Rayne Foster never really enjoyed physical education unless it involved dodgeball or softball. Ever since the tender age of three, Rayne struggled to play well with others. Her greatest joys were found in pushing boundaries, pranking people, and stumbling into fistfights. The word "teamwork" only brought frustration.

Today, however, Rayne bounced down the stairs to the gymnasium faster than a five-year-old on Christmas morning. The isolation of her new post-murder world was becoming unbearable, and part of her, just a tiny part, wondered if that loneliness contributed to her recent mental decline. She had only been at this school for a day, and the hallucinations were getting worse.

On her way to the locker room, she caught sight of another dark shape in her peripheral. Her heart skipped. When she spun around, the mass whirled around with her, looping under her arm before swooping upward. From the black vapors, a torso began to take form, long dark fingers reaching towards her. Its empty face stopped just inches from hers. She began to tremble.

Students in the vast hallway watched as fear gripped her by the ankles, halting her footsteps midstride. They watched her eyes widen with terror, a pebble of sweat dripping down the left side of her face. But they couldn't see it.

Why couldn't they see it?

Rayne opened her mouth, but the mass started to whisper.

The sound was dreadful and distant, like the soft drone of a broken washing machine in a closed laundry room. Rayne covered her ears and stomped through it, muttering, "Not real, not real, not real, not real."

She reached the locker room and tried to strike the whispers from her mind, but they were still there, a persistent fly buzzing in her ear. She even found herself swatting the air a few times, recoiling as if she'd felt the displacement of air tickle her skin.

"Not real, not real, not real, not real."

Just like the rest of the campus, the locker room was buffed and polished to a perfect shine; Rayne could see her reflection in the black-and-white tiled flooring. The other girls were changing into gym clothes, showcasing decorative thongs and matching bras, arguing over whose was more expensive.

Rayne retrieved her lock and gym clothes from the female coach's office, but she was reluctant to change. When she thought no one was looking, she stripped down quickly, trying not to draw attention to her black bra and boy shorts. She had lost so much weight since the accident; her skin sank in around her collarbone and her eyes sank in above dark circles. Not to mention all the sickeningly green and yellow bruises that covered her body.

"Look, girls. I think we just found patient zero," someone said. Rayne pulled up her black gym shorts and spun around. It was Bianca Hawthorne. The girl was shadowed by two of her friends—the strawberry blonde from English class, and a girl with almond eyes, feathered bangs, and caramel highlights in her black hair. Wearing her T-shirt tied above her navel, and her gym shorts rolled down, Bianca laughed. "Better run, girls. Before she bites you."

"Shut up, Bianca," said Rayne.

"Excuse me?" Bianca stepped closer, placed a hand to Rayne's shoulder, and pushed. "Wanna run that one by me again, you ugly zombie bitch?"

"Did I stutter?" Rayne shoved passed her and in between her two friends. Before she could blink, one of them had grabbed her by the hair and yanked backward as hard as a lawn mower starter rope. It was the strawberry blonde. Rayne heard the girl scream and looked up just in time to see a good chunk of her hair clumped in the girl's hand. Also startled, but still wanting to seem tough, Rayne improvised a grin. "Patient zero, huh? Better not give me a reason to bite you."

"Ugh, ewwww!" the girl squealed, shaking her hand until the tangled mess fell and drifted to the floor. "You hillbillies are disgusting!"

Bianca mumbled, "Well, really, what did we expect from someone with a backwoods accent like that?"

Rayne pushed past them, and they made no move to follow as she pressed toward the gymnasium. The moment she was out of their sight, Rayne reached for her tresses, searching until she found the fresh bald spot. It was small and tucked underneath, so she was thankful her hair would cover it, but her excitement for class rapidly dwindled. She put a hand to her lips. Did she really have an accent? She couldn't hear it. God, everything was beginning to sink in. She rubbed the smooth patch beneath her locks, and for the first time in three weeks, Rayne felt the compulsion to find the nearest, darkest hole and just cry. Cry until she was dangerously dehydrated and couldn't feel anything anymore.

Rayne stepped carefully through scattered students. Most of them made room for her, eyeing her with a grotesque curiosity. She tried to ignore it, swallowing a lump of misery that throbbed in her throat.

The gymnasium was large enough to house eight basketball nets. The silver oak panels making up the waxed floor gave the room an odd glow, unlike any other gym she'd ever seen before. Rayne hiked up the steps of the nearest bleacher, finding an empty space at the top, and snagged a seat while students waited for the coaches to start class. Resting her head against the white brick wall, Rayne closed her eyes and began to recount all the events that took place over the past twenty-four hours.

