has passed since the stars saw my brush with death. Since a stranger’s hand snatched me from the abyss.
My nights have been clipped short for as long as I can remember, a habit etched into my bones, a remnant of a past life where the morning hours were filled with the rich, resonant sounds of my violin. Now, the silence of my room hangs heavy through the void where music used to live, a constant reminder of what I lost.
Nightmares often jolt me awake, leaving my skin cold and clammy. In these visions, no savior awaits—only the sharp sting of regret as I fall toward the icy water below. I banish the thought with a fierce shake of my head. Not today.
Silverbrook is supposed to be my chance to build a new life, one I had thought was all mapped out but now has to be rebuilt from scratch.
This school, this scholarship, is all I have left, and despite my worst mistake lurking in these halls, I won’t let it—or him—claim anything more from me. He has already stolen too much.
I stretch out my fingers, feeling the tightness in my knuckles easing with each flex. The pins and needles that some days are more persistent than others.
Giving up on sleep, I decide to quietly head to the kitchen to make breakfast. My two roommates are still sleeping. Poppy is an early riser too though, and even if I’m trying to be careful making myself some eggs, I know she will be out soon enough. As for Vanessa? I have no fear. No amount of noise can wake her when she sleeps.
Seated at the counter, I unfold my schedule. Packed almost to the point of being overextended, it’s a welcome distraction from a past that’s tethered to my heels. I trail my finger over the color-coded classes. I have colored them based on difficulty, credit, and potential impact on the major I will pick later.
Poppy’s door creaks open midway through my meal. She emerges, her hair a wild tangle of brown curls. “Morning, early bird,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.
“Morning,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light despite the serious subject that is clouding my thoughts.
She wraps her hands around her coffee cup, her stomach growling loud enough to echo off the kitchen walls. The sound is an unexpected interruption to our quiet morning. She blushes, and I once again realize that being as thin as she is, is probably not by choice.
I open the oven and take out a plate, the contents of bacon and eggs still warm. “It’s one of those days when I wake up early and can’t go back to sleep, so I made breakfast for all of us.” The smell of the food fills the kitchen, and I place the plate in front of Poppy. “Here you go.”
Her eyes linger on the plate, a hungry gleam flashing briefly before she shakes her head. “Oh no, I didn’t pay for my share of the food this week. I didn’t put any money in the food jar.”
Shaking my head, I offer a warm smile. “And? We’re a team, Poppy, all three of us.”
There’s a genuine sense of camaraderie in the simple act of sharing a meal. It’s moments like these that make me grateful for the friends who have become like family in my new life at Silverbrook.
She sits beside me and leans in to look at my schedule, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of classes.” She takes a mouthful of eggs, and I can’t help but smile, feeling some of the remaining darkness vanishing at the view.
“I was thinking the same. I mean, I did it to try to graduate early.” And to avoid drowning in self-pity. A grimace crosses my face at the realization. “It’s going to be tough, no doubt about that.”
She shrugs. “Nothing is stopping you from dropping a class or two if it becomes too hard. At least you tried.”
Her words lighten my mood further. Not every decision carries the weight of life and death, as I once faced on that bridge. “I guess I tend to go all in,” I concede with a sigh.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?” she asks, finishing her coffee.
I tap the schedule. “Planning to scout out all my class locations. Don’t want any added stress on the first day.”
“That’s smart. Mind if I tag along?” she offers, and I can’t help but feel grateful for her company.
“Of course not. It’ll be nice to have company,” I say, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of excitement for the day ahead.
We are already dressed, ready to go, when Nessa comes out of her bedroom in nothing more than a T-shirt and underwear, her face full of sleep. I shiver, looking at her long, toned, bare legs, cold on her behalf.
She removes her headphones and frowns. “You girls know we don’t start classes before next week, right?”
Poppy chuckles and nods.
“So why are you ready to go at the crack of dawn?”
I scoff, looking at my watch. “It’s ten a.m.”
“Yes…” she says slowly, like we are missing something. “Crack of dawn.”
I shake my head. “We’re going to scout out the grounds. Do you want to come with us?”
