The hall was too open, too exposed for her liking. Dallas shuddered at the thought of eyes on her back, but a quick glance over her shoulder determined that she was alone.

After the therapy, which Dallas had already decided to dislike, she’d gone back to the dorm with the hopes of taking a nap, but she’d been stopped with her hand on the doorknob by the sound of voices from inside.

The right thing to do was probably knock… but since when did she ever do the right thing?

Dallas crouched back down in front of the door and returned her ear to its spot against the wood's chipping white paint, trying to decipher what the panicked discussion was about.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” A girl said frantically. “They're going to think I did it!”

Another voice cut in, this one lower and much calmer, but a hint of panic laced his words. “How do you know that’s the same one?”

“What other one would it be?! Why would someone dump this in here? I’m being framed! Miles, you gotta help me!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” the boy said, desperately trying to take his own advice. “Where did you find it again?”

She sniffed. “It- it was in the vent and then it was gone and she was gone and- and now it’s back and I don’t know what to do!”

“Why did you have this in the first place?” The boy's voice dropped to a whisper and all Dallas could make out was, “Key… are you… -ing again?”

“I-” The girl’s voice cracked and muffled sobs cut off whatever else she intended to say.

That made up Dallas’ mind. She was out. Dallas refused to deal with people crying, not unlike most men, or a sorry excuse for one. Yes, her curiosity--AKA nosiness--was pained, but that was overpowered, for once, by her fear. Dallas and emotions… they didn't get along. Not like she got along with much anyway.

Dusting off her sweats, she gave up retiring to the dorm and ventured back towards the stairs. Dampened laughter and bits of conversation slipped through the cracks of a few of the other dorms, but Dallas was alone in most senses. According to the schedule Mrs. Graves had given her, the other students were free to roam the campus at the moment and it seemed that very few had taken advantage of the dormitories. Fine by Dallas; the last thing she wanted to do was socialize. She was perfectly content to pop in her earbuds and blast Metallica until it was time for food.

Just beyond the double staircases, the hall opened out into a game room complete with foosball, a ping pong table, and a table with an assortment of board games. On the far wall, another door led into what was dubbed ‘Jackson's Commons’ by a dull, gold plaque.

Dallas peered through the door’s window. It reminded her of the ones on classroom doors at public schools that served no purpose other than to allow administrators to spy on the classes while in session. Beyond the tempered glass, the room opened into a semi-circle rotunda furnished with an array of lounge chairs and couches. Light poured in from a huge window at the center of the back wall. The sunset tinged the glow an unnatural red, illuminating the room like a roaring fire.

A subtle smile crossed her lips as she pushed the door open, eyes fixated on the window. With a little bit of time and some paint, the glass would make a beautiful canvas. Dallas’ mind whirled with possibilities, settling on an image of an eye crying angry tears. With the way the light turned the clear glass to red, the tears would turn to blood on their own as night fell. How was that for symbolism?

Dallas forced her gaze away from the window--until she got new paints, that would have to be a project for another time--and sat down at the leather chaise just beneath it. She fished her earbud case out of her pocket and flicked it open.

“Don’t sit there,” a voice said, startling Dallas so badly that her wireless headphones flew from her hand and pitched across the hardwood floor. “It’s cursed.”

Cross-legged on an emerald green ottoman sat a black haired girl. Her dark tanned hands were folded carefully in her lap and her lips were pulled taut in a line, but her deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

“What, did you want to sit here?” Dallas asked, giving her the pleasure of a response as she plucked her earbud off the floor and fixed the girl with a glare. “Too bad, go cry to your momma.”

The girl was too young to be at this sort of establishment in Dallas’ opinion. She hardly looked older than fourteen, but carried herself with the confidence of a tightrope walker about to step onto a strand of yarn while juggling flaming batons.

The girl unfolded herself from the chair and took a step forward, grinning as if Dallas were joking. Spoiler alert: she wasn’t.

“I don’t really feel like dying today,” she said, “so no. I don’t want to sit there.”

“It’s a chair. What’s it gonna do, suffocate me with the cushions?” She scoffed. “I appreciate the concern, but I like my odds of survival.” Dallas closed her eyes and went back to making a mental sketch of the school’s exterior, mapping out good places to paint decaying roses or skeleton hands.

The dark haired girl walked closer and leaned into Dallas’ face. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you. Last person to sit there is now six feet under with a murderer on the loose. It’s cursed.” Her voice dropped to a low, ominous whisper and her breath was hot on Dallas’ cheek.

Dallas swatted the girl away and rolled her eyes, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “What kind of twisted tradition is that? You tell that to every newbie? Hate to ruin your fun, but I’m not buying it.”

Dejected, the girl straightened up and stepped backwards. The shift in weight made the floor creaked beneath her feet. She crossed her arms and pouted. “It’s true. Why does everyone always assume I’m lying?”

“‘Cause you’re being ridiculous, Hollywood.”

The girl’s face brightened at the nickname, eyebrows shooting up so high they might fly right off her face. The story she’d been telling was entirely forgotten. 

She talked so fast that her words were hardly discernible from one another, flashing jazz hands as emphasis while she babbled, “Hollywood? You think I could make it? Personally, I’d rather be on Broadway, y’know? Singing, New York, live and in person- but Hollywood is good too.”

Dallas flared her nostrils and promptly interrupted with no other purpose than forcing the kid to shut up. “No actually! That was an insult, not a compliment. I’m calling you dramatic.”

