Strangers at school
1338 Words
Eva's POV
The school building loomed ahead like some kind of gray, yawning mouth, waiting to swallow me whole. Moonvale High wasn’t exactly big, but there was something cold and unwelcoming about it maybe it was the outdated bricks, the cracked windows, or the silence that hung around its walls despite the students bustling through the double doors. It didn’t help that I was the new girl, the girl from the Langley Manor, the girl whose parents had died.
I stood by the wrought iron fence for a minute longer than necessary, hoping the bell would miraculously ring and let me slink in unseen. It didn’t. Instead, I felt the weight of eyes on me. A few students stood nearby, whispering behind their hands like I couldn’t see them. I tried to brush it off. I’d been through worse. Still, it stung. The way their eyes darted to me and then away. Like I was something... strange. Dangerous, even.
The fog that seemed to follow me everywhere lingered around the trees by the parking lot, creeping along the pavement like ghostly fingers. It was probably just a weather thing. Moonvale was always misty. At least, that’s what everyone kept saying. Still, it felt personal. Like the fog liked me too much.
I took a breath and stepped through the gates.
Inside, the school was a maze of low ceilings, creaky linoleum, and faded posters. A smiling woman with too-red lipstick at the front office handed me a class schedule and a map. Her name tag read Mrs. Carter.
“Don’t mind the students,” she said as she handed me the papers. “Moonvale’s a small town. People talk. It’ll pass.”
I gave her a tight smile. I’d heard that before. When my parents died. When I moved in with Aunt Miriam. When the lawyer handed me the keys to Langley Manor. It’ll pass.
I doubted it.
My first class was English. I found the room after wandering for five minutes and nearly walking into the boys' locker room. I pushed the door open, and all eyes turned to me. The teacher, a tall, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and a blazer that smelled faintly of chalk and coffee, gave a nod.
“You must be Eva Langley.”
The way he said my last name made something shift in the room. Whispers, quick glances. One girl giggled, and another boy’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes,” I said, clutching my bag tighter.
“Take a seat, Miss Langley.”
I slid into the only open seat near the back. As I pulled out my notebook, I heard someone whisper my name my full name. Not in a mocking way, more like they were testing it out, like tasting it.
“She’s from the manor,” someone muttered. “The Langley girl.”
“She looks normal,” another voice said. “I thought she’d be… different.”
“Her parents died, didn’t they? Car crash. Or was it?”
“Shh!”
I clenched my pen so tightly I thought it might snap. I stared hard at the front, trying not to let it show, but inside my stomach twisted. My last name had always felt like a burden, but here, it was something else entirely. A target. A warning.
The teacher started lecturing about The Scarlet Letter and the concept of social exile. I almost laughed at the irony.
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of hushed voices and sideways stares. In history class, the girl next to me scooted her desk an inch away when I sat down. In biology, the teacher paired me with a guy who didn't even bother to say hi—just pushed the frog dissection kit toward me with a grunt and kept his earbuds in the entire time.
By lunchtime, I was exhausted. I didn’t know where to sit, so I just grabbed a milk carton and an apple from the cafeteria and headed toward the courtyard.
That’s when I saw him.
He was leaning against one of the picnic tables, head tilted back toward the sun or what little sun managed to pierce through the clouds. He had that kind of messy, dark hair that looked like he didn’t care how perfect it fell. He wore a black hoodie, hood down, sleeves pushed up to reveal a tattoo that snaked along his left forearm. Not something detailed just a crescent moon and stars. But something about it made me pause.
He must have felt me staring because he turned and his eyes locked on mine.
They were a strange, stormy gray. Almost silver. Something flickered in them. Recognition? Curiosity? I wasn’t sure.
I looked away quickly and pretended to be interested in a nearby bush. Real smooth.
“Hey,” a voice called out.
I turned, startled. It was him. He was walking toward me with that kind of careless grace people only have when they know they’re being watched and don’t care.
“You’re new.”
I hesitated. “Yeah.” “Eva, right?”
I nodded. “You already heard?”
“This town’s small. Word travels fast.” He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look mean either. Just... unreadable. “I’m Logan.”
There it was again. That flicker in his eyes. Like he knew something about me. Or was guessing.
“You live up in Langley Manor,” he added. Not a question.I braced myself. “Yeah.”
“They say it’s haunted.”I raised a brow. “Do you believe that?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if the question amused him. “I think houses remember things. Maybe some memories aren’t ready to die.”
A shiver went down my spine, but I told myself it was just the wind.
“You’re not like the others,” I said, surprising myself.
“Why? ‘Cause I’m talking to you?”
“No. Because you’re not pretending I don’t exist.”
He gave a low laugh, and I noticed he had a scar near his collarbone. A pale, silvery s***h, barely visible against his skin.
“You’re not invisible, Eva. You’re just not what they expected.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Still figuring that out.”
The bell rang before I could reply.
He gave me a nod and turned away. Just like that. Gone.
I stood there for a second, heart racing for reasons I couldn’t explain.
The rest of the day blurred. I saw Logan once more in the hallway. He nodded again. A quiet acknowledgment. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.
By the time I got back home to Langley Manor, the fog had thickened around the gates. The house loomed as always, dark windows staring like hollow eyes.
Aunt Miriam wasn’t home, probably out buying herbs or candles or whatever strange things she filled her shop with. I dropped my bag by the stairs and climbed up to my room.
I changed into sweatpants and sat on the windowsill, legs curled under me. The fog rolled in over the fields, and the woods beyond looked like they were hiding secrets. I thought about Logan.
There was something about him. Something that pulled at me, even though I didn’t understand why. His eyes, maybe. Or the way he spoke like he knew more than he let on.
Or maybe it was just because he didn’t look at me like I was broken.
As night settled over Moonvale, I heard the wolves again.
Distant. Long, low howls threading through the trees. I told myself they were just normal wolves. That Logan was just a boy. That the whispers in school didn’t mean anything.
But deep down, I knew better.
Something in this town was
off. Something was watching. Waiting. And whatever it was, it wasn’t finished with me yet.
Not even close.
- Writer