Would the torment ever end?

"Rough start?"

Rayne opened her eyes.

Sitting wide-legged beside her, Cole Bradford had just pulled a cigarette from his pocket. Somehow, he still managed to look rebellious in a school uniform. Perhaps that was because right now he should have been wearing gym clothes . . .

"Hey," he said, "what do you say we get out of here, huh? Grab some fresh air?"

"Why?"

"You look like you could use it." His uniform was missing its mandated sweater vest and blazer, the sleeves of his dress shirt pushed back to display tatted forearms. He scissored the cigarette between fingers embellished with numerous rings, nestled it between his lips, and lit it up.

Rayne did not find it attractive.

She let her head relax on the wall behind her once more. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"How about this then: Leave with me now, and I won't give you any trouble," he said, a trail of smoke slipping through rosy lips. His voice was sinister, and perhaps that was precisely why he seemed so confused when she keeled over with laughter.

"Really?" she cackled. "You're threatening me?"

"Bad habit, I guess," said Cole.

Rayne narrowed her eyes and leaned in. Closer than she had intended. "I don't respond well to threats, you got that? And I'm not going anywhere with you."

His eyes fell to her lips. "Wanna bet?"

When he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, Rayne smacked his hand hard enough to feel the sting in her own palm. With a quick flick of his wrist, Cole spun his fist back around and gripped her forearm so tight she could feel her veins pulsing.

"There's a reason I have a bad rep here," he grumbled, releasing her like hot coal. "Try not to forget that." He stood then, raking a hand through his hair and regaining his composure. "Now our window is closing, so let's cut the small-talk and go."

"No."

He lowered his voice. "Rayne, this is as authentic as it gets from a guy like me. Take it or leave it."

"Okay, I'm gonna leave it," Rayne responded flatly. "Does this force-'em-to-do-my-bidding bit work on anybody?"

"Is it working now?"

"Are you delusional?" she quipped, and the irony didn't escape her as she watched two shadowy figures slip into the gymnasium through the vents.

Not again.

Tension stirred Rayne's chest as they crept toward her along the ceiling. She looked around, and just like before, no one else could see them. Then Rayne spotted Nikki, the girl she had met in the shower room, standing by the south entrance. Like Cole, she was not wearing the proper gym attire either. She stood motionless, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she, too, was gazing upward, perhaps at the shadows. However, when her eyes found Rayne, they were filled with twisted rage. Not sure what she did wrong, Rayne turned away and closed her eyes.

Not real, not real, not real.

"Rayne, if you don't come with me, Bianca and her crew are going to humiliate you in class today," said Cole. "And I will let them. Hell, maybe I'll even join them."

"Your charm is endless."

"I'm serious. Come with me, and I'll make sure they won't mess with you ever again."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Because I know what it's like to be an outcast here."

She regarded him for a moment. "Pretty sure I can handle myself just fine. Thanks."

There was a rumble in his throat. "You're being very difficult."

"That's part of my charm," said Rayne, flashing her pearly whites. That was when she realized . . . this back-and-forth with Cole was almost . . . fun?

Over the past year, everyone she knew and loved had shunned her. Rayne hadn't heard from any of her friends since her incarceration, and the last time she logged onto social media, she discovered many of them had removed her from their friends list, and some of them had even blocked her. Everyone at Maria J. Westwood seemed to enjoy looking at her as though she had eight eyes too, but not Cole Bradford. For whatever reason, it seemed Cole actually wanted to have her around.

"Okay. I need you to understand one thing and understand it now," Rayne said, standing tall and challenging his gaze. "I am not afraid of you. Not one bit. So if you try anything funny, I will hurt you."

Rayne took hold of his extended hand, and just as the shadow people began crawling toward them along the ceiling, Cole smiled and whisked her away.

◢✥◣

In a rush of adrenaline, Rayne was running under bleachers, sneaking through hallways, stifling laughter, and waiting in the shadows for teachers to pass. She never saw a single bubble-of-a-camera. Cole knew exactly where to go, where to run, and which hallways to avoid. Swiftly, he opened a door to a custodial closet and pulled her in. Mere centimeters stood between them, and they breathed heavily, trying not to laugh out loud.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. "You said nothing funny, remember?"

"I remember," Cole replied, his minty breath mingling with hers.

"Then why-are-we-in-a-closet?" she hissed.

"My friends and I . . ." he trailed off, rummaging through the appliances. "We've kind of gotten close with the janitor. Well, not really 'close,' per say, but we slip him a few beers now and then. In return, he dishes out some juicy M.J.W. secrets."

"Secrets?" Rayne leaned against the closed door, crossing her arms.

