"O.M.G, I heard she flew to the beach in her private helicopter," a voice to my left whispers, but of course, loud enough for me to hear it. 

I scrunch up my face and exhale irritably through my nose —the same frustrated tic I've been doing since... my whole life. 

"I heard she has her own personal clothes designer," a voice to my right doesn't even bother to whisper.

I finally reach the assigned locker and harrumph. The bloody peasants in this backwater town can't seem to keep their mouths shut. I don't even know why I'm inviting everyone to my party tonight.

I heard she humiliated her friend in front of millions of Insta-viewers, they forgot to add. 

"Redial, dammit, Siri," I order my iPhone 13 Max. "Yuma, I can't believe you hung up on me. Come on. This will wear off. I swear I'm still the same girl who played with Bratz dolls with you." I take a deep breath.  " I wanted to say I didn't mean to..."

The phone lets out a sad squeal and the animated screen turns pitch black.

"Dammit, I wasn't done! This is why I hate leaving messages! Stupid, stupid, stupid battery life!" I fling the thing against the opposite wall. 

A bunch of students standing nearest to me gasp and cover their faces with their hands. 

Great. More gossip. With my luck, someone filmed me and I will be the next Instagram viral video. Or end up in the principal's office. Again.

I never seem to be able to make a true human connection, except with me, myself and I.

Sooner or later, everything just goes to utter shit.

Tears stinging my eyes, I make a sharp turn into the nearest bathroom and my super-hot Pacific foods vanilla soy-latte lands smack-dab on someone's bare chest.

"Aaaargh!" That someone yelps and I can only imagine that the coffee burns like a motherfucker. 

The guy in question is a scrawny tall thing, with twig arms that would be poking out of the boxy New Town High gym shirt. If he wore one. 

Turns out, he's only wearing a flimsy towel around his waist.

"Christ!" I snarl, almost slipping on the latte-stained tiles. 

"So... So sorry. I... I didn't mean to," he stammers and places his hands on my shoulders to steady me. 

His palms are warm and big. 

I blink. 

He's turned to face me, his eyebrows lifted, a teasing? half-smile prancing on his lips.

"What?" I growl at him.

"Nothing, just... You look all squinty," he says.

Mortification washes over me. I am not quite sure what he's insinuating but I sure as hell wasn't staring at him. He just... Happened to be in my line of vision, and... Happened to look differently from what I expected him to look like. It was only natural for my gaze to linger.

Standing up straighter and puffing my chest, I enunciate. "You scared me shitless. What're you doing in the girls' bathroom?" 

Flush and paleness fight for control on the guy's face. He clears his throat, and flush wins—his cheeks are now holding a vibrant red shade, as he shakes his head.

"I see you are into wearing casual clothes? As I live and breathe. Did the robot that controls your body get overheated in the school uniform?" I snicker.

"Nah, we are way past that point, actually. We've mastered temperature regulation. It's just not worth having a robot suit without that ability these days."  He grins back.

A smile looks nice on him. And he does a good back and forth banter, I'll give him that.

"Refreshing." I size him up. "For this rundown place."

"You mean, New Town? It isn't that tiny. Erm, we have a movie theater and a..."

"A slightly dilapidated shopping mall, and a few big/chain grocery stores. Oh yeah, and a Walmart. That's it. Nothing else out there." I scrunch my nose.

"Though, sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to explore. See the whole new world, you know?" His eyes get that glazed over, dreamy look. 

"Why don't you start with seeing the inside of a shirt-shop," I tease.

"Has anyone seen my dorky brother around?" A booming voice assaults my eardrums from the hallway.

The guy shrinks in the spot, like a prey hearing its predator.

I instant-get it. Far be it from me to rat him out. I just don't care enough about them or any of their lives to do something like that. 

I step outside, flicking the hair out of my eyes. It's doing this stupid swoopy thing  again. 

Gus Thorne is leaning his back on the wall in front of the girls' bathroom, accompanied by two gorilla-ish henchmen I don't know and I don't care to know. 

When he spots me, he quickly rights himself and grins a wolfish grin. "Beatrice Laurent. As I live and breathe. You brighten this school by your mere presence. How good to see you this morning," he adds, and points to the cup of Starbucks in his hand. "Brought you some coffee. One cream, two sugars, right?" 

This school sours my mood by its mere presence.

"I drink soy latte only." 

I omit the part where he who I believe is his dorky brother, just ruined my morning beverage.

"A special brew, for a special kind of girl, that's so poetic." Then he leans forward, before I can even begin to dissect his negging, and adds: "And as you might already know, I'm a special kind of guy around here."

That he was right about. Every. single. girl in New Town High just went on and on and on about how amazing Gus The Quarterback is. 

I barely manage to stop my eyes from rolling.

