On the way to class, I distance myself emotionally from Principal Sloan the way I've distanced myself from everyone else. I can't trust anyone, not her, not my parents, not even my old friends. Principal Sloan may act all innocent and caring now, but she's just like the rest of them, ready to turn on me at a moment's notice. I know how quickly 'Holly, honey, we love you and we just want to help,' can transform into "Holly Maureen Mathews, if you don't tell us the truth this minute, you're going to regret it, you hear me?"

"Here we are," Principal Sloan announces. She knocks on the classroom door and ushers me inside.

"After that, the—" a short, chubby man with round, metal glasses stops lecturing mid-sentence. He looks up from the white board, and surprise registers on his face when he sees Principal Sloan. I guess not all the new kids have get the honor of being escorted to the office by the principal. Lucky me.

"Holly, this is Mr. Davies, your home room and history teacher. Class, this is Holly Mathews. She's new here, and I expect you all to make her feel welcome."

I definitely don't feel welcome. I know everyone's staring—silently laughing and judging me—assuming their jaws haven't dropped to the floor. I don't dare look up, but I wish they knew this wasn't my choice. That I wouldn't be caught dead in Mom's ugly, too-tight clothes if I owned anything else.

"Holly, you can take a seat," Principal Sloan orders in a no-nonsense tone. "Mr. Davies, can I see you in the hall for a moment?"

Knowing I have no choice, I look up in search of an empty desk. There's only one, smack dab in the middle of the room, next to a boy with beautiful blue eyes. He looks up at me, and I suddenly feel like I've known him for my whole life. Like he knows all my deepest, darkest secrets and we haven't even met. It should terrify me, but his gaze makes me feel all warm and cozy, like I'm being wrapped in a big, fluffy blanket.

My breath lodges in my throat and I watch him watch me. I get lost in his eyes until they leave mine and rove down my horrendous outfit, before landing on my black heels. Then, he breaks into a huge grin. His eyes twinkle, silently making fun of me, and it's like I've suddenly been doused by a bucket of ice water. It soaks through the warm blanket around me and a painful lump rises up in my throat.

I let my hair fall forward in a protective curtain as tears spring to my eyes. I don't understand why this is happening to me. Why am I reacting like this? Why am I freaking out over some boy, and not just now, but in the office, with Miles, too. No crush has ever felt like this, like a boy I just met holds my happiness on his sleeve. Maybe I'm in some sort of boy withdrawal, since I haven't spoken to anyone except my parents for the last three weeks? Or maybe my parents finally managed to break something in me—not just my heart, but my sanity—and it's somehow warped my brain so I'm reacting like this.

I rush to my desk in a panic, my heels echoing through the silent classroom with every step. Behind me, the door clicks shut, and I hear the muffled voice of Principal Sloan. I hold my breath, waiting to see if I can make out her words. What if the entire class hears her telling my new teacher that I need to be watched at all times? If she mentions how Mom wants someone to escort me to the bathroom and follow me into the stall, I'll never be able to show my face here again.

I feel like I might throw up. I long for some water, but that would only lead to a bathroom trip, and I can't risk that. Swallowing hard, I off my backpack and take my seat, my chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor. The noise slices through the silence around me, breaking some sort of spell. There's some shuffling. Someone coughs. Then some guy at the back calls out "he's in trou-ble," and people start laughing, talking, and essentially forgetting that the principal is just outside.

"You're Holly, right?" The boy with the blue eyes slides his desk up to mine. He rests his arm on the surface, so close to my own that they're almost touching. Then, he shoots me a disarming smile. "I'm Luke."

I jerk back and hug my backpack to my chest, refusing to let my boy withdrawal get to me. I feel the heat radiating off Luke as he leans closer, and I suddenly forget to breathe. My eyes lock on my backpack, and I hide behind my hair, hoping he'll will leave me alone. One second passes, then two, and when he doesn't budge, I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye. My gaze travels up his bare arm, to his broad shoulders. They fill out his blue t-shirt, stretching the giant wolf emblazoned on the front. His blond hair falls softly over his forehead, and when my eyes meet his, Luke grins.

My pulse spikes and I snap my eyes back to my bag. I quickly unzip it and pretend to search through the contents, my eyes barely registering the items inside. Luke doesn't budge, and his nearness makes my hands shake. The shaking intensifies, and he suddenly reaches inside my bag and takes one of my hands in his. He gives it a squeeze, and I jerk my hand back as tingles shoot up my arm.

