However, the days at the Bisset home dragged on, and after a month of no parent claiming me, it was decided that I'd have to go to school. Personally, I was overjoyed. My days were long and boring: alone with Mrs. Bisset in the farmhouse. I took to wandering the forest in an effort to get out of her hair. It was that or sit in my turreted room all day doing nothing. Day after day, I tried to shapeshift into different people. Some attempts were successful, although most weren't. One day, I saw a girl with pale blonde hair driving a convertible down the road, and I hid away in the forest until nightfall to hide my white-blonde locks. Try as I might, I could not figure out how to control it; my ability to transform myself seemed to come and go with a mind of its own.

The best part of staying home, though, were Fridays. Mr. Bisset had the day off, so he and I would spend the day together. Sometimes, we'd go on drives to see lakes and museums, and sometimes we'd just play pool in the basement. Mr. Bisset could never stop smiling when I spoke French with him. He told me that he'd always wanted a daughter, and that's why he persuaded his wife to start fostering. When he realized I could speak his language, he was so happy because it was almost like I was his real kid. And somehow, he started to feel like a real father to me too.

One such Friday, we were reading on the hanging swing on the porch. I had a book in Portuguese, and his was in French. Somehow, I knew Portuguese as well, which I didn't find out until I was halfway through the book and Micha asked how I could understand it. I must have had some good language education before I lost my memory, because I didn't even notice what language it was until Micha brought it up.

"Anya, we need to talk," Mr. Bisset started, speaking French. He was always a lot less shy in that language. I closed my book and looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Anya, it's been a month. I hate to put a damper on your hopefulness, but I simply don't think your parents are going to come."

I nodded slowly. I'd come to this conclusion myself. Perhaps I was always an orphan. Even so, you would think I'd have family friends who cared enough to search for me at least.

"I understand."

"So perhaps we should start thinking about putting you in school?"

I set my book down on the floor and prepared for the inevitable conversation. "Yes, I think so."

Soon, we had decided to register me at Micha's high school, St. Bernard's, in freshman year. It was sad to admit, but nobody knew my birthday or age, so we just hoped for the best. I would get a ride with Micha every day, there and back. If I wanted to, I could even join extra-curriculars and make friends (Micha's idea, which I quickly shut down. Who'd want to spend more time with unassuming strangers than necessary?) I'd have things to do all day, and I'd even learn things in the process. A fool-proof plan, it seemed, but on the day I started as a St. Bernard's Hound, I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Come on, Anya!" Micha yelled, already outside in his car, an unassuming red sedan. I grabbed my backpack, which I loved. It was a gift from Mr. Bisset: a tan satchel-style bag. Inside was my lunch, a few school supplies on loan from Micha, and my phone (an old model bought used). I ran outside and into the passenger seat of the car.

"First day first day first day!" Micha cheered and I elbowed him.

"Stop. It's nothing big."

"Uh, yes it is, Miss I-haven't-had-social-interactions-since-I-can-remember!" Micha said, pulling onto the street. "Don't screw it up. I mean, I accept you're a witch and I love you for it, but I don't think your new friends will be as tolerant."

"What do you mean, new friends?" I replied. "And don't call me a witch."

"Anya. You can't just go in there and avoid everyone. People will want to talk to you. You don't want to scare them away. You can't be totally a loner."

"I wasn't going to be," I protested, even though that was exactly my plan. Go to school, do work, avoid all human interaction. Sounded simple to me.

"Sure. Just... try to be normal. That's what you want, isn't it? Being that one lonely kid isn't normal, they'll only think you're weirder."

"And why should I listen to you?" I retorted. Last month, I would never have spoken to anyone this way, but Micha and I had developed this bond where we could argue and still be in good spirits.

"Uh, maybe because I go to school, and you can't even remember ever being at one?"

He had a point. Right then, Micha made a left turn and we ended up in the student parking lot of St. Bernard's High School.

"I can tell you don't want me hanging around all day, so bye!" Micha said, hopping out of the car and getting consumed by the crowd of students.

"Wait," I called quietly. I would definitely prefer having Micha by my side, but I guess I'd just be alone in class all day anyway. I got out of the sedan and hoisted my backpack up. Taking a deep breath, I charged into the sea of high school students.

