*One year later*

My eyelids flutter at the passing pine trees outside the bus window. The thrum of the engine vibrates the glass under my forehead, not keeping me awake in any way. I moan and lift myself up drowsily. The cloudy day isn’t helping either. Mornings are difficult since I’ve always been a night owl. This past week in school was brutal with midterms, other super fun tests and homework essays. Late night studying + early morning exams = Brain Dead Kayla.

I extend my legs on the grey vinyl seat, moving my backpack to the floor. Today is another dreary Thursday in Pennsylvania where winters are freezing, summers are sticky and there are barely any in-betweens. Right now, the November weather is chilling me to the core. Our driver doesn’t like turning on the heat so I squeeze tighter on my coat and hope we can get to school faster.

Our bus comes to a stop as we reach Byron’s house. The brakes squeak loudly and I turn my head to look out the window. Byron is already waiting on his front porch, his bag strapped to his shoulder and bouncing as he hurries along. His russet colored locks are combed back today as per his usual style. He glances up at me through the window and winks his abnormally thick lashes my way. I half smile.

Byron is the sweet guy of the class. He is a short package of fun and sarcasm but never in a way that is meant to hurt anyone’s feelings. He’s also very thin but his cheeks still wear the leftover baby fat from his childhood. Byron’s lanky arms pull himself up the stairs and he shifts down the aisle. His hazel eyes brighten as he sees my miserable face. That’s not the only thing I notice though.

“Good morning, starshine,” he greets me. His tone is happy but his eyes look away. I raise my eyebrows at him as he plops onto the seat across from me, gently setting his backpack beside him.

“Hey,” I respond hesitantly.

His clothes look nicer. Much nicer. Underneath his open jacket, a dress shirt is half buttoned over a plain v-neck. Most of the time his clothing consists of dark wash jeans and a t-shirt with an ironic phrase. Byron today has gone out of his way to even use a lint roller to get rid of his Dalmatian’s hair. I continue to stare at him. Dressy version of him seems nervous too.

“What’s the occasion,” I ask dryly. I gesture to his clothes but he tries to cover up. It’s odd since he’s usually honest with me. Byron is the closest and pretty much the only friend I have, not that he knows that. Or he might. Either way I’m not ashamed of it. His leg stretches out and kicks the heel of my boot to see if I’m still awake.

It’s debatable.

“A surprise,” he tells me. I accept his answer easily and hold the seat in front of me as the bus jerks forward. “I have to do some things today and I need to look presentable.”

“Things? What kind of things?”

He cocks his left eyebrow. “Do you know what surprise means?”

I make a face. It’s too early for actual conversation. My bones feel like their being held together by string and the good graces of God willing me to live. I want to go back to my loving bed at home, burrow under my comforter and press my face into my plush pillow. There’s warmth there. Instead I’m on this bus, not even at school yet. I groan as Byron snickers at my pain.

I may complain too much.

My body slides on the seat as we take a sharp left. I sit up straight and stare out the windows. We’re heading back toward my house. Why are we heading toward my house? A kid more toward the front of the bus asks the same question. We all look up waiting for an answer. Rosemary High School resides in small-town Wakeburg, a place where every student knows each other’s address. No one lives out this way except me. June, our burly yet feminine driver, peers into the mirror above her seat.

“We have a new kid,” she tells us. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. Y’all will get to school on time.”

Someone else replies with a crude remark but I couldn’t care less. My curiosity is satisfied for now but I still want to get to class. The sooner we arrive, the sooner I can fall back asleep in study hall. Byron slumps in his seat and kicks my shoe again.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he whines. I feel a sudden drop on my lap and find a sugary snack of pure happiness. He’s sharing his Twinkies again. My eyes open a little more but I force my excitement back unsuccessfully. He doesn’t know me well but he knows my weakness.

“I hate you,” I inform him, unwrapping the delicious spongy cake.

He laughs and holds up his Twinkie like someone would raise a glass. “To America.”

“’Murica,” I reply.