"I was just thinking, since the Snow Ball Dance is coming up in a few weeks, we have to start figuring out what we're going to wear. We'd be quite a match." He places his hand on mine. 

I yank it out the very second. His touch makes my skin crawl, and not in a good way. He's not unattractive, far from it, and I can appreciate a thick mane of dark hair and prominent cheekbones like any other girl... But his whole mojo is kind of sleazy. 

"Guess there's still time." His gaze darkens, and then he nods, full of self-importance. "Have you seen my dorky brother around? Been looking for him for a while now. Boys and I joked with him a little in the showers, hid his stuff." 

I shrug. "One. I've no idea what your brother is like. Two. Do I look like a babysitter? Three. Do I look like I care?" 

"Fair point." Gus Thorne chuckles. "We still on for the party at your place tonight?"

"You betcha. There's nothing better to do in this town. Wouldn't cancel it for anything in the world. The whole school is invited, so everyone better show up." 

The lawn is bursting with teenagers when I take a moment to look down from the balcony. Just about every ninth, tenth, and eleventh grader from New Town High is running around the backyard, or exploring the winding maze in front of the mansion covered in a thin layer of snow. 

The sound system definitely blares up hip-hop and grungy emo rock as various DJs are taking turns pushing one another out of the way. I see some kids standing in a little circle out back, beatboxing and free styling, inventing brand-new ways of putting one another down and sending up. Everyone seems to be having a good time and soon I'll make my grand entrance.

At least Gus Thorne and his cronies still aren't there, and that's something. 

There is a door that opens to a small outside area, and I let myself out. The late afternoon is crisp, and chilly. I suck in a lungful of fresh air to calm my nerves. 

I grip the railing, shaking off wandering snowflakes from my hair strands.

The moment my flight from New York arrived a week ago, I hated this place. An hour in an economy class airplane (how dare you, father) and it seems like I landed on another world. Into the tiniest airport imaginable. Tweed New Haven. One terminal, eight gates. 

Outside, it wasn't much better. Too many trees, already covered in a thin layer of snow even though it was mid December. A hired driver in an old tweed suit drove me and our housekeeper, señora Amparo, to the middle of nowhere and deposited us in front of yet another house my family owned.

This house. 

The thing looked like a castle, though, complete with a drawbridge and two turrets and a maze-like rose garden in the back, built of gray stones and some recluse's pipe dream. I was allowed to come with a single suitcase and nothing else.

The driver pulled away without even a second glance. He just left señora Amparo and me to be murdered by goats, or cows, or whatever the hell roamed this farmland. 

I pace before the bedchamber mirror and flutter my auburn tresses left and right, trying to smoothen them, wishing they'd just lie flat.

Stupid hair. I just wish I could figure out what to do with it.

I shove my hands into my pockets and kick a rock into the pool down below the balcony and watch it sink to the bottom. 

The mirror has never been a comfortable place for me. It's not that I think I'm ugly or anything but it is never the glance and grin that it's supposed to be. Instead a patch of dry skin would jump out at me. Or the shirt that fit perfectly before suddenly seemed a little too tight, or a bra strap would peek out from a wide collar.

All I see is a stranger in myself. 

And now I need to get dressed for my party but all I can think of was this confinement my parents imposed on me.

My mother called this a break, but it's not.

A break is done by personal choice, but I didn't choose this. 

My father did. "If you can't grow up, then you're going to learn this the hard way," he'd said.

He thought that by taking away all my cars, my yacht, my helicopter, my internet, Insta posting rights and my friends, he could somehow punish me for—for what even? 

For an accidental slip up that went viral? 

As if he could throw me into edge-of-nowhere New Town to teach me a lesson. 

Well, joke's on them. 

The only lesson I'm learning is how to absolutely ignore them the second I turn eighteen on January 14. As soon as I do, Imma be out of here. Just a month more.

I can endure this for a month. 

"The guests are here, señorita Beatriz," señora Amparo enters my bedroom, all flustered. "Shall I bring out the food and refreshments?"

"Ya. I saw them. And heard them. I'll be right there. Vengo ahora mismo. Just trying to find the right dress." 

I tended to use some Spanish words with Amparo since she practically raised me, having spent more time with me than my own mother sometimes. 

I return inside, and when I walk into the wardrobe I turn away from it immediately. 

"There's just too many of them." I huff in resignation. "Ugh, I don't even care anymore." 

She massages the bridge of her nose. "Señorita Bea, we have thought of this party together for you to meet your classmates. You can't not show up."

"Or what?" I laugh. "Let me guess. Voy a ir al infierno. News flash, I think we're already there."

"Este no es un infierno." She sighs. "It's a charming pueblo and..."

Amparo takes one good look at the display and instantly hands me the long-sleeved dark purple one. 