"The office, the office," I murmured, half-hoping some friendly soul would appear beside me and become my best friend, like in all the teen movies I'd binge-watched at the Bisset's house. Yes, I had a lot of time on my hands, and yes, I was studying in a way for moments like this. Turns out that movies don't exactly mimic real high school life. For one thing, the schools in the movies were huge. The school was two stories, and sort of shaped like a block letter U. There was the gym on one leg of the U, and the auditorium was just a stage on one end of the cafeteria on the other leg. It wasn't hard to find the office, located right inside the main doors.

"Excuse me," I said, looking at a middle-aged woman in a grey skirt sipping coffee. I reasoned she must be the secretary. "I'm new here, can I have my schedule?"

The lady looked up. "I'm not the secretary, honey. Mr. Banks is."

I followed her pointed finger to see a plump man seated behind a cluttered desk.

"Hello, there. Are you Annie-ja-vy-ra?" he said, completely butchering my name.

"Yes, I'm Anya," I said hurriedly, embarrassed. "How did you know?"

"Not many students join our roster mid-semester. If you don't mind me asking, why were you transferred here? I don't see your previous school on your transcript."

"I was just adopted," I told him, which was the most true thing I could have said. Never mind the fact that I seemingly just appeared in town without so much as a relative to take me in. Mr. Banks' face softened a bit. "And I was homeschooled before that," I lied quickly.

"I see. Well, I'm also the guidance counsellor here. If you have any problems transitioning, I am here for you. My office is just down the hall."

I told him I'd keep that in mind, even though I doubted any of my problems could be solved by guidance. He handed me a schedule and map, before burying himself in papers again. Thanking him, I left the office and entered the swarm.

First period, English. I had Mrs. Swenson, who inconveniently happened to be the teacher I mistook for the secretary. It took me longer than I anticipated to get to class (the movies don't account for random people standing in the middle of the hallway) so I was three minutes late by the time I got to my seat.

"And who are you?" Mrs. Swenson said.

"I'm... Anya," I managed to say. Mrs. Swenson stared down at me for a moment.

"You're new, right?" I nodded. "Can you tell us a bit about yourself?"

So I repeated the same story that I told Mr. Banks: I was adopted, and homeschooled. Mrs. Swenson nodded slightly as if being adopted and homeschooled would explain how awful I was.

"Well, Anya, welcome to school. Here, it is imperative that you come on time. I don't know how your parents treated you, but we value rules here at St. Bernard's. In the future, you will come to understand that."

I nodded meekly. Seems like Mrs. Swenson hated me already, and we were only five minutes into class. After explaining some long-winded character analysis of a book I'd never read to the class, my teacher dropped a beaten-up paperback on my lap.

"We are reading Lord Of The Flies. Please be caught up to chapter six by Friday. There will be an essay assigned in the coming weeks, as well as a character analysis due on Thursday."

My head spun with the sudden responsibilities. Who knew school was this much work? How did all those TV characters find time for homework, sports, clubs, and all the drama?

Right before class ended, I felt a pencil jab into my neck. I turned around to find a short girl with curly black hair looking at me.

"I like, love, your hair," she said. Her friend, a blonde girl with a way-too-small shirt, giggled behind her.

"Um, thank you," I said awkwardly. Shoot. I'd forgotten to worry about my appearance during class. Looking down at my hair, I saw it was curled in golden-blonde ringlets: a bit dramatic for a school setting. I raced out of the class the second the bell rang, hoping no one else in the class had noticed that I was a brunette at the start of the period.

Darting into the girl's bathroom, I scanned around for a mirror. The only one I saw was surrounded by girls, but I saw my reflection as I passed behind them. Having no other option, I ducked into a stall.

"What do I do..." I whispered, frantically searching my bag. Luckily, I found what I was searching for: a light blue headscarf "borrowed" from Mrs. Bisset. I pulled it over my hair and used the camera on my phone to check that no stray bits were sticking out. The look was a bit unconventional, but at least no one would notice if I randomly changed hair colours in class.

Not wanting to endure a repeat of Mrs. Swenson's lecture, I rushed quickly to my next period: mathematics. I managed to arrive just in time, and Mr. Runnall seemed a lot less intimidating than my English teacher. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge me.

"Hey, guys. I hope you all studied, because today's a test. Actually, more like a quiz. It's a quest. Doesn't that make it sound so much better?"

Some students smiled out of pity, but most of the class was too busy checking over notes to listen. I stared blankly at Mr. Runnall, hoping he'd notice that I was a new student.

"Okay, notes away. Here comes your quest."