"Oh yeah." She could hear the grin in his voice. "Even our secrets are wealthy."

Here in this dim and dusty closet, Rayne had almost forgotten she was in a school for the wealthy. She couldn't really see his designer accents, the obscurity stripping him of his affluence, and his rebellious nature reminded her of home—of egging Officer Scott's house and pranking her homeroom teachers. The shadows blurred the lines of social status, leaving behind the raw essence of kindred defiance.

"Well, why would teenagers be sneaking alcohol for an adult? That's totally backwards."

Cole chuckled, a sound that sent chills down her spine.

"And that guard," she continued, "back in gym class—you paid him off?"

After a small click, Cole rose from the floor, turning so that his face was close to hers. "There's a lot you don't know about the world we come from, Rayne. This isn't a normal correctional facility." He leaned in, pressing a hand into the closet door as he bent down to meet her gaze. "Even from behind these bars," he whispered, "I have more power than that janitor will ever have . . . in his entire . . . life." With each word, he drew nearer, as if to startle her, or perhaps even, to kiss her.

It was honestly hard to tell.

Regardless, he turned away then, seeming satisfied with his point. Cole pushed around the clutter of the closet once more.

Rayne inhaled. "I keep forgetting this is a school for rich brats . . ."

"Is that what I look like to you?" he asked, glancing back at her.

Not really, she thought. He seemed just as out of place in their posh uniforms as she did. Still, she gave him a curt nod. "Definitely."

He huffed out a snide laugh. "Well, those hundreds I slipped that guard? My dad would never send me money like that, not in here. That was my friend's cash."

"Your friend?"

"Lucas. You met him already. Homeroom."

Rayne's breath caught in her throat. "You know about that?"

"Everyone here knows everything about everyone."

"Except me, apparently . . ." Rayne stared at the floor. In fact, not-knowing was starting to become the unwelcome theme of her rather short life. Her mind drifted to Bianca and her entourage, wondering about the damage they could have inflicted on her in the real world.

And not the physical kind . . .

Those girls had powerful families backing them, while Rayne was just the estranged first cousin once removed to some lady who owned the place. Charlotte Du Pont had insisted on being called "aunt" her whole life, but Rayne never felt any genuine familial connection. All her life, her mother had told stories of her wealthy stuck-up cousin. Perhaps that was why Rayne grew to detest rules, authority, politics . . . But now, she'd been thrust into a world where she was completely out of her depth.

"Yeah, well. That's what makes you interesting." Cole's voice broke through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present. She looked up to see his smile, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't worry though, you'll fit in with us. Like I said, we're the outcasts. It has its perks from time to time." He turned away from her then, as he opened . . . a door?

There was a hidden door in the wall.

"You have got to be kidding me," said Rayne.

Grabbing her hand, Cole pulled her across the threshold and closed the door behind him. "This place used to be an insane asylum back in the early 1900's."

Rayne raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." Cole held her hand tighter as he led her down a narrow passageway. "After the first world war, they cleared out a whole wing for wounded and shell-shocked soldiers. A lot of influential people needed to get in and out without being seen. Every building here is riddled with secret passages like this one."

"Thanks for the history lesson, nerd," said Rayne, trying to mask the unease that began to creep up her spine as the shadows around them darkened. "Don't you think people will realize we're gone soon?"

"Babe. Relax."

Rayne jerked her hand away. "Do not call me babe."

"Don't worry so much. I do this all the time."

"Do what? Drag girls into creepy hidden rooms in dark closets? Yeah, I should've stayed in gym class."

"No, I mean I know this place inside and out, and I know what I'm doing." He extended his hand, but Rayne folded her arms over her chest. "Suit yourself," he murmured, turning back toward the passage.

Ahead, a steep rotting staircase plunged into darkness, carrying the rancid waft of mildew on a breeze of cool, damp air. At the bottom, the remaining light had been swallowed by shadows, and Rayne closed her eyes, hoping none of them would decide to start moving. When she opened them, the floor appeared to be nothing but dirt. No cement. No flooring. Just dirt. The narrow stairs felt confining as she took each cautious footfall, one baby-step at a time. The crack of light seeping through the door above had vanished, leaving them alone in utter darkness. Rayne held a hand in front of her but found herself staring at the same wall of blackness. A surge of fear swept over her as the chill in the air snaked around, raising the hairs on her arms.

The thought dawned on her—she just followed a stranger into a dark, creepy place, and no one knew where she was.

Cole took her hand, and she gasped at the unexpected touch. "Don't worry," he said softly, "I got you."

Somehow, she wasn't relieved in the slightest.

