Spending some of the day with her mother wasn't the worst in the world. They'd driven halfway across the country together, hadn't they? So Cora had grown used to just sitting there, listening to her music, not paying attention to the woman. The high school had been . . . a high school. Literally nothing special or different about it, except that it'd looked small. In fact, it'd looked about half the size of her other school, which had been in a somewhat more populated area. That didn't bode well. Cora wouldn't be able to disappear as easily as she'd hoped; these were probably people that all knew one another, that'd all grown up together. No doubt they were all pretty much the same, and she'd stick out. Not that sticking out bothered her, necessarily; it just sort of depended . . . she'd had Ben back home, and there were quite a few eccentric others. Here, people just seemed . . . different.

At least it was her last year. She'd just get through it and go on to college. In spite of what her mother thought, Cora had plans; she just didn't talk about them.

She was going to go into some sort of medicine, preferably something like forensic medicine. She'd had good enough math and science grades, and she'd also done really well on last year's standardized tests. The whole forensic aspect fed into Cora's morbid interests, and she knew she was smart enough for the doctor piece, so for the past year, with the help of a particularly efficient counselor at her old school with whom she still kept in touch, she'd been looking into universities and scholarships.

But she didn't tell her mother those things. No, that woman could go on thinking whatever she wanted about her delinquent daughter.

It was her mother's own fault if they didn't share any bond. Cora had been perfectly happy living with her grandmother. Sure, she'd wondered as a kid where her parents were, and the old woman had told her every time she'd asked, that "Your father's dead, and your mother's working through some things." There'd never been more than that. Never any explanation of what the "things" were that her mother had been working through, although as she'd grown older, Cora had assumed it'd been some sort of addiction, drugs or alcohol. Her mother had probably resided in some home undergoing some program, getting help. Little girl Cora had looked forward to the moment her mother would be well again and would come take her back, but once it had actually, finally happened, she'd been nothing short of devastated.

Grandma Luce had been kooky and sometimes annoyingly gruff, but she'd offered Cora safety and adventure, love and companionship. The old woman hadn't been particularly motherly. She'd never cared about dressing up little Cora or taking her to playgrounds or reading bedtime stories to her, for example, and she'd been a terrible cook. They'd ordered take-out or microwaved their dinners most nights, would sit in front of the television, her grandmother in her kimono-esque robe, with their little TV trays and their crap food, watch reruns of whatever soap the old woman was into at the moment. Birthdays and Christmases were strange but somehow magical, with Grandma Luce finding treasures within her own home to regift (a practice which Cora hadn't realized until about the age of ten). The woman had also been a terrible driver, so Cora had learned to take the bus and walk everywhere at a young age, knowing her grandmother wouldn't (and shouldn't) get behind the wheel unless absolutely necessary. Since Grandma Luce's house had been in a neighborhood with other houses just like it (big and old and full of mystery) though better taken care of, Cora never minded walking.

But her mother preferred to drive just about everywhere. The past few years, ever since Cora had been taken from what she felt to be her home, her mother had refused to let her walk most places and was even hesitant to let her bike anywhere on her own.

Cora had always figured it'd been because of her preferences and hobbies, not to mention the wayward friends she'd had in middle school and those first couple years of high school. But things were different, now . . . they'd moved, Cora wasn't anywhere near those people (hadn't been for a long time, though her mother hadn't really known that). She wasn't a danger to herself or anyone else. At the very least with this move, Cora had hoped she'd gain a little freedom, perhaps even a bit more of her mother's trust, even . . . a car of her own? Those hopes had quickly dwindled after the short trip they'd taken to the high school that morning.

The building was within a five-minute drive, and yet her mother had already noted that she'd arranged a pick-up service to and from it each day. When the girl had remarked on the unnecessariness of that, the woman had only dug in.

Ultimately, it hadn't been worth an argument. Cora didn't care enough about her image to feel embarrassed by not having her own car. She wasn't dreading the shame of some cab taking her to and from school; she didn't typically care what anybody thought of her and was entirely disinterested in making friends in this place. It was more the annoying lack of trust. Her grandmother had let her run about on her own with very few restrictions, but her mother had tightened those reins pretty quickly after taking her back, just at a time when Cora had been desirous of spreading her wings. Her rebellious nature hadn't helped, of course. The more Cora had tried to push her mother's boundaries, the more the woman had pushed back. Cora's misadventures when she'd been hanging with that negative crowd had occurred almost entirely due to the girl's skills in lying to her parent and covering her tracks.

But she was beyond that all, now, and the irony was that when she'd been doing the really stupid stuff and lied about it, her mother had fallen for it, but now that she was actually doing nothing at all and had quit the lying, her mother continued to believe the worst of her.

Whatever. Cora would be gone in a year, at most.

Ben had texted back and forth with her during their errands--to the high school, to the grocery store, to lunch (though Cora hadn't been hungry), and her mother had kept asking her who she was talking to. No way was Cora going to tell her about Ben. He was hers, and she didn't want to ruin it by having to talk about him to her mother. Besides, Ben's messages had only made her smile; it wasn't as if he were someone to worry about in any way. Cora was fairly sure she'd never see him again, but it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was just through messages.

When they returned to the house, Cora's mother growled in something like frustration. "Damnit, Cora, I forgot the mail. Would you mind getting it? I want to make sure our stuff's being forwarded."

The mailboxes were all on one post at the end of the street. It was an annoying system, perhaps set up when the freeway cut through. The street began at a weird, narrow incline, and while it wasn't impossible for a mail truck to get up it, someone along the line had probably figured it was easier to drive down the main thoroughfare and just throw stuff in a series of mailboxes rather than make the trek up the slope.