Mr. Runnall went up and down the aisles dropping off papers to each person. I tried to get his attention as he passed me, but he simply dropped a quest in front of me.

"Excuse me, I—oh," I said, looking down at the sheet. It was covered in numbers and symbols.

"You may begin this quest now. And please don't bother me asking questions: it was all on your review last night and I haven't had my second cup of coffee yet. The seniors in period one were pretty wild today."

Mr. Runnall wiped his glasses, poured himself a mug from the literal coffee maker on his desk, and sat back to drink it. I bit my tongue a little: should I tell him that I don't know how to do any of this? I waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, but my teacher did't even look up. With nothing better to do, I decided to try the quiz.

If Suzanne has x amount of red marbles, and half as many blue marbles as the amount of red marbles plus two, which combination of marbles is not possible?

8 red, 5 blue

3 red, 4 blue

2 red, 2 blue

4 red, 3 blue

I squinted and read the question again. What was it even asking? How do I figure this out without seeing the marbles she has? I chose the option for c, reasoning that she couldn't have the same amount for each if the blue had such a complicated process. I stumbled through the rest of the quiz absolutely blindly. How could all these other kids just solve things like this?

"Time is up."

Mr. Runnall grabbed all the tests before I could even mention that I had no clue what was happening. He handed off another sheet of equally-as-confusing equations, and graded all the tests in less than ten minutes. When he returned mine, I saw a big F written in the corner.

"I would have hoped we'd all reviewed a bit more, class. Some people didn't exactly ace this one," Mr. Runnall said. Now I felt like I should explain myself. Copying what the other kids did when they asked a question, I raised my hand.

"Sir?"

Some kids snickered. Maybe I wasn't supposed to call teachers sir.

"Yes, ah, what's your name again?"

"I'm Anya. I'm... I'm new here?"

"You are?" Mr. Runnall looked amused, like I was lying to excuse my poor test mark. For a second I had the horrible thought that maybe I was a student in this school, and maybe I sat here in math class every day before the accident. I quickly dismissed it: Mr. Banks and Mrs. Swenson had definitely never seen me before, nor had Micha.

"Yes, and I haven't done math like this before, ever."

"You haven't? Have you never been to school?"

I felt my face redden, caught in my own lie. Even being homeschooled, my parents should have taught me this algebra stuff. So I told them the truth. Not all of the truth of course.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was in an accident before I came here, and I have amnesia."

Hearing the words come out of my mouth, I realized how much they sounded like a stupid excuse. The class began to whisper about me.

"Is that so?"

I nodded, vaguely remembering a doctor's note from Sonya that I'd misplaced.

"Well, then, I guess I'll have to take your word for it. You'll need a tutor, can anyone volunteer?"

My heart sped up. No, I could not make friends here. I couldn't trust these teenagers.

"No, no, it's okay. My, my brother will tutor me. I'm fine," I begged, silently making a note to ask Micha about algebra that night. Mr. Runnall shrugged and continued the lesson. Even as he ranted about math, I could feel the energy change in the classroom. Everyone was whispering about the girl with amnesia. This was NOT the kind of attention I wanted on my first day. First Mrs. Swenson, the reading, the flunked math quest, the amnesia... it was all too much. I felt a bit of relief as the bell rang, but even that didn't last long.

"Did you hear about the new kid?" I heard someone say in the stairwell, as I consulted my map to find out which side of the U was the cafeteria.

"Oh my God, I know. She said she had amnesia in my math class but I think she's faking it," another said.

"And her hair?" a third girl chimed in, laughing.

"I know right? What's with the scarf?"

"What scarf? She had the most beautiful blond curls in English this morning."

"Dude, don't mess with me. I saw her at the office, she had brown hair."

"Did not."

I looked up from my map and quickly removed my scarf. As expected, my hair was no longer blonde. It was dyed a jet black with bangs across the front, not unlike the girl smoking in the corner of the stairwell. In my new disguise I hurried outside, blinking as a pair of glasses appeared over my nose. I felt myself getting shorter, then taller, as I ran, like the universe was stretching and compressing me for laughs. Micha, where are you? I groaned. I felt sick to my stomach with all the appearance changes. Just as my skin darkened to a chocolate brown, I saw the front doors, and I put on a burst of speed to make it outside. I glanced around at the seniors huddled in groups around the garden, searching for Micha. He was nowhere to be seen.

I closed my eyes as a headache began to creep in. Then, I ran.