Chapter 10 Molecules and Memories

Biology is a different beast. The front row is packed with eager faces, so Melissa aims for the back. She slips into a seat in the third column, next to a boy who looks like he's trying to merge with his smartphone.

"Hi," she whispers, trying to be polite.

He gives a sharp, single nod of acknowledgement without looking up, his thumbs never stopping their frantic movement over the screen. Fair enough. Melissa pulls out her novel, letting the familiar words shield her until the teacher arrives.

Mr Peter walks in, commanding instant silence. "Is Ms Montenegro in class?"

"Y-yes, Sir," Melissa says, her voice barely audible.

"Good. I'm sure you're tired of introducing yourself, so I'll save us both the trouble. Class, we have a new transfer from Texas. Please assist her with whatever she needs."

He turns to grab his papers, but the door swings open with a heavy thud.

It's Chase—one of the three boys from the centre table. The one Maya calls a puppet. He mutters something to Mr Peter, who nods and gestures toward the back. Out of the corner of her eye, Melissa watches him saunter past her, the smell of expensive cologne trailing in his wake, before he drops into the very last seat in the corner.

"Ms Montenegro," Mr Peter continues, "we have a project coming up. I'll need to find you a partner soon. For the rest of you, open your books. We have molecules to cover."

The hum of the projector is a mercy. In the dim light of the Biology room, the molecules dancing on the screen look like constellations.

Melissa focuses on them, trying to tune out the acidic whispers.

Halfway through the lecture, the whispers start—a low-frequency hum of static.

"What's she wearing?" Victoria asks, as if she hadn't seen her earlier.

"She has zero fashion sense," Brittany answers.

"Probably got kicked out of her old school. Who moves from Texas to Ohio?"

We're graduating in six months. How will she pull it off?"

Melissa keeps her eyes on the glowing molecules, her jaw tight. The fact that Georgia isn't in this classroom doesn't mean it's peaceful. A couple of her minions are here doing her dirty work.

They can think whatever they want. As long as they don't say it to her face, she doesn't have to defend herself.

I wish Maya were here to drown out the noise.

The rest of the period is a blur of ATP and cellular respiration. Melissa's hand aches from taking notes she doesn't actually need—she learned this curriculum a year ago at her old academy—but the busywork keeps her from looking around. When the final bell finally screams through the hallways, the relief is almost physical.

"Don't forget," Mr Peter calls out over the sound of zipping backpacks. "Partners for the ecosystem project will be assigned on Monday. Be prepared to work!"

Melissa practically bolts. She moves through the sea of bodies, her head down, her eyes fixed on the scuffed linoleum floors. She reaches her locker in record time, shoves her Biology book inside, and looks one more time at her schedule.

She stands by her locker as the hallway empties, students rushing toward the exits or sports practices. Whatever you're bringing with you... This place doesn't know it. You get to decide who you want to be now. Mr Bennett's words echo in her head.

If she walks into Gym B, she is opening a door she swore to keep locked. She thinks about her sister's face—the way it looked when the rumours started. She thinks about her mom, trying so hard to give her a "normal" life again.

Meanwhile, Jeremy adjusts the strap of his gym bag, the weight of it familiar against his shoulder as his boots thud softly on the linoleum. He's halfway down the hall toward the athletic wing when he slows, then stops entirely. Chase and Scott keep walking, still arguing about a blown play from the last game, their voices bouncing off the lockers. It takes them a second to notice Jeremy isn't beside them anymore.

He's staring.

Near a row of lockers at the far end of the hallway, Melissa stands alone. She isn't heading anywhere. She's pacing—three steps one way, a sharp turn, three steps back. Her hands clutch the straps of her bag like it's the only thing keeping her grounded, her knuckles pale with tension.

She pulls out a folded piece of paper, smooths it with shaking fingers, and scans it. Her gaze lifts—not randomly, but deliberately—toward the corridor ahead. Jeremy tracks the line of her sight, noting the way her focus keeps drifting back there, like something unseen is pulling at her.

Then she looks down again. Breathe in. Breathe out. Too fast.

"Yo, J?" Chase calls, doubling back. "You freeze or something?"

Scott follows his gaze and snorts. "Why's the new girl walking in circles like that?"

"I don't know," Chase says, watching Melissa with open curiosity. "She looks like she's psyching herself up… or about to melt down the floor."

They don't lower their voices. They don't think about whether she can hear them. They don't notice what Jeremy notices—the way her jaw tightens every time she glances up, the split second of fear she doesn't quite manage to hide.

Melissa's chin trembles. Just once. Then she exhales sharply, folds the paper, and stuffs it back into her bag like it's something dangerous. Her shoulders square, her expression flattening into something cool and unreadable. She makes a decision.

Without looking at anyone, Melissa pivots on her heel. She ducks her head, tugging her beanie lower until it shadows her glasses, and slips into the flow of students heading toward the exit doors.

"Guess she decided school's too much," Chase jokes, clapping Jeremy on the shoulder. "Come on. Coach is already in a mood."

Jeremy watches the corner where Melissa vanished for a second too long before Scott's voice breaks his trance.

"Earth to Black," Scott calls out, spinning the football on his finger. "Hoops or what? Coach is going to have our heads if we're late for the scrimmage."

Jeremy shakes himself off, the sombre look vanishing behind his usual mask of indifference. He grips his bag tighter. "Let's go. I need to hit something."

Something about it sits wrong in his chest. She didn't look lost. She didn't look lazy. And she definitely didn't look like someone who gives up easily. "She's not quitting," Jeremy mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Chase doesn't hear him; Scott doesn't ask.

Outside, the cool air hits Melissa like a slap. She keeps walking, past the curb, past the nearest cars, until she reaches the far edge of the parking lot. Her heart pounds hard enough to hurt, each beat a reminder of what she just did.

Leaving is easy. Disappearing is easy. But dancing… dancing is another story.

She watches the yellow buses pull away, their engines groaning as they turn onto the street, and guilt coils heavy in her stomach. Then she feels it—the cold vibration of her phone. A message from an unknown number:

I heard you left California. Where are you, Melissa?