I stuff my face with a terrible choice in breakfast and turn to the window again. We’re heading back to the park, toward my house. Why wasn’t the kid picked up before or right after I was? It would have made a lot more sense. Then again, Rosemary High isn’t known for its smart decisions. I eat the last bite of my Twinkie and shove the empty wrapper in the side pocket of my backpack.

Tall rhododendron bushes line the side of the road, partially hiding the rolling mountain woods I love roaming around in. I watch as the wind blows though the trees which are slowly losing their leaves. Though I hate cold weather, nothing beats the colors of fall. Yellows, oranges, blazing reds; it’s like the forest has caught fire in the most delicate of ways, going out in a hurrah of glorious beauty. I miss the perfume of wildlife dancing in the breeze. I miss crunching over the broken sticks and the dried leaves that haven’t cleared out since last autumn. My heart constricts in my chest from longing to jump out the window and play hooky in the middle of the woods. I miss it all.

Uncle David, who has been worrying a lot more lately, has banned the forest from me. At least, only the times when we’re not letting animals loose. Even then he needs to be with me to make sure everything goes smoothly. He said there have been things on the news the past few weeks that he doesn’t like; missing persons and attacks. He said there’d be no way he’d allow me to be in one of those reports. I sigh and tighten the grip on my cold arms. As if I couldn’t handle myself.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Byron says, jogging me out of my silent brooding. I look at him and only then do I realize my eyebrows are creased together and my posture stiffened. I shake my stress off and laugh softly at him.

“When don’t I?”

Byron waits for me to answer for real but I don’t. There’s nothing else I want to say. Ignoring him again, I close my eyes and snuggle into my seat.

“Come on,” he whines. “Why are you so shy? I’ve known you for years but we barely know each other.”

“I’m not shy,” I counter. “I just don’t like attention.”

“Too bad you’ve got mine,” he says with a half smile. I try not to snicker but even he scratches the back of his neck embarrassed. I’ve known he’s had a bit of a crush on me but my obvious non-reciprocating actions should have made him back off by now. We make great friends; I don’t want it ruined by a fling that’ll end way before high school does.

The bus screeches to another stop. Time for us to see who the fresh meat is. I glance around through the windows seeing nothing but a stop sign. Pity; I wanted to know if the new student was a neighbor of mine or not. The door folds to let the boy on. Out of curiosity, I sneak a peek like all the other kids are doing.

What a peek it is.

I’ve seen handsome guys before, don’t get me wrong. Our school heartthrob Danny has even made me gawk a few times. Yet never have I been rendered motionless by one glance. The boy’s hand rakes through his short, dark chestnut hair as he apologizes for the detour he created for today. June tells him not to worry, take a seat and the schedule will be sorted out tomorrow.

The new student gracefully climbs the steps of the bus and I feels his aura radiate off of him from here. His face is one that can rob you blind of your senses though there’s a layer underneath that may be too intense. His lips pink and supple, his eyes golden and incredibly alluring. There’s just something about him that feels dangerous. Obviously none of the other girls think so by them sitting up straighter to get a better look. Me, I lean back into my seat.

He seems almost… wicked. It’s barely there but I can sense it under the layers of his captivating good looks. I don’t want to go near him but it hurts to look away.

“So, Kayla,” Byron mumbles. I turn hesitantly, not sure I want to take my eyes off the boy. My senses are going wild just by his presence. But I look fully at Byron anyway, leaning farther down in my seat and hiding from the view the new kid wouldn’t see anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Um… are you going to the Fall Ball next Friday?”

My lips crack into a big smile forgetting all about the golden-eyed boy. “Ha, doubt it,” I say honestly.

The Fall Ball is the one night of the year where every grade attends in formal attire and pretends to be either a princess or James Bond. Freshman and sophomores girls raid the Ball in their biggest dresses and tiaras since Homecoming is semi-formal and Prom is only for the upperclassmen. The boys bring out the suits they wear only for church and act like big shots. It’s a mess of teens who have no idea what’s really going on but still needed an excuse to get out of the house. I’d rather be anywhere else.

“Aww. But you should really go,” Byron pleads.

“Me and people don’t mix well,” I explain to him. “Besides, I have no date. I’ll be home in comfortable sweats instead of heels, thank you.”