“You can call me Chris if you want. Don’t get me wrong, Hollywood is great, but that’s more of Milo’s thing,” she said, flopping onto the couch next to Dallas’ chair and propping her elbows up to rest her chin in her hands. “He’s busy with Jackie at the moment though. Like usual. They’re totally in love, it’s kind of hilarious that they don’t realize yet. Have you met him yet? Milo, I mean? You’ll be seeing a lot of him. He’s always in your room. Or she’s in his. But usually yours ‘cause Proxy likes to have the room to himself. Not that he’s ever by himself…”

Her face softened and she trailed off. Chris’ eyes flitted to Dallas suspiciously.

Dallas raised an eyebrow lazily. “Okay?”

Chris picked at her lip, tearing at the chapped skin. “It’s ‘cause he has a girlfriend. Claire. She’s chill, I guess. She’s from McManus hall, but she sits with us at meals because of Proxy. You could sit with us too if you want. Y’know, since you don’t have any friends-”

“Actually,” Dallas cut in, annoyance lacing every word, “I already have someone to sit with.”

Chris blinked, appalled, and crossed her arms over her chest. That was enough to make the partial-lie worth it. Anything to shut her up.

“Who?”

“Venus,” she said nonchalantly. Doux better be right about this girl or Dallas would look stupid. She didn’t really do the whole ‘looking stupid’ thing.

Chris let out a hyena cackle. When Dallas didn’t join in, her laughter faded. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the syllable, “you don’t wanna do that. Her group has all the kids that actually deserve to be here.”

“And?” Dallas said, silently pleased that Chris disapproved.

Chris was in shock. “And?” she repeated. “And you don’t want to get mixed up with that crowd. Unless you deserve to be here…”

“So what if I do?” She leaned back and stretched her feet out in front of her. “If you don’t deserve to be here, then why are you here?”

“Chronic…ally accused of being a liar,” she said, nodding triumphantly.

Dallas couldn't help, but snort. Murdered. She knew that that was a load of crap. “Yeah,” she huffed, “I can tell.”

Chris ignored the snarky comment and tapped her finger against her chin. “Let me guess, you’re here for… smoking weed- no… no, that’s not it. Stealing? Vandalism?”

Dallas’ nostrils flared like a bull’s ready to charge at a red flag waving in a matador’s hand. She wanted nothing more than to slap the smug look off the younger girl’s face. Chris had already gathered how accurate her accusations were by Dallas’ lack of response.

“Is it time for food yet? I’m starved.”

Her red high tops pounded across the floor as she stomped out of the room, trusting that Chris was on her heels like a lost puppy dog.

Sure enough, Chris was right on her tail. “Well, was I ri-”

“Is the food here good or is it like every typical school cafeteria?” Dallas interrupted.

Chris opened her mouth to speak again, but Dallas cut her off before she had the chance to make more than a breathy inhale.

“You wouldn’t know, would you? Quite clearly have no taste,” she said, tossing a look over her shoulder and glancing at Chris’ chosen attire; a vibrant yellow crop top featuring the iconic star-shaped ‘Hamilton’ logo with plain black leggings.

“Hey!” Chris protested immediately. “Hamilton is- is a masterpiece of music, history, and passion all combined into one remarkable work of art that only Broadway can depict with such- such precision and- and-”

“And- and- I didn’t ask,” Dallas mocked coldly. Her mother’s voice floated to the forefront of her mind, chastising her for her insensitivity, but Dallas mentally waved it away.

Chris gasped in outrage and stopped walking, stomping her foot indignantly. Her mouth opened, but whatever she intended to say was lost in the noise of Dallas’ feet thrumming over the stairs and she bounded down to the main floor.

Sure, she had no idea where she was going, but Dallas wasn’t one to think these things through. A quick glance at the campus map posted to the corkboard outside the main office resolved that particular issue, directing her into the courtyard and down the paved path. The sidewalk led into the center of the courtyard and then broke apart once again to create a bursting sun out of the cement.

Looming ahead was an enormous building; shaped like a rectangular except for the corners which extended a few feet out in all directions, resembling the towers of a castle. Kids trickled in the front doors from all over the yard, like ants marching towards their queen. Ironic, Dallas thought, the ants always lead to food. She trudged after a particularly tall girl who's hair, though tied up in a loose bun, fell in wisps around her neck and bounced in time with her steps.

Dallas’ foot bounced impatiently. Slow walkers would be the death of her someday. Dallas caught sight of the cafeteria and tried to shove past, but she stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes latched onto the girl's; striking amber and wide like a deer’s. The girl pressed a finger to her lips and put a hand on Dallas’ collarbone, just above her left breast. Her hands should've radiated warmth, but instead they were cold as ice, even through Dallas’ hoodie. She shuttered, a grimace distorted her face. Dallas plucked the girl's tiny wrist and removed it, shuttering at the touch.

“No, thank you. No crazies for me,” she muttered, but the girl was unfazed. She clasped her skeletal hands together in front of her like a principal preparing to chastise a naughty student in front of their parents and closed her eyes before she spoke in a rather high pitched, silvery voice.

“They say that eyes are windows to the soul. Yours are stained glass. Just like hers.” Her doe eyes shot open, focused right on Dallas, and a small smile crept onto her lips. “Oh, and your heartbeat is lovely. They'll want it next.”

Before Dallas had time to respond, the girl had wandered into the crowd and vanished from sight, leaving Dallas in the middle of the walkway; dumbfounded and alone. This place was full of psychopaths. Psychos.