"Sorry," Luke whispers.

I don't reply, and a second later his desk scrapes back across the floor as he returns to his previous spot. He takes out his phone, his fingers racing madly across the screen, and I feel an overwhelming mix of relief and regret.

I try to focus on the contents of my backpack, but there isn't much. Just one one flimsy notebook and a pencil. Yes, pencil, because pens, like many things in the Mathews household, are too dangerous for Holly and therefore off-limits. Apparently, Mom thinks I'll eat the ink or start sniffing it or something crazy like that. Then there's my lunch, which includes Mom's idea of 'safe' items. One bottle of water—which I plan to avoid like the plague—and a sandwich wrapped in brown paper. Mom used to put my lunch in bags, but guess what? Those are off limits, too.

The class falls silent, and Mr. Davies steps back into the room. "Now where were we? Oh yes, eighteen sixty seven..."

He starts lecturing. I should be bored out of my mind at his monotone voice reciting fact after fact, but I quickly discover that I'm not. It's weird, because I hate history. I suffer through my homework, but I'm always on the verge of falling asleep in class. Now, fast forward three weeks, and I love history. It's is the most fascinating thing that's happened to me since the time I stared at the ceiling all day yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Until today, that has been literally all my parents have let me do in an effort to get me to confess.

You'd think I would have done it by now... confessed, I mean. And I tried. After the first week—after they threw out everything I've ever owned and loved—I was willing to say or do just about anything. I admitted to things I've never done, said whatever Mom wanted to hear, and it still wasn't good enough. She and Dad don't want words, they wants evidence—they wants proof—and that's the one thing I can't give.

When I first refused to 'own up,' Mom searched my room, top to bottom. She looked through every item of clothing I owned before dumping it in black garbage bags. I watched her carry them to the dumpster and listened to her and Dad shout about whether they should take apart the floorboards. Mom even went into the backyard with a shovel.

Then they suddenly packed everything up in boxes—checking every item over and over—and told me we were moving. They wouldn't even say when or where. One day, I woke up and my parents ordered me to get in the car. Three days and two motel rooms shared with my parents later, and here we are... wherever here is. Supposedly, "leaving all the heroin and crystal meth behind." Mom's words, not mine.

Since we got here—and long before that—all I've been allowed to do is lie on the couch: dozing in and out of sleep and staring at the ceiling. Can you blame me for suddenly finding history fascinating? It's the first break I've had from my own thoughts—or Mom and Dad's screaming—in over three weeks. It's such an amazing feeling that time actually flies by. Before I know it, the bell rings, and suddenly, class is over.

"Hold up." Mr. Davies calls out. "Can I get a volunteer to show Holly to her next class?"

I turn beet red and hold my breath, worried he'll mention the whole bathroom escort thing too, but he stays blissfully silent. I feel everyone's eyes turn to me, and then then there's a movement to my left as Luke's hand shoots up. "I'll do it, Mr. Davies."

"Thank you, Luke." The teacher smiles. "Holly, can I see you for a moment?"

I get to my feet and hurry to the front. I know Mom's instructions specifically said I can't talk to boys. I also know they said a lot of other extremely embarrassing things, bathroom escort included... things I definitely don't want Luke to overhear. The clicking of my heels is barely audible with everyone shuffling to their feet as they get up to leave. My ankles almost buckle in my rush, slowing me down, and by the time I get to the teacher's desk, Luke is right there beside me. Which means he just earned a front row seat to whatever embarrassing instructions Mr. Davies is about to relay.

"Holly, here's your textbook." Mr. Davies hands me the thick history book."

"Oh." My lips form the word, though no sound escapes; just the rush of air as I let out a sigh of relief.

❀Questions?❀

❀Comments?❀

✿What did you think of this chapter? 👍/👎?

❁ Holly's parents are starting to sound more and more crazy by the second. Please tell me you think so too?

❁ Luke seems cute though? What about Miles? 

❁ And is Holly right to distrust Principal Sloan?

❁ Just curious: do you still have physical textbooks? 

❀HELP THE AUTHOR❀ I need help choosing shifter animals for Luke and Miles! I've got some ideas, but I want to make sure the animals we choose are a perfect fit. That's where you come in... what animals would you pick for Luke and Miles?!?!

P.S. I need some ideas for the perfect outfit for Luke (I haven't really described most of it yet). Check out my Instagram stories today if you have any suggestions, or want to help vote on the winner!