The First Glance
1218 Words
Ridgewood was not a town built on truth.
It was stitched together with secrets, half-buried names, and smiles that lied better than mirrors.
At first glance, Ridgewood looked like something out of a storybook—autumn leaves pressed into postcard-perfect streets, neighbors who watered their roses at the same time every morning. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that made Emily Parker’s skin prickle with distrust.
She had learned the hard way that perfection was just another kind of lie.
Silent in the passenger seat of her aunt Dana’s car, Emily gripped her backpack straps until her knuckles turned bone-white. Outside the window, Ridgewood blurred past like a half-remembered dream.
She hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes.
Dana glanced at her, nerves hidden behind a smile that was too bright, too forced.
“Ridgewood High’s just five minutes away,” she said. “Smaller than Charleston High. Quieter.”
That word again.
Quieter.
It had followed her ever since her father’s death two months ago. Since the police closed the case as a freak accident, since people tucked away their sympathy like an old coat they no longer needed. But Emily knew the truth—freak accidents didn’t leave behind hidden cameras. They didn’t leave drawers locked tight with coded letters inside.
She hadn’t told Dana. Some truths were too heavy to say out loud.
Ridgewood High loomed ahead, red-bricked and sharp-angled, banners fluttering with the words Ridgewood Rises like they meant something.
Emily didn’t feel like rising.
She felt like disappearing.
Dana reached over and squeezed her arm. “New school. New start. You’ve got this, Em.”
Emily nodded. Forced a smile. Then she stepped out of the car into a wind that stung her eyes and tugged at her hoodie. She pulled it tighter and walked toward the building, ignoring the stares.
But they were there.
Not obvious. Not cruel. Just… watching.
A group of varsity girls paused mid-laughing. A boy leaning against his bike shifted his gaze. Even a teacher’s smile held a second too long, like they knew something she didn’t.
She hadn’t even made it to homeroom, and already she felt like a rumor given legs.
Inside, the hallway smelled like lemon cleaner and something sharper, something sterile and watchful. Sneakers squeaked. Lockers slammed. Voices tangled in low, murmuring waves. And yet, somehow, it still felt too quiet.
At the admin office, the secretary slid her schedule across the counter with a plastic smile.
“Locker 318. Upstairs. Next to Brooke Carter.”
Emily blinked. “Brooke?”
The woman didn’t look up. “Senior. Cheer team. Student council. Yearbook. You’ll meet her.”
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Welcome to Ridgewood, Emily.
Let’s not pretend you’re innocent here.
She froze on the stairwell, her thumb hovering over the screen.
Someone knew her name. Knew she was here. And worse—they thought she was guilty of something.
The hallway was empty. No footsteps. No cameras.
Her locker was already open.
Not just unlocked—open.
Inside sat a single black envelope. No name. No markings.
Her hands shook as she pulled it out.
One word, in red ink. All caps:
LIAR
Her stomach dropped.
The bell rang, sharp and metallic. She shoved the note into her pocket.
“You must be Emily Parker.”
A girl stood nearby, burgundy jacket stark against pale skin, blonde hair pulled into a flawless ponytail. Her smile was bright, but her eyes were too focused—like a flashlight aimed just slightly off-center.
“I’m Brooke. Locker neighbor. Tour guide. Social gatekeeper.”
Emily nodded, throat tight. “Hi.”
“You’re from Charleston, right?” Brooke’s voice was smooth. Too smooth. “I read about your dad.”
Emily flinched. Just slightly.
“Tough break.” Brooke tilted her head. “But hey—fresh start, right?”
“Just trying to keep my head down,” Emily muttered.
Brooke’s smile twitched. “Good plan. But this school eats quiet girls alive.”
Then she turned and walked away, leaving the words hanging like a threat.
English class passed in a blur.
Emily slipped in late and took a seat near the back. She kept her head down.
Then, a whisper cut through the air beside her:
“Nice of you to show up, liar.”
She whipped around.
A boy in a gray hoodie stared straight ahead, earbuds in, face blank. No glance. No smirk. As if he hadn’t spoken at all.
Her skin prickled.
Her pulse refused to slow.
The rest of the class dissolved into noise. The words on the board blurred. The note in her pocket burned against her leg like it was alive.
When the bell rang, she bolted to the bathroom.
Locked in the farthest stall, she pulled out the note again. Turned it over.
Blank.
But under the light—shadows. Faint indentations.
Her father had taught her this trick. Back when he was alive. Back when things still made sense.
She shaded the back of the page with a pencil.
The hidden message emerged:
She deserves it too.
Her throat closed.
Who? Brooke? Someone else?
Then—the creak of the door.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
They stopped outside her stall.
Silence.
Then—a scrape.
Paper slid under the door.
The footsteps retreated.
She waited. Counted to sixty. Opened the door.
Another note. Black paper. Neat white ink.
Welcome back, Emily.
We didn’t forget what you did.
Her breath caught.
Back?
She read it again.
Again.
She had never been to Ridgewood before.
Had she?
No.
She would remember.
Wouldn’t she?
She tore the note in half, flushed it. Splashed cold water on her face. But the chill didn't erase the question burning in her mind.
As she stepped back into the hallway, she saw it—reflected in the mirror across from the bathroom door.
Emily's fingers trembled as she reached for her phone. The unknown number stared back at her, taunting. She typed a reply, then deleted it. What could she say? Who are you? Would only give them power. What do you want? Would show fear.
The hallway was filled with students rushing to their next class, their laughter too loud, their voices scraping against her nerves. She kept her head down, weaving through the crowd, but the weight of eyes followed her.
Then she saw it—scrawled in black marker across her locker, fresh enough that the ink still gleamed wet:
WE KNOW.
Her breath hitched. She wiped at it frantically, but the letters smeared, staining her fingers. A choked sound escaped her throat.
"Problem, new girl?"
Emily spun. Brooke leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching her with a predator's patience.
"Nothing," Emily muttered, slamming her locker shut.
Brooke's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Funny. Looks like Ridgewood's already got its claws in you."
Emily forced herself to walk away, but Brooke's voice slithered after her:
"Run all you want. Secrets always come home."
The words coiled around her ribs like a noose.
Because the worst part?
She didn't even know what they thought she'd done.
A figure.
Hood up.
Standing still.
Watching.
Then gone. Vanishing around the corner like smoke.
Too fast to see clearly.
But Emily knew.
This wasn’t random.
And it wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
- Writer
