Hornbeacon High

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The building is white,

ivy eating its way up the broken walls,

windows small

and scratched.

Most students are

pulling at one another and squealing,

basking in their easy, friendly reunions.

But I

study those

who are alone,

at the edge of this noise,

the kids holding their school bags close,

keeping their eyes down,

so I can

impersonate their

invisibility.

One (Sarah Crossan)Where stories live. Discover now