SOPHIE
The heavy wooden door of the guidance office clicks shut behind me, and the noise of the hallway hits me like a wall of humid air.
Third period just let out. Lockers slam. Sneaker soles squeak across linoleum. On the surface, it’s the ordinary, mindless rhythm of a Monday morning at Oakford High, but the undercurrent has turned toxic. As I walk past the trophy cases toward the library hallway, two girls from my English class stop mid-sentence, their eyes tracking the black agenda folder clutched against my ribs.
"Nice going," someone mutters under his breath as I pass the drinking fountains. I don't turn around to see who said it.
I keep my chin up, staring straight ahead, but my pulse is hammering in my throat. I make it past the gym doors, turn the corner toward the back stair
