“Sure,” I say.

Jen leads me to my first class, history with Mr. Shelf.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ve got it from here.”

And thankfully that’s enough for her to leave me and go to her own class.

I stand there and stare at the room number and take deep breaths. I don’t go inside.

I close my eyes and see Luis. I feel his breath on my ear as he says, “Everything is going to be okay.” And I repeat that to myself.

I don’t care what anyone thinks.

Everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Seven

I open the door, and a dozen heads turn toward me, curious. I stop and stare like a deer in headlights. They look at me, and I look back at them.

“Can I help you?” a young teacher in a button-up shirt and paisley tie asks. This must be Mr. Shelf.

“Yes, um, I’m new.”

“Oh!” He grabs a few things off his desk and hands them to me. “Here, take these. This is your syllabus and your book… What’s your name?” He’s talking very fast, and I’m not sure I know what he’s even talking about. What’s a syllabus?

“Anna Rodriguez.”

I sit down at the first empty seat, next to a redheaded girl with braces.

The young teacher begins talking about some group project. He tells me I can skip it and write an essay instead. He makes it sound so simple.

Group projects. Essays. Syllabuses.

Yeah, I am definitely in over my head.

But as much as an essay sounds like a trip to the dentist, I’d rather work alone than with these kids whose wide-eyed looks are starting to make me wonder if I have antennas poking out from under my curls. It’s like I’m some kind of alien. Guess I kind of am.

The redheaded girl keeps glancing over at me. Easy enough to ignore. I’m just the new girl.

But then I hear someone whisper something to her that could be meaningless or could mean everything.

A boy leans over to the redhead and whispers, “She’s that girl.”

I raise my eyebrows.

That girl from L.A.? The punished heiress? The foreign exchange student?

“What girl?” the redhead says.

“The one that disappeared. For years.”

My stomach twists. I’m pretty sure I might throw up. How in fuck’s name would he know that?

My hands start to shake; my head pounds. Thanks, Mom, this was an awesome idea. I close my eyes and listen for any more whispers. Is this all they know? Is even this just a rumor? I need to know how much they’ve figured out.

“Mr. Thomas,” Mr. Shelf says, louder than before. “Care to explain what the fuss is all about?”

The whole class turns to the now red-faced skinny boy behind us. “Anna Rodriguez is the girl they’ve been looking for since sixth grade. I remember seeing the posters.”

“Do I look like that girl?” I ask. Blood is pounding in my ears now, but I know I don’t look anything like that old Anna, and that might be my only way out of this now. “We could just have the same name,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel.

“Come now,” Mr. Shelf says. “You’ll have a chance to get to know our new student after class is over.” The class quiets, and he leans down next to me. “Are you okay?”

I nod. The last thing I want to do is run out of the classroom. Then they’ll know something is wrong.

Mr. Shelf resumes teaching, and I do my best to look normal, but I still see eyes darting toward me. I try to ignore them, but it’s hard.

I cross my arms, feel my armor rising. They’re just rumors right now.

They don’t know the real truth. With a little luck, they never will.

I jump when the bell finally rings, much louder than I remember it being.

While everyone else leaves class—the only thing more interesting than the new girl is the chance to escape the room, I guess—I sit there and watch them exit. Desperate for a second alone.

“Do you need anything, Anna?” the teacher asks me. “Are you okay?”

Scratch that. There’s really no chance to be alone, not here.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says. “They’re just interested in the new girl. It happens every time.”

I don’t answer, just grab my things and head out into the packed hallway.

Strangely enough, things seem to slow down once I’m out there. It almost feels like I’m back in the city, surrounded by strangers. Almost invisible. No one says my name, no one calls me a hooker, and no one points in my face.

But when I start forward to my next class, the boy and the redhead point at me, and the people they’re with, three other kids leaning against the lockers, they turn toward me all at the same time.

I want to wrap myself up in a sweater or something. Anything to keep myself away from their curious stares.

“Seriously?” the redhead says. “That’s that girl from middle school?”

“I heard she had like three kids.”

The redhead gasps. “What is she? Some kind of slut?”

So much for being someone new. I’ll always be dirty Anna.

I duck my head and press my way through the crowd, and then I realize that I have no clue where I’m going. I just continue to walk. I keep my eyes mostly to the floor but glance up every once in a while to see if I can find something or someone to save me.

“I heard she was in rehab!”

They think it’s funny to say those things about me. But all they have are rumors. If they knew the truth, the full truth, would they still be laughing? If they knew what I had to do to survive, would they hate me or pity me?

“I heard they found her shacked up with some rich sugar daddy…”

“No way!”

“Where’s she been for three years, then?”

I shove myself past some big girl who’s probably not used to being pushed around, but I don’t care. She makes an indignant grunting noise, but I’m not scared of her, just like I’m not scared of anyone else here. Not the students. Not the teachers.

As horrible as this feels—the eyes, the name-calling, the thoughts in my head that tell me I don’t have a future—none of it can be as bad as what I’ve already been through. I have the scars to prove it.

“Gross, I can smell the skank from here.”

No one knows. No one will ever know what I’ve been through. No one but Luis.

Unfortunately, thinking about those bad things only opens the floodgates to memories I’d rather forget.

My breathing is quick and heavy, my heart pounding. I try to convince myself I’m okay, but the bodies pressing in on me are impossible to ignore.

A massive hand crashes into my chest. My back slams against a wall behind me. It’s dark and I can barely see my attacker. But I can feel his hot breath on my face.

I shake my head. It’s just a memory. The past. I’m not there now.

I close my eyes and hear Luis’s voice telling me how strong I am. How amazing I was to live through everything and still come out fighting.

I was on the streets, ready to give up, crumple into a ball, and disappear. Anything to make it stop. Then he found me. Lifted me up—

A soft hand wraps around my wrist.

For a moment, I’m in shock, stuck between the memory and the present.

But the touch is gentle. Almost the way Sarah grabbed me the other day. Whoever it is doesn’t want to force me somewhere. Whoever it is wants to help.

I look up to see hazel eyes surrounded by glasses and freckles. I barely know him, but right now he’s the most welcome face I’ve ever seen.

Jackson.

I follow him down the hall and through a set of double doors.

It’s dark here, and my heart pounds for a second, unsure of where we might be, but then I see rows of seats, and down below, a stage with curtains. We’re on the balcony of a theater.

The wooden doors close behind us and cut off the sounds of laughter.

Now I can breathe again.