“Scout the grounds?” She snorts. “Definitely not, but I’ll wait for you at the café on campus with a caramel latte and a croissant.”
“You have twenty minutes.” She nods, and she’s out and ready within the time, looking as fabulous as always in her black-and-purple dress. Her purple-streaked hair blends with the bold drama of her red lips and smoky eyes. Nessa is the embodiment of goth chic, and as much as I disappear in my middle-aged librarian outfits of long, flowy skirts and cardigans, she shines with her unique style and beauty. Our friendship, as unlikely as it seems, was sparked by our shared status as the first recipients of the Phoenix Rising Scholarship. This program, dedicated to giving people a second chance at college, brought us together. It’s an odd pairing, but I have this feeling that these girls and I? We’re in it for the long haul.
We walk to the coffee shop, Nessa’s platform boots clicking authoritatively on the pavement.
“Try not to get lost, overanxious grandmas,” Nessa calls over her shoulder, the smirk clear in her voice.
Poppy retorts with a grin, “Just don’t scare all the baristas away, Wednesday Addams.”
Nessa’s laughter floats back to us as she saunters off, the bell above the coffee shop door jingling in her wake. Poppy and I exchange an amused glance before we set off toward campus.
The heart of campus is busier than I expect, and people rush around us, but it should not be a surprise since the upper classes have already started.
We decide to start with Albert Hall, where most of my classes will take place. We are halfway through the main hall when Poppy’s stride slows, her gaze fixed on something ahead. Following her line of sight, I see a group of jocks, their laughter echoing across the hall. One of them turns, his eyes catching Poppy’s, and the recognition there is unmistakable.
As the jock approaches, a familiar tension wraps around Poppy, the kind that speaks of shared heartbreak and past battles fought alone. When he greets her with “Pauper,” it’s tinged with a familiarity that doesn’t belong here, not in the halls of Silverbrook.
I’m watching Poppy, ready to jump to her defense, but she needs no champion. Her stance is firm, unyielding—she’s no damsel but a warrior in her own right. It’s amid this silent standoff that Poppy murmurs a single word under her breath, “Ethan.”
The name hangs between us, a new piece of her puzzle. The air suddenly chills; I feel it before I see it—a presence that looms large and threatening, turning the ground beneath my feet to ice.
Another jock appears, wrapping his arm around Ethan’s neck, and my own past slaps me right in the face in the form of Cole Westbrook. My personal nightmare, cloaked in blond hair, chiseled muscles, and that ever-teasing smile. No one knows the darkness lurking behind those bright-blue eyes. I didn’t, not until it cost me my dream. My stomach tightens, a cold knot of anxiety that refuses to unravel. On a campus with over fifteen thousand students, I had to run into him in the first week.
Surprise flickers across his features, his smugness slipping. “Juilliard,” he breathes out, and my scar sears with a remembered betrayal, echoing one of the many nicknames he once whispered like a caress.
I keep my face blank despite the nausea I feel seeing him again. Your spirit is unbreakable; let your actions reflect that. Max’s voice fills my head, and I repeat this sentence over and over again.
I need out; I am not ready to face him. How much time will you need? The mocking voice in my head whispers Forever might never be enough.
“Come on, let’s go back,” I urge Poppy, pulling at her arm.
Cole steps in my way, his gaze cutting through me. “Julliard,” he growls, frustration in his voice that he has no right to possess. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. “Is that supposed to mean something?” I ask, my voice a steady challenge though my grip on Poppy tightens—a silent plea for support. “Some kind of hazing code?” The clenching of my hand betrays my anxiety, a tell I despise, especially under his scrutiny.
I break eye contact; it feels like he can see right through my soul, allowing him to marvel at all the hurt and destruction he caused.
Just as I’m about to ask him to leave, my voice threatening to betray my composure, Poppy jumps in. “It’s probably some jock slang we can’t understand. Whatever the interest is, we’re passing. Please go look for other… fresh meat.”
Gratefully, I nod, my appreciation unspoken but profound. As we walk away, I can feel his eyes on my back, but I focus on the door. Silverbrook will be my rebirth, not my downfall. Cole Westbrook may be part of this world, but he won’t define my experience here. Not again. Not today. Not ever.
