Night of Terror

3

Sarah was late for her first day of school. It wasn't her fault, really. Pricilla insisted Sarah drop Grace off at the middle school since Roberto needed to arrive at his new office early to get acquainted with everything and Pricilla – well the reason Pricilla couldn't take Grace herself was unclear to Sarah. It probably had something to do with watching reruns of Dr. Phil on OWN with a tub of Chunky Monkey ice cream.

Nonetheless, Sarah now stood in Autumndale High's Principal's office in front of an older gentleman who's stern face indicated he didn't care what Sarah's excuse was; late was late.

After a fifteen-minute lecture about the school's expectations of their students and the dress code violations Sarah was currently wearing, and three frustrated sighs later Sarah was booted from the office with a neon pink detention slip in one hand and her class schedule wrapped around the handle of her guitar in the other.

Sarah tries to slip into her first period class unnoticed, but the weather-warped door opens with a loud creaking and she finds herself shrinking under the weight of thirty-two sets of eyes on her.

"May I help you?" the teacher asks as she looks over the top of her glasses at Sarah.

"I'm new, it's my first day," Sarah raises her chin defiantly.

"And you are?" the teacher prompts.

"Sarah Wildwood," Sarah replies softly as she grasps her guitar handle tighter. Her palms have begun to sweat under the class's continued scrutiny.

"Welcome to Honors Composition and Theory, Sarah," the teacher's stern gaze softens a fraction. "I'm Mrs. Wilcome. Why don't you tell the class a little about yourself?"

Sarah groans internally, or at least she thinks she does until she hears snickers coming from the front row. Clearing her throat Sarah says, "I just moved here from Boston and um, I'm really into music."

"That explains the freaky accent," a black-haired girl with an angry slash for a mouth tells the Native American girl sitting next to her.

"She probably can't even play that guitar," the Native American girl sneers at Sarah.

Mrs. Wilcome clears her throat and the girls fall silent. "Well, welcome to Autumndale, Sarah. I hope you like it here. You can take a seat in the back next to Tavish and Kerabeth."

Sarah's eyes follow Mrs. Wilcome's finger to the back left corner of the room where an emo guy and an artsy punk girl sit with their heads bent together, the only two people in the room whose attention is not still fixed on Sarah.

She bangs her way down the aisle to her desk earning complaints and annoyed sighs from her classmates as Mrs. Wilcome resumes class. Sarah sighs in relief as she sags into her seat and she feels like she's just fought a war. If the rest of her classes and classmates are this stressful she might just beg Pricilla to allow her to be homeschooled for the rest of Senior Year. It was hard enough trying to get in all of the accelerated music classes Sarah needed for her college prerequisites. Her old school in Boston had an advanced music program which she excelled in and Sarah just hoped the classes here in Hicksville would measure up.

Her guitar drops to the linoleum floor with a thud causing her neighbors, the students Mrs. Wilcome called Tavish and Kerabeth, to jump in their seats. Grabbing a composition notebook out of her bag Sarah begins doodling on the piece of music she started working on in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. Sometimes Sarah sees music playing in her mind like a video and it drowns out everything else around her, so it takes her a minute to hear someone whispering next to her.