I told my mom I was going to a classmate's "get-together."
I chose the word specifically. It sounded manageable, the kind of low-stakes evening involving board games, store-bought cookies, and a ten-o'clock curfew. If I'd used the word party, she would have dropped her grading to cross-examine me, and I would have lost the will to live before the first interrogation was over.
"That's wonderful, honey," she said, looking up from a stack of mid-term papers. There was a genuine, painful sheen of relief in her eyes. "I was so worried about you finding your footing."
"I'm finding it, Mom."
"Who's hosting?"
"A girl named Bianca. She's been at Crestwood forever. She knows everyone."
Mom nodded, satisfied, and sank back into her red-inked world. I headed upstairs, a cold knot of guilt tightening in my chest.
Tessa had barely spoken to me all Thursday.
It wasn't a cold shoulder; it was a quiet, heavy disappointment, as if she'd already mourned the girl she thought I was. It felt infinitely worse than if she'd just been angry.
Friday night, I sat on the edge of my bed, the "Question Mark" contact staring back at me from the screen.
I typed: Still not going to tell me who you are?
The reply hit my inbox in under a minute.
"Not yet."
" Why not?, you're freaking me out."
"Because if I tell you, you'll start making assumptions. I need you to go into Saturday with a clear head."
I read that three times, trying to find the pulse behind the words.
"So you know I'm going," I sent.
"Lol, everyone knows you're going. Bianca's been broadcasting it since Wednesday."
My stomach did a slow, unpleasant flip. "What exactly does she think is going to happen at this party?"
The three dots danced for a long, agonizing pause.
"She's going to try to embarrass you," the message finally read. "Publicly. It's her signature move with the new girls; find the one thing they're sensitive about and expose it in a room where there's nowhere to hide."
I stared at the glowing screen, the shadows of my room feeling a little longer.
"And what does she think I'm sensitive about?"
"The scholarship. The fact that you don't 'belong' there the same way they do. She's going to frame you as a charity case in front of everyone Zane has ever looked twice at."
Seeing Zane's name in a text from a stranger made my heart skip a beat I didn't want to analyze.
" Why does everything keep coming back to Zane?" I typed.
The pause was even longer this time.
"Because he looked at you on your first day. Because he moved seats to sit next to you in History. Those things don't happen, Mila. Not with him. People noticed, and Bianca definitely noticed. She's been running Crestwood for two years without a single person challenging her gravity. She doesn't know what to do with someone who isn't afraid of her yet."
I dropped the phone onto the duvet and stared at the ceiling.
I played back the warnings like a movie.
Tessa's history. Remi's "sanctioned exit" in athletics. Zane's warning in the hallway. Ace's voice — if you go, I'll be there.
I picked the phone back up. " Are you going to be there Saturday?"
"Yes."
" Will you tell me who you are when I see you?"
"Maybe. Depends on how the night goes."
I set the phone on my nightstand and lay back in the dark. I thought about Bianca's perfect, static smile. I thought about the weight of Zane's gaze in that corridor, and the handwritten number from Ace still tucked into my pocket.
I'd been at Crestwood Academy for exactly four days, and I was already standing in the center of a storm I couldn't see the edges of.
I should have been terrified.
And I was, a little.
But underneath the nerves, there was something else. A sharp, stubborn streak that had helped me survive Southvale and earn that scholarship in the first place.
Something that sat up straight when it was poked.
Bianca Harlow wanted to make an example out of me in front of the whole school.
She had absolutely no idea who she was dealing with.