August, 1999

Fred scowled at his new school, and wished his mom wasn't there so he could curse enthusiastically at the old building. It didn't look like much, at first glance. It was big, sure. Three stories of maybe ten-plus classrooms on each floor. And that didn't include restrooms and janitors closets.

It seemed innocent enough, just hanging out at the end of an old road with nothing else around but woods. The Salish Mountains could be seen over the tops of the pines, dull and blue and boring. The snow on their peaks had completely melted by this point.

Something about the building — innocent though it seemed — set Fred's teeth on edge. He didn't like it. Though that probably had more to do with the fact that he didn't want to be there than anything else.

The place was constructed from old rusty bricks that didn't look like they were crumbling, but Fred knew looks could be deceiving.

"Why's it so fucking big anyway?" He wanted to know. "There's only a few of us, so why the monster school? Why not like a—"

"Not another word, Frederick!" His mother snapped. He scowled down at her. His mother was a short woman, though no less vicious for it. She was kinda scrawny, with hawkish features, short iron brown hair, and feline blue eyes. She was by no means petite, just small. And evil.

Very evil.

Fred scowled at the school again. What kind of woman would send her son to face that alone? It was un-fucking-fair. Not for the first time, he wondered if she really was the one who'd given birth to him. They looked nothing alike.

"You get your sorry worthless ass into that building! I don't wanna see you until school lets out, y'hear?" She demanded, waving her long talloned finger under his nose. She'd gotten them done again, he noticed, and the scars on his arms itched at the memory of the last time she'd had them done.

Fuck you, part of him wanted to say, but the rest of him didn't dare. He still had to find a job, so he didn't have any money. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck sleeping under the goddamn bridge again with no food. Jeanette was the sort of woman who wouldn't hesitate to lock him out of the house because he'd given her lip. He knew she would, because she had.

Countless times.

So all he did was duck his head and start for his new school.

{ { o } }

Syd didn't look at her dad when he pulled up to the obsessively large brick building. She kept her headphones on, Guns and Roses playing just loud enough to be heard by others, but still quite enough to not completely kill her ears.

And anyway, it was an excuse to ignore him, and pretend she couldn't hear what he had to say. But the left side of her headphones had been broken for quite a while, which meant she could hear him.

But he didn't need to know that.

She kept her face blank, and stared out the windshield of her dad's ancient car at the creepy brick school. A dulled metal number was nailed above the glass double doors at the front, but they were too far away for her to see what the number was. She didn't really care.

She just waited for her dad to finally kick her out of the car, because she knew he would. He always did. If she pretended not to want to go, the sooner he'd kick her out, and the sooner she could be rid of him.

If only temporarily.

"I can't believe this," he seethed, his big blunt hands clutching the wheel till she heard something crack. She wasn't sure if it was his whitened knuckles or the wheel, and she didn't want to find out.

Still, she stared blankly at the school, showing nothing on her face.

"Kicked out for indecent exposure. Fuck." And he smashed a fist down on the steering wheel with barely restrained irritation.

Syd swallowed involuntarily, resisting the urge to just jump out of the car right then and there. She didn't though, because she knew if she did, then he would have every excuse to lock her in the basement when she got home. If she let him kick her out, then he wouldn't do anything to her after school, and she could sleep in her bed, instead of on the cold stone floor.

As soon as he was gone though, she was going to take off her light sweater. Early August was not the weather for it. But she'd have to wait till after her dad left, or else she'd likely spend the night in the basement despite her best efforts.

At least he couldn't complain about her Daisy Duke shorts. They were the only kind of shorts she owned.

Her dad ranted a bit more, mostly about the cost of homeschooling compared to the Alt School. And why oh why did things have to be so expensive? She'd heard it all before, and didn't pay much attention. But then he started getting to the part where her mother's death was her fault, and Syd suddenly stopped caring whether she slept on a cold stone floor.

"I know it's my fault," she snapped, her temper flaring. "I get it. You don't have to remind me every. Damn. Day." And before he could threaten her with punishment that she knew full well he would more than carry out, she climbed out of his ancient car and headed for the doors.

