BROOKLYN squinted as the sun streamed through the cafeteria windows, casting a warm glow on the trays of uneaten food. The hum of chatter and clinking silverware filled the air, a familiar pattern of midday banality.
The door to the cafeteria swung open, and the light grew brighter as Jenna, her once vibrant eyes now shrouded by opaque lenses, stepped in. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of the girls' collective curiosity. Jenna paused, her white cane tapping against the floor with a rhythm that seemed almost deliberate, as if she were listening to the space around her.
Brooklyn set her apple aside and stood up, her chair scraping against the tiles. "Jenna, hey, it's me, Brooklyn," she called out, her voice a gentle wave in the sea of noise. "Why don't you sit with us?" She gestured to the empty chair beside her.
Jenna's head turned in the direction of the sound, a tentative smile flickering across her lips. "Brooklyn?" she murmured, recognition clear in her voice. She made her way over, her steps measured and careful.
"This is right next to you is Hanna," Brooklyn said, placing a gentle hand on Jenna's arm and guiding her to the chair. "And across from you is Spencer and Aria." She laid Jenna's backpack and lunch tray on the table with a soft clatter.
Jenna sat down with a sigh, the echo of her cane settling beside her. "Thanks, guys," she said, her smile growing more genuine.
A sudden flash of memory painted itself across Brooklyn's mind. She and her friends, had been in her bedroom, their laughter bouncing off the walls as they tried on new outfits from their latest shopping spree. The scent of fresh fabric and the rustle of clothing tags filled the air. The light was soft, filtered through the curtains, and the sound of their giggles was as warm as the afternoon sun outside.
Alison, the ringleader as always, had dashed to the window, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, that creep was watching us!" she had exclaimed, pointing at a shadowy figure retreating from the bushes. The room had gone still, the air suddenly thick with a mix of fear and confusion. The girls had rushed to her side, peering out into the yard.
"What do you mean, Ali?" Hanna had asked, her voice barely a whisper. She had felt a chill run down her spine, her eyes searching the greenery for any sign of life.
"That creep, Cavanaugh," Alison had repeated, her finger pointing accusatorily at the tall tree in the corner of the yard. "He was right there, watching us."
A mischievous smile crossed Ali's lips, and the room grew colder as the weight of her words settled. It was the kind of smile that sent shivers down spines, a prelude to one of her infamous schemes.The girls exchanged glances, each knowing all too well that when Alison had an idea, it was usually a recipe for trouble.