In any case, Cora's mother had forgotten the mail, and the girl actually thrilled a bit at the thought of taking that short walk by herself, having all the privacy she needed to make a short call.

The second she was away from her mother, Cora pulled out her phone. She wasn't typically one to call, but the thought of hearing Ben's voice was enough to convince her to do it. When he answered, she just about melted. "What's up, lady?"

His voice was so deep and reassuring. Hearing it was much better than seeing letters on her phone screen. Some kind of emotion welled up in her, and she wasn't even one for drama. "Oh my God, Ben! This place is insane."

"What do you mean?"

"This house is so small, and it's literally in the middle of nowhere. Well not nowhere, but, like, this really weird little street, and there's only old people for neighbors. And the school is super small. There's no way any of these people will be worth my time."

"Good," his voice came. "You'll miss me more, then."

She laughed a little in response, sort of unsure how to act otherwise. Missing him wasn't what she really wanted. She did wish she'd had more time with him, and it was nice to hear his voice, but they both had to know their messaging and conversations would be filler, just something to pad the current void with. He'd go off and find things to do, and she'd make it through this year. They'd move their separate ways.

"Well, it's fine. I just have to do this nine months, and I'm out. I'm done."

"And I'll come see you, at least a few times, all right? Soon. Like, I'm thinking fall break?"

Cora shook her head inadvertently. "I don't know if this school has a fall break. And don't worry about it, Ben. I understand if you can't drop your band practices and all that. It's fine." She didn't want to even think of having to explain Ben to her mother. Oh sure, here comes a guy that I've crushed on for two years, going to stay with us for a week or so . . . can he sleep in my room? No way. Her mother would have a fit.

"I miss you. You give me the address, and I'll get up there as soon as I can, all right?"

"Uh, yeah, I actually don't know it, yet. I'll send it to you when I do."

She'd passed most of the houses on her trek to the mailbox with literally no sight of anyone else on the street, when suddenly that white pickup was pulling up the incline at a speed that startled her to the side of the road. Her thoughts shifting to the truck and the person in it, she had to refocus her attention on Ben.

"What the hell was that? You ok?"

He must've heard the roar of the engine. "Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm fine." She looked over her shoulder and watched as the truck pulled into its drive, as two people got out of it, that boy and some girl from the passenger side. Then she turned herself back to her task.

"I have to go, Ben," she said, distracted now.

"Cora--Cora! Hold up."

"What?"

"I just . . . I just want to see you, that's all."

"Well, I don't really know how to work that out right n--"

"Just, you know . . . we left some things unfinished."

Cora caught the mischief in his tone, found herself warming a little in spite of herself, in spite of the fact that she'd acclimated to the idea of never seeing him again. "Yeah, ok," she replied, reaching the bottom of the slope and checking her mailbox (in fact, checking all of them, as she didn't know her own house number). Seeing nothing with her mother's name, she closed them all back up. "I told you I'll send you the address when I figure it out."

"You better."

He was trying to be cute, but that little touch of aggression irritated her, for some reason. "Bye, Ben."

"Yep."

Cora shook her head. His brusqueness at the end hinted at annoyance, but really, she was probably doing that thing where she read too much into it. Besides, she was about to pass by that house where that boy lived, the only youngish person on her street, and she was wary. She didn't tend to get nervous around people, and yet, approaching his house, she felt her stomach drop. He sat on his porch—that boy—in a lawn chair, and whatever girl had gotten out of his truck was next to him, standing against the porch pillar.

Not looking at them directly enough to see their expressions or body language, Cora was entirely, painfully aware of how obvious she was, walking up the street, and could only hope they paid her no attention as she passed by.

No such luck.

"Hey, you!"

That was a girl's voice, Nothing friendly about it.

"You, come here! I know you hear me!"

Cora inhaled a deep breath, stopped walking, and turned to face the two. She gave them her best raised-eyebrow, expectant face, crossed her arms, waited.

The speaker was narrowing her eyes in Cora's general direction. Whoever she was, she looked exactly like the sort of girl who'd hang out with the sort of person she assumed that boy was: cut-off jean shorts surely cheek-revealing when she bent over, tight little cropped tank showing striking tan lines—was that a belly button piercing?

"Come here," the girl repeated.

Cora stayed where she was, at the very edge of the lawn. She darted a look at the boy, who wore something that looked literally like the same outfit she'd seen him in twice already. His longish dark blond hair hung haphazardly around his face, and he sat back and watched with something like a smirk but not exactly one. He seemed to be enjoying whatever his friend-girlfriend-whatever was up to. But Cora was not one to be intimidated by someone like her. He was a bit anxiety-inducing, for some reason, but she was like a thousand other girls.

Seeing that her target was staying put, the unknown girl licked her teeth in a ferrety sort of way, gave a sassy head bob, waved a hand disparagingly at Cora. "What the hell is all that, anyway? Some sort of phase?"

Cora was used to such reactions to her dress, usually enjoyed them, although she felt a brief, uncommon uncertainty this time. At present, she wore a black pleather mini, purple fishnets, Doc Martens, a black tee with some graphic, all her piercings fake and real. Her short black hair was up in little black cat clips, and she'd painted her nails silver that morning. Though she told herself she didn't care what people thought, she'd taken special care before going to the high school, just in case.

"I mean all that shit's just weird," the unnamed girl added, probably irritated at the lack of reaction. "It's like a cry for attention. You seeing this?" She turned to the boy, whose eyes had been on Cora and who startled a bit to have been involved. He just shrugged, which seemed to frustrate her. "Go on, then! Back to your circus, freakshow."

Cora had literally nothing to say to the girl, was only too happy to walk away and turned to do so, hearing the boy mutter, "Go on, Addy. Shut up," as she continued down the street toward her little hill.