The main office smells like old paper, burnt coffee, and lemon cleaner. A woman behind the counter looks up when Grace and I walk in, her smile warm but tired in a way that says she’s been here too long.
“Good morning,” she says. “You must be Raven Connor.” I still flinch at the last name. It never feels like mine, not really. Grace squeezes my shoulder. “She’s here to get her schedule.”
The office aide hands me a stack of papers, schedule, map, rules, and a bright orange slip that screams NEW STUDENT like a warning label. “Principal Harris will see you in a moment.” I nod, clutching everything too tightly.
A few minutes later, the principal steps out of his office. He’s tall and balding, with kind eyes and a sweater vest that practically guarantees dad jokes. “Raven,” he says warmly. “