Byron nods and stares off into space. Apparently he’s got stuff on his mind today too. I want to ask but I let it go. We’ll be at school soon. I reposition myself on the bus seat and turn to gaze through the vibrating window.

I really miss those woods.

~

My shoulder aches again. The strap of my backpack keeps digging into my skin from the weight of my English Literature book and everything else I have. Homework will be killer tonight. Too many teachers think we don’t put in enough effort in their classes so they send us home thinking we’ll do more there. I’m surprised they even have time to grade everything.

The halls are alive with the commotion of changing class and idle chatter. Since the school keeps our classes at an unbearable 68 degrees (with a real feel of 45), everyone has a hoodie on. It’s a sea of dark, plain clothing. No one takes pride in their outfit anymore since the warm weather has passed. I like it though. I fit in more during the cold months.

I don’t own cowboy boots like every other country girl wannabe. I don’t wear camouflage either. Hiking boots usually grace my un-girlish flat feet as do the thick socks I bought in a pack to keep my ankles warm. I’m not fashionable but I don’t wear giant clothing to hide my body either. I’m practical in my attire. Like today, I’m wearing my dark flared jeans which may be tattered at the heel but they hug my hips nicely. I’ve also donned a simple fleece jacket and my scarlet t-shirt is tucked in underneath. I’m a sensible person but I’m not ashamed of my body. It’s just simply me.

“Kay!” My head whips to the side. Bryon, who should be on the opposite side of the school in the art room, is jogging up to me. I place my backpack on the ground and start on my locker combination.

“Don’t you have class,” I ask him as he draws nearer. This must be the surprise he was talking about. “What’s up?”

Byron drops his bag on the floor and unzips the top. Very carefully, he pulls out a long white carnation and stands back up. This is definitely the surprise he meant this morning. I shift my weight and turn beat red.

“As you know the dance is next Friday,” Byron explains. “And I want you to come with me.”

“I told you I didn’t want to go,” I say to him. He doesn’t accept that as an answer.

“Please,” he says in a louder voice. A couple of heads turn and my anxiety level sky-rockets. He’s going to make this a scene. “Please, Kayla Mignola, will you go to the Fall Ball with me?”

“Really?” He shrugs.

“If it gets you to go and not live your life in a box,” Byron tells me. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I shake my head and exchange my English Lit textbook for the Biology one. It’s a really cute gesture and sweet and nice but I’m not that kind of girl. At least, I’m not that kind of girl for him. Byron doesn’t take no. Instead, he gets on his knees and hold the carnation up, making it more obvious and awkward. Others start watching my reaction which makes me want to shove myself into my locker. Attention… just the thing I love.

“Please stop,” I mumble. He doesn’t listen. “Come on. People are staring.”

“Say yes and I’ll go away,” Byron whispers back.

Having no other choice, I accept quickly. His smile broadens and someone down the hall shouts their congratulations. A few of the other girls moan amongst themselves, jealous of what just happened.

“Yes! Okay,” my date chuckles. “Awesome.”

“Will you leave,” I ask him, practically begging. Byron nods his head.

Picking up his bag, the charming boy hurries backward and leaves me wondering what I’m supposed to do now. At least the crowd disperses. Unfortunately, I’m left with a forced smile on my face and a pit in my stomach. Pausing and quickly running back, Byron hold out the flower he forgot to hand me.

“When you buy it this weekend, tell me what color your dress is.”  The boy shoves his empty hands into his pocket and begins to stroll happily away, his shoulders back and his head held high.

I groan inwardly, setting the carnation inside my backpack. My forehead rests on the side of my locker door where I hit it repeatedly. Not that it’d make any difference in what just happened. My goal is to keep a low profile, make no effort to be liked and get through high school with good grades. It’s a wonder how things like this happen to me. Seriously. My eyes gaze after Byron who I lose sight of as he turns down a different hallway. I stand back up and try to shake off the angst still riddling my bones.

He really is a sweetheart but with what I have to hide, I can’t let anyone in. I turn around and head to my next class. Hopefully, this day won’t get any weirder.

.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Picture of Connor Price to the side, AKA Byron. He looks like such a dorky sweetheart, doesn't he <3