"Goes well with your eyes. With your eye, at least." She manages a smile, teasing me about my heterochromia. "And if I might add, señorita Beatriz, it contrasts your auburn hair so nicely."

"Dark purple it is." I regard the Phillip Lim Polka-dot silk-dupioni dress she chose with skepticism, before finally nodding and trying it on. 

Dang it she's right. It's a perfect fit. I finally love the way my curves look. Amparo has always had an impeccable taste for clothing, as if she were some kind of Madame Wardrobe. 

I turn around with an arched eyebrow when she doesn't react to my appearance with the usual admiration.

Instead, Señora Amparo is just standing there in the middle of the room, twisting the apron in her fingers, glaring through the window as if she is seeing a ghost.

"Listen to me, m'ija. She's coming. For you." Tears appear in Amparo's eyes. "For the shape changer."

"The who? Amparo, what are you talking about?" 

"I'm so sorry, señorita Beatriz. Lo siento. I tried to... do right. ¿Entiendes?"

"No, Amparo, I don't understand. What are you sorry for? What's going on? Who's coming?"

"Have you ever heard of the shape changers?" 

I join her at the window, and before I can reply to all the nonsense she is spouting at me I see a middle aged woman stomping through the backyard with an even, resolute gait. Kids stand back, giving the stranger a wide berth. 

She is wearing a tattered winter jacket and a stained khaki skirt that doesn't quite fit.

"Who is that, Amparo? Amparo?" The housekeeper is gone. 

How nice. A vagabond just barged into my own, private, exclusive school party. And damn Amparo is not even helpful in chasing her off the lawn. 

I should've hired some party security guards. 

I lean over the balcony to see where that old lady is now but she's nowhere to be found.

The bedroom door creaks open behind me.

"Amparo? It's about time you got back. Listen, can you go down to the backyard and tell that woman to leave?"

"It is not... Amparo." A long, drawn out voice greets me, spoken with a heavy Eastern European accent.

I spin around to face the same haggard middle aged woman from the garden. 

"You? How did you get up here..." I mean to add "so fast" but I'm generally just freaked out how she got up here in the first place. 

"I walked through the front door, Bojana," she says, and comes closer. So close that the tip of her nose is almost touching mine.

Why do people with bad breath always try to tell me secrets?

Her skin is pale, like hospital fluorescents, and dull, cataracted eyes glare out from her grayish weathered face.

I gulp. 

"What did you just call me? You must be mistaken. We don't even know each other. Listen, lady, you have the wrong person." 

"I assure you, I do not," the woman whispers and clasps at my chin, transfixed in stare as if looking for something.

I shake her hand away with disgust.

"How dare you intrude my mansion? I demand you leave the premises, at once! What are you looking for here anyway? This is a private high school party, not a place for beggars." I manage to make my voice sound as authoritative as my father's and I'm kind of weirdly proud of that.

I'll show her. The nerve of a woman, barging in on my property like that. 

"I am no beggar, by no means, Bojana." She cocks her head. 

A Gordian knot is tied in my stomach. 

That name again. 

"I feel deep sadness, for you have grown to be so selfish, spoiled, and unkind. But I suppose we all... Carry a beast within."

"What do you want, old hag?" For some reason I'm finding it hard to breathe. "You came here to rob this place? Is that it?" 

"I seek no money, no riches. I come bearing a gift that is rightfully yours." She grins a toothless grin.

"A gift?" I snort. 

From her?

What could she possibly give me that I don't already have? 

Freedom?

A thought sneaks out in the back of my mind.

The old frail woman outstretches her bony hand. As I glance down at her palm, two rose-shaped ruby earrings glimmer on it. 

"Where did you steal those?" I blurt out, admiring their fine craftwork, finer than I had even seen at Tiffany & Co. 

"Steal?" It is her turn to snort. "I did not steal them, oh, no, Bojana. I was merely safekeeping them... For you. They are your legacy, now and forever."

The woman raises both her hands without warning and slams the earrings into my ears with such force I see stars before my eyes. 

I cough and fall on my knees as the room begins to swirl around me, shapes taking on a blurry texture until the only thing I can see clearly is her hideous, warty, wrinkled face.

"You shall have your freedom, Bojana,  more than you ever dreamed of, and more than you ever wanted," she cackles with glee, vanishing in a whirlwind. "A month you have, before the final shift."

Even though the woman is no longer in the room, my ears still hurt like hell. 

All the sounds from the backyard, the electronic music, the gleeful teen screeches and the swimming pool splashes—jumble up in a grand cacophony. 

It feels as if someone has taken a hammer and an anvil, and is now banging persistently on my temples without any intention of stopping—ever.

My purple dress hits the floor.

A/N: Theme song: Billy Joel: "The Stranger"