He squeezed her hand, and Rayne was momentarily distracted by a vision. In her mind's eye, she saw those fingers roaming down the neck of a guitar . . . the soft breasts of a girl . . . the cool blade of a knife. She felt repulsed and was thankful when he let go.

Rayne could hear him drop down to the floor beside her, moving his hands and shuffling dirt around. He opened a trapdoor in the floor, hurling a wave of dust and sand in the air, and then suddenly, his hands were around her waist. Now Rayne envisioned those arms around Bianca Hawthorne. She saw his fingers slip over the brunette's hips as he slid a knee between her legs, pushed her against the wall, and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

Rayne shook the image from her mind and retracted from his hold. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's a long drop. I'm helping."

Drop?

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "Just watch me then."

"Watch you? I can't even see you."

He grumbled, and his voice fell past her and down to a level somewhere below with a soft thud. He whispered, "Alright, now you jump."

"What do you mean, 'jump'?" Her voice betrayed her concern.

"It's like a five-foot drop, but it's not that bad." His voice was enriched by the pull of a smile. "Don't tell me you're scared."

"Hell no." Rayne's eyes adjusted somewhat, so she reached her hands in front of her, feeling the boundaries of the large, square hole in the ground.

"Rayne," someone whispered.

The voice came from her left.

She whipped her head sideways, and panic seized her heart. Gleaming blue eyes shone in the distance, and she could hear the faint rumbling of a dog's throat, issuing a warning. She blinked, muttering softly, "Not real, not real," and her trembling fingers traced the entrance in the floor once more, slowly now. "Not, real, not real, not real." She carefully brushed over the thin line of wood that edged the hole, pushing aside sand, small pebbles, and . . . was that hair?

Thin strands tangled in her fingers, snapping her attention downward. Rayne shook fiercely, trying to pull free, but the hair seemed to have wrapped around tighter, slicing into her flesh. She jerked upward, yanking on the mess, and a shrill scream pierced the air and her eardrums.

"Rayne, are you okay?" said Cole.

That wasn't me, Rayne thought, still struggling to pull her hand free. Suddenly the threads recoiled, untangling themselves and retreating as if they were alive. Rayne fell backward in the darkness. Her eyes tried focusing on her surroundings. Everything was black. She felt the grumbling coming from above her now, felt hot breath hit her face, but she could no longer see those proverbial eyes. A breeze whirled in the air, an unnatural wind, carrying with it muffled whispers.

Just as they were about to hit her ears . . .

"Rayne! You good?" Cole called out again, much louder this time, exuding concern.

The wind pulled away from her as if sucked up by the dimensions of a black hole, and the silence that enveloped her was all-encompassing.

"C-coming," she whispered, but she could not control the tremor in her lips. She willed herself to move forward, toward the place where she'd felt the hair. Maybe it had been a spider web. Or maybe she was just hallucinating. But if she was just losing her marbles, then why did Cole hear the scream, too? Had it actually been Rayne who had screamed? Was she that far disconnected from reality that she may not have known it if she had screamed?

Realizing how horribly alone she felt, Rayne took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She placed both hands firmly around the edge of the opening and forced herself to jump into the darkness, landing on the dirt below with a thud.

"You okay?" he asked.

Rayne dusted the sand off her gym shorts. "I'm fine."

"Didn't know you were a screamer."

"You're disgusting, and that scream wasn't me."

"Sure, it wasn't."

"You don't believe me." She should have been used to that by now.

Light flooded the room after Cole flicked open a silver Zippo lighter. The ground beneath them skittered with insects that trailed up a coarse cement wall arcing above them.

"Underground tunnel?" said Rayne, snorting. "This place just gets weirder and weirder."

Cole led her further into the earth. "Lucas and I found this our first year. We've been coming back ever since."

"And what year was that?" Rayne wondered how long those two had been going to this awful school. She was probably one of the only students who found the place miserable, though. Who knew? Maybe he and Lucas actually enjoyed their years here.

The humor left his voice. "Ninth grade. For both of us."

"That's a long time."

"You could say that."

When they reached the end of the tunnel, there was a small ladder carved into the wall. Cole climbed up it, pushing open a latch in the ceiling, and daylight poured into the tunnel along with some heavy rain. "Hurry up!" he shouted, climbing through the hole.

Rayne hesitated, her hands hovering over the rungs. Could she really trust him? It made no sense to ponder whether or not he was dangerous enough to hurt her, because she already knew the answer: Yes. Despite the lingering doubts, Rayne glanced back at the darkness of the tunnel behind her, then up at the open hatch above. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and began to climb, the mystery of what lay ahead propelling her forward into the unknown.