in mind.

I rested my forehead against the window.

The houses we passed were spaced farther apart than I expected. Some looked old enough to have stories of their own, while others were modern and carefully maintained.

Yet everyone seemed to belong.

Everyone except me.

“Do I at least get a warning about what kind of school I’m walking into?” I asked.

My father kept his eyes on the road.

“School.”

“That’s not a type.”

“It’s a building,” he said.

I stared at him.

“You’re really bad at emotional guidance.”

My mother glanced back at me.

“Focus on blending in.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“Define blending in.”

“Don’t stand out.”

I leaned back again.

“That’s impossible. I have hair.”

That actually got a small pause.

Then my father said, very dryly,

“Try anyway.”

Helpful.

Very helpful.

We turned onto a road that led toward the school.

And that’s when I felt it again.

The same thing from yesterday.

That strange pressure in the air.

Like something was aware of me before I even arrived.

I frowned slightly.

“…Do you guys feel that?”

My mother tensed slightly.

“Feel what?”

I looked out the window.

Nothing looked different.

But something felt different.

Like the air had shifted direction.

My father’s eyes flicked toward me in the rearview mirror.

Just for a second.

“Never mind,” I said slowly. “Probably just anxiety. Or caffeine withdrawal. Or both.”

My father said nothing.

Which was… not comforting.

At all.

The school appeared over the hill.

Big.

Modern.

Normal.

Too normal for how weird everything else felt.

Students were already gathering outside.

Loud voices. Laughter. Movement.

Life happening like nothing was wrong with the world.

I exhaled.

“Okay. Social survival mode activated.”

My mother stopped the car.

“Remember,” she said softly.

I looked at her.

“No trouble. No attention,” I finished.

She nodded.

There was something strange in her expression.

Like she wanted to say more.

But she didn’t.

I opened the door.

Stepped out.

And immediately—

Everything felt wrong again.

Not dangerous.

Not obvious.

Just… focused.

Like the world had noticed I arrived.

I paused slightly.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.

The sensation crawled over my skin.

Someone was watching me.

I turned my head.

Nothing.

Just students.

People talking.

A group laughing near the entrance.

Someone running because they were apparently already late.

Normal.

I forced myself to breathe.

“…Okay,” I muttered. “This is officially not normal.”

I adjusted my bag and started walking toward the entrance.

People were everywhere.

Some glanced at me.

Some didn’t.

Normal first-day stuff.

Except my skin kept feeling like something was watching from somewhere I couldn’t see.

I tried to ignore it.

I really did.

“Hi,” I whispered to myself. “You are a normal girl. With normal problems. Like math. And existential dread.”

That helped slightly.

Until I saw him.

He was standing near the entrance.

Tall. Still. Like he didn’t need to move unless he wanted the world to notice.

People around him moved differently.

Careful.

Like he wasn’t part of the same rules as everyone else.

I slowed without meaning to.

My brain did that annoying thing where it stopped cooperating with me.

“…Okay,” I muttered.

“That’s statistically unfair.”

He looked up.

And our eyes met.

Instantly.

No warning.

No buildup.

Just impact.

Like something inside my chest dropped a step it didn’t know existed.

I froze.

The noise around me seemed to fade for a second.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t react like a normal person would.

He just looked at me.

Focused.

Like I wasn’t just a new student.

Like I was a problem he hadn’t solved yet.

My heart beat faster.

I didn’t know him.

I had never seen him before.

At least, I was almost certain I hadn’t.

So why did looking at him feel like remembering something I had forgotten?

I broke eye contact first.

Bad idea.

Because the moment I looked away, I felt his gaze follow me.

I swallowed.

From beside him, a girl leaned into his arm.

Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect attitude.

She said something I couldn’t hear.

He didn’t look at her.

At all.

Which, honestly, felt like a personal skill I needed to learn immediately.

I swallowed again.

“…Why is he looking at me like I stole something?” I whispered.

A guy walking past me bumped my shoulder.

“Careful, new girl.”

I blinked.

“Careful of what?”

He glanced toward the entrance.

Then lowered his voice.

“Him.”

I looked back.

The tall guy was still watching me.

Great.

First day and I already had a warning label.

I sighed.

“Cool,” I muttered.

“Love that for me.”

The bell rang somewhere inside the building.

Students began moving toward the doors.

I should’ve looked away.

I should’ve walked in.

I should’ve done what my mother told me and blended in.

Instead, I stood there for another second, staring at the stranger who seemed to be looking at me like he was trying to remember my face.

Something inside me whispered that walking away from him would be a mistake.

I didn’t know why.

I didn’t know what he was.

And I definitely didn’t know why the air between us felt different.

But somehow—

I kept walking anyway.