As she got closer, she saw that there were others already there. A tall stern-faced Hispanic boy who might've been cute, had he been smiling, and another girl with straight black hair and a black long-sleeved shirt and boy's shorts. Her feet were clad in black sneakers, with black laces.

Syd ignored them both and swept past them into the building. Behind her, she heard the anguished chug-chugging of her dad's ancient car.

She was not looking forward to going home.

{ { o } }

The inside of the school was surprisingly cool, Suzanne noted. Most of the memories in the door handle had been stale, old. But there was also the impression of a memory of cold, and stone, and fear. A lot of it. Something that had been left by the girl that had walked in ahead of her and the other boy.

Suzanne had made a point of going in before the boy did. She knew him, after a fashion. They'd gone to the same school together, and she'd seen him around. She didn't know his name, and had never cared to find out.

Her life was stressful enough without friends. Or whatever you call those groups that hang out together.

She could feel his scowling sour mood shift to something that screamed, Really? We're going to play this game? But she also got the sense (no pun intended) that he didn't care enough to really say anything about it.

Because in some way, he was also afraid, just like the girl.

Suzanne felt it too. The fear. She didn't know of what, or where it came from, but it was there. And she didn't really like it much.

Of course, she didn't like anything much, so that was hardly unusual.

The first thing she saw upon entering the school was an old — but recently waxed — tiled floor, and the plain white walls of a hallway that ran from about fifteen feet to the right to about twenty or twenty-five feet to the left. A long hallway, with the occasional classroom, a couple water fountains, and two or four bathrooms. She imagined there'd be stairs at both ends.

Something — a sense, or sensation, or something — off to the left attracted her attention, and she started down that hall. Despite the fact that the girl who'd been thinking of stone and the cold had gone to the right.

So she started down the hall to the left, but stopped short at a shockingly low baritone behind her. "Didn't you read the directions on your schedule? You're going the wrong way."

Suzanne hadn't read them, but she'd touched the paper. She knew where to go.

She waited until she heard a disgusted snort and retreating footsteps before she turned around and started in the direction she was supposed to go.

And then someone crashed into her, and she was flung to the floor, and into a memory that wasn't hers.

"This won't hurt a bit," he said. The last time he'd said that, it had been a lie. But something was different about this time... Tru didn't know what, but she didn't like it. Her mom wasn't home tonight. She'd had to work late for the first time in forever. It was the first of many late nights.

Her step-father wrapped one big dirty hand around the back of her neck, but this was hardly unusual. He did that often, when he wanted to reprimand her for something she'd apparently done wrong.

But this was also different.

She hadn't done anything wrong. "Am I in trouble?" She asked weakly.

He nodded. "Yes you are. You look just like your mother, just like her. And she's not here. It's not all your fault, but it mostly is. She's not here, and you look just like her..."

That was the first time he touched her, violated her. Stole from her.

Tru stopped counting the pieces of her soul that he shredded after about a month.

Suzanne was yanked from mentally living the secret she'd stolen by a sharp alto voice snapping at her in a waspish tone to "watch where you're going, bitch!" And then a girl who was barely much older than Suzanne — Tru, short for Gertrude — stuck her cute little nose in the air and headed down the right hall. She was a stunning mix of sharp and soft features — a soft curve to her cheeks, a chin you could shave with, and almond eyes the cold color of icicles. She would've been a real knockout if she didn't wear so much makeup, and hide her face with her hair. Tall, legs to kill for, and hair like gold and silver all rolled into one. Suzanne knew most girls with a face and bod like that had flocks of "friends" and more confidence than character.

This girl...

She was more character than confidence, and she was broken.

And now, so was a part of Suzanne, because she'd stolen that memory. It was hers now. It didn't matter that it hadn't actually happened to her. She was aware it hadn't, but in her mind — in her memory — it had. And she found herself both loving and hating Tru for bumping into her and giving her this goddamned secret.

All thanks to her goddamned curse.

So Suzanne reverted to the tried and true method of distraction.

One, three, five, seven, eleven...