As I step onto the porch on Monday, I twist the doorknob left and right a few times before my hand drops. On Thursday, after I finally calmed down enough to leave my room, I bolted every window. The kitchen door that leads to the backyard is pretty flimsy, so I left a sticky note on the fridge: 'We need to replace the back door lock.' This way, the yellow Post-it will stay there until Cassie throws it out, and at least I'll know she saw it.

Outside, my car gleams in the sunlight, its windows sparkling from the cleaning I gave it over the weekend. Cassie ended up having to work Saturday and went to see her friends in Barrie on Sunday, so we never got to the packing, anyway. But it also meant I never got to talk to her about the drawing of us on the balcony.

It's my car. Dad bought it for me.

But I also feel guilty because he didn't buy one for her and so I act like it's our car to share. Still, I wish she'd stop leaving a mess every time she uses it. I slide in, one foot still on the driveway, and start arranging the notes into a neat pile. I take the empty coffee cup and napkins she left and toss them into the plastic bag I keep for garbage.

A loud sniffle comes from behind me, near the wooden porch steps, and I cringe and straighten. My neighbor, Mr. Patros, stands watching me. His nose makes a sucking sound like it's permanently stuffed, while his dirty white Maltese pokes his face into the garbage bag I left by the curb.

"Are we winning or losing?" Mr. Patros asks with the annoying deep snuffle he adds to the end of all his sentences.

It's the same thing he always says.

His tennis shoes tread silently over the driveway. "Something wrong with the car?" He follows his words with another loud sniffle. "You left it at home the other day when you headed out." He scratches at his pink scalp, visible under thinning black hair. "Anytime you need, I can give you a lift." His head turns to where he's parked his dark gray Pontiac. "Got my keys right here." He jingles them in his pocket.

"Sure, thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

Which, of course, I never will. Not in a million years. The guy has been watching us since we moved in, always peering through his windows into ours and finding excuses to talk to us the second he spots either of us outside.

I pull my leg in and start the ignition. He steps out of the way as I move to close the door. I turn to look over my shoulder as I roll back onto the street, and what a surprise, when I straighten the car, I catch a glimpse through the side mirror and Mr. Patros is still staring at me.

When I arrive at school, Nick and his friends sit on the front stoop, as usual, only this morning the girls are with them. But no Will. I wish he was. Having Will there makes me feel safer because at least if something were to happen, I'd have someone in my corner.

The entire time I walk up to them, I remember the drawing with its faint scent of roses. Are they connected? They have to be. Is the person who sent the flowers, the same person who left the drawing? But if so, why?

The question claws at my chest. Who's doing it? Is it one of them? Or a guy I've never met? Is Cassie right? Is it a prank? Is someone trying to scare me? And if so, why?

I can't even trust my instincts. My gut is hyper-vigilant and assumes something bad is always coming.

I follow behind other students who weave single file around outstretched legs. I keep my eyes lowered, but it doesn't stop me from spotting Hilary and how she sits on Nick's lap, his hands wrapped around her waist.

"Morning Leila," she says with a smug smile as she places her fingers over Nick's in case I missed how he's holding her.

Nick glances up at the mention of my name, and with his blond head resting against Hilary's, his gaze lingers on me for several long moments before he looks away without a word. I get icy stares from the rest of the group, even Barry, who is the nicest one here. 

I guess my 'no' to the movies has triggered this wave of coldness. Maybe they've tagged me as stuck up and now mirror my natural reserve with ice. 

I wish I could change this because even though I don't want them as friends, I also don't want new enemies.

[Author's Note:

What do you think of Leila so far? Is her story compelling? Do you trust her as a narrator?

Next chapter drops on Thursday at 9:15.]