Next On The List : Hate Me, Help Me

Sabrina.

The massive wrought-iron gate of Ridgeview High arches loomed overhead. For the students spilling out of slick SUVs and sports cars, this place was a birthright.

For me, it was a lifeline—and a tightrope.

I clutched the straps of my backpack, my knuckles turning white. As a scholarship student, my goal was simple: keep my head down, maintain a flawless GPA, and secure a ticket into a top-tier university.

I was supposed to be the girl nobody noticed. Invisible.

But as I stepped onto the courtyard, the atmosphere was entirely wrong.

Instead of the usual first-day-of-term chatter, a heavy, suffocating tension hung over the crowd. Students were huddled in tight, whispering circles, their faces pale under the morning sun. I caught fragments of their hushed, frantic conversations as I walked past.

"...not at the after-party. She just vanished."

"My dad said the police are treating it as a kidnapping."

"But there’s no ransom note. How does the Homecoming Queen just disappear into thin air?"

Distracted by the eerie whispers, I frantically zipped open the front pocket of my backpack, trying to find my printed enrollment letter.

My fingers fumbled with a loose thread, my gaze glued to the contents of my bag. I took one blind step forward, completely oblivious to my surroundings.

Oof.

It felt like walking directly into a brick wall.

The impact knocked me off balance, my shoulder bag slipping down my arm. My papers fluttered, and I barely managed to catch myself before hitting the concrete.

"Watch it," a voice rumbled.

It was low, raspy, and thoroughly annoyed. I looked up, my apology dying on my tongue.

Standing in front of me was a guy who looked like he had actively rejected the Ridgeview dress code.

He was tall—easily commanding the space around him—with a mess of dirty blond hair that fell carelessly over his forehead.

His jawline was sharp, his posture dripping with a sort of effortless, dangerous confidence. But it was his eyes that caught me off guard. They were a piercing, stormy grey, looking down at me with absolute indifference.

"I—you walked right into me," I stammered, my defensive walls immediately shooting up.

He didn't bother to argue, nor did he offer to help me adjust my slipping bag. He just gave me a brief, dismissive glance, as if I were a minor inconvenience on his radar, and walked right past.

"Arrogant jerk," I muttered under my breath, scowling at his retreating back.

I shook off the irritation and hurried toward the administrative building. The lobby was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the frantic tapping of a keyboard.

A young secretary with a neat ponytail and a massive cup of coffee sat behind the front desk.

"Hi, I’m Sabrina Markson," I said, offering a polite smile as I handed over my transfer documents. "The new scholarship student?"

"Oh, yes! Sabrina. We’ve been expecting you." She smiled warmly, taking the papers and typing quickly into her computer.

Outside the glass doors, another group of students stood huddled together, gesturing wildly. I leaned slightly over the desk, lowering my voice.

"Excuse me, but... is something going on? Everyone outside is talking about a disappearance."

The secretary’s smile instantly vanished. She glanced around the empty lobby before leaning forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It’s Jessica Howard," she murmured, her eyes wide. "She was crowned Homecoming Queen last night. She smiled for the cameras, accepted her crown, and then... she just disappeared before the after-party even started. No body. No ransom. Absolutely nothing. She left no trace behind."

My heart did a strange, cold flutter. "And the police?"

"They're still investigating, but they have no leads. The whole school is in shock." She sighed, handing me a glossy folder and a class schedule. "Here is your homeroom and locker assignment, sweetie. Try to stay focused today, alright?"

"Thank you," I said softly.

Before I could ask anything else, the first bell rang, its shrill ring echoing through the corridors. I gasped, realizing I only had three minutes to find my AP Literature class. Clutching my schedule, I bolted down the hallway.

I practically threw myself through the door of Room 204 just as the second bell chimed. The teacher, a sharp-eyed woman with silver hair, stopped writing on the whiteboard and turned to look at me.

"Ah, you must be our new student," she said, her voice echoing in the sudden silence of the classroom. Thirty pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. "Class, this is Sabrina Markson. Please make her feel welcome. Sabrina, you can take that empty seat near the back, next to the window."

"Thank you," I murmured, keeping my head down as I walked down the rows of desks.

I quickly slid into my seat, pulling out a notebook and a pen, desperate to blend back into the background.

Just as Mrs. Nestle turned back to the board to begin her lecture, the heavy wooden door of the classroom creaked open.

A collective murmur ran through the room.

I looked up, and my jaw tightened. Strolling into the classroom with a slow, deliberate stride was the same dirty-blond-haired guy I’d collided with in the courtyard.

His hands were shoved into his pockets, his leather jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. He didn't look remorseful at all.

"Very nice of you to grace us with your presence, Luke," Mrs. Nestle said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

A few students snickered. The guy—Luke—didn't laugh. He didn't apologize, either. He rolled his eyes, his face an unreadable mask, and continued walking toward the back of the room.

I leaned slightly toward the girl sitting in the desk to my left.

"Who is that?" I whispered.

The girl turned, her eyes widening in warning. "That's Luke Carpenter," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "The school's notorious bad boy. Seriously, Sabrina, avoid him at all costs. He's trouble with a capital T."

Luke Carpenter.

Well, it was already too late for warnings. I had met him for less than ten seconds and I already detested him.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took a seat in the very back row, slumping down and staring out the window, completely tuned out from the rest of the world.

Mrs. Nestle cleared her throat, tapping her marker against the whiteboard to regain our attention. "Now, please open your textbooks to page fourteen—"

BZZZZZZ.

A sudden, incredibly loud, shrill chime echoed through the room.

It wasn't just one phone. It was every phone.

The sound was deafening—a synchronized, high-pitched electronic screech that made several students jump in their seats. Mrs. Nestle stopped mid-sentence, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.

"Phones off, everyone," she commanded, though she looked puzzled. "You know the electronic policy."

But no one was listening to her. The entire classroom was already reaching into their pockets and bags. The sheer volume of the synchronized alert meant something was incredibly wrong.

I frowned, reaching into my backpack. I was positive I had set my phone to silent before entering the building. I pulled it out, the screen already glowing brightly.

My breath caught in my throat.

The screen was locked, but a strange, solid black pop-up box had hijacked the display. There was no brand logo, no app store notification, and no sender name. Just a single, ominous line of white text centered on the screen.

A new app has been installed.<

I tapped the screen, trying to swipe the notification away. It wouldn't budge.

I pressed the power button, trying to force-restart the device, but the screen remained frozen on the black box.

I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The entire classroom was dead silent. Every single student was staring down at their screens with the exact same expression of bewildered horror.

Across the room, even Luke Carpenter had straightened up in his seat, his grey eyes narrowed at his phone, his jaw clenched tight.

No one had downloaded it. No one could delete it.

And as I stared at the dark icon that had suddenly appeared on my home screen, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

Something doesn't feel right...