Chapter 7: Megan Harris

Clara's POV

He was around fifty, with wire-framed glasses. He looked up when I came in and smiled.

"Clara Bennett." He said it like he was confirming something. "Sit down. I got your transfer materials a couple days ago."

I sat. He opened a folder.

"GPA 3.9," he said. "Honors Music Theory and Composition—A. AP English Literature—A." He set the page down and looked at me over his glasses.

"Clara, I want to be straight with you. That's not a profile we see very often here."

"Thank you," I couldn't stop the small bit of happiness that slipped into my voice.

"Have you thought about where you want to apply? College, conservatory?"

"Prin Conservatory." I said it without hesitation. "For music composition."

He nodded, slowly. "That's a serious program."

"I know." I folded my hands in my lap.

It's okay. I can do this.

I submitted my piece on the way here. The original was destroyed, but it’s fine. I remembered every note.

I just had to keep improving. Keep moving forward.

Maybe, one day, it would be enough to get me out of here.

He looked at me for a moment and then nodded. "Alright." He reached into his desk drawer. "Let's get you set up."

He slid a schedule printout and a laminated ID across the desk. I picked up the schedule and read it.

Spanish III. AP English Literature. US History. Algebra II. Physics. PE.

And then, at the bottom: Honors Music Theory and Composition.

Something in my chest loosened, just slightly.

"Don't worry about fitting in," Mr. Lawrence said. He'd picked up the radio on his desk. "It takes a few weeks. But our teachers are good."

He clicked the radio on. "Megan, can you come to the counselor's office? Your new classmate has arrived."

He set the radio down and looked at me. "Megan Harris. She is one of our student ambassadors. She'll show you around."

I nodded. I was still looking at the schedule.

The knock came less than two minutes later—quick, cheerful.

The girl who pushed the door open walked in with a bright smile and a student ambassador pin on her collar.

"Hi," she said. "You're Clara?"

"Yeah," I said. "Hi."

"I'm Megan." She said it like we were already friends. "Come on, I'll show you everything."

I stood up and glanced at Mr. Lawrence.

"My door's open," he said. "Anytime."

Megan walked me through the administrative hallway and into the main building and kept up a running narration that covered the cafeteria (fried chicken: yes; Wednesday pasta: absolutely not).

The gym (the floor squeaked but only on the left side, and yes, everyone knew about it, and no, nobody had fixed it).

The library (fine, but the printers jammed every time), and the junior hallway where our lockers were.

I followed her and listened and tried to absorb the layout of a building I was going to be living in for the next two years.

The walls had student artwork between the classroom doors—some of it recent, some of it old enough that the paper had curled at the corners.

A bulletin board near the water fountain advertised basketball game in blue and white.

A trophy case by the main entrance held a row of trophies, and I noticed, almost without meaning to, that the most recent one was dated three years ago.

Megan Harris talked the way water moves downhill—constantly, easily, finding every available space.

I could only stand there and let her words wash over me.

No. No, Clara. Say something. You can't just stand here.

"I—"

"Ah, sorry. I've been talking this whole time. Are you okay?"

I swallowed the words that almost came out.

"Of course. Thank you. Your introduction was really helpful."

She gave me a quick wink.

We walked down the hallway.

"So you're from Pittsburgh?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Wow. That must be so cool."

I looked at her.

"What?"

"I mean..." She gestured vaguely. "Big city. More restaurants. More things to do. Probably way more interesting than here."

I hesitated.

"Actually, not really."

The words came out before I could stop them.

Megan blinked.

"Oh."

For a second, neither of us said anything.

I immediately regretted it. She was trying to be nice. I had just made the conversation awkward.

Then Megan let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Okay. That was a terrible question."

I glanced at her awkwardly.

She looked back at me, her eyes carrying a quiet kind of ease, like the awkward moment hadn't mattered at all.

For a second, I thought I had lost her.

I quickly added, "Actually, the traffic in big cities is terrible."

She froze.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Exactly!"

I let out a small breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Megan stopped in front of a classroom door marked MS. CARTER / SPANISH I–III.

"This is third period," she said. "Ms. Carter. She's actually really good—she makes you do real conversation practice, not just fill-in-the-blank stuff."

She paused. "She's also kind of serious about punctuality. Like, she won't yell at you, but she gives you this look, and somehow that's worse."

"I have Spanish III," I said. "Third period."

Megan turned to look at me. "Wait. Right now? This period?"

I checked my schedule. "Yeah."

Her face did something that was almost comically delighted. "That is my class," she said. "Okay, you're literally coming with me right now, this is perfect."

"I get to be the one who shows the transfer student around for her first class! They're all going to be jealous."

My heart jumped.

They?

Megan pushed through it with one shoulder, and for half a second I caught a slice of the room through the gap—Spanish posters on the walls.

Some students sat with their arms folded, others lounged against the desks behind them. But almost everyone’s attention was on the door.

My eyes moved without thinking, the way they always did when I walked into a new space. Scanning. Looking for exits and empty corners and faces that were watching too closely.

That was when I saw him.

The boy who had helped me at Grandma's door.

Today, he was wearing a dark blue hoodie.

He was sitting in the back row, his body slightly slouched into the chair, his head turned toward the window.

I noticed his face almost at the same time as I noticed the rest of the room.

Then he slowly turned his head, and those pale blue eyes rested on me for a brief moment before drifting back to the window.

He went to this school? I thought—

I didn't have time to feel anything about it.

"Hey, guys!" Megan threw her arms wide. "This is Clara—the new transfer student I told you about!"