Bite Me Softly

It was supposed to be a fresh start. New school. New town. New people. A clean slate. At least, that’s what they said. But Crescent Ridge High didn’t exactly feel like a new beginning. It felt more like the start of yet another long stretch of survival. I stood just inside the front doors, schedule clenched tight in my hand, watching students sweep past me in clusters and fill the halls with chatter. They looked normal. Some laughed, some grumbled about homework or teachers, some moved with practiced confidence. A quick gust of longing swept through me before I shoved that crap right back down. I didn’t move. If I stood still long enough, maybe I could just disappear into the tile. I adjusted my backpack strap and took a deep breath. First period English, Room 108. I kept my eyes low and walked with purpose, my heart thudding like I was sneaking through enemy territory instead of a high school hallway. My footsteps were quiet, my head down, my voice tucked away where no one could reach it. That was the goal. Stay quiet. Stay unnoticed. Stay safe. I found the classroom and slipped inside just as the bell rang. The teacher, a kind-looking woman with graying hair, gave me a small nod. “You must be Aria Blackwood.” I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Looks can be deceiving, and I had learned not to trust them long ago. “Take the seat in the back.” Like I would’ve chosen anywhere else. I moved to the empty desk in the last row and sank into it, tucking in my limbs like I might be too large for the space. Students trickled in, but no one even glanced my way. No introductions. No greetings. I was invisible. Good. Then the door opened again, and everything shifted. A boy walked in, towering and silent, the room’s air stretching thin around him like the atmosphere knew something we didn’t. He wore dark jeans and a black hoodie, hood down to reveal hair just messy enough to look intentional. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at the teacher. He just moved toward the window seat like it belonged to him. Despite his attire it was instantly obvious to me that he was someone who didn’t care whether he was getting attention or not, that he and I couldn’t be more different. No one challenged him. Not even the teacher. That was odd. He sat without a word. No notebook, no pen. Just sat and stared out the window like he was waiting for the world to end. Or maybe for the right time to end it himself. No one else in the class said a thing. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. One girl near the front shifted uncomfortably and slowly lowered her phone, like even the sound of her thumbs tapping had become inappropriate. Was this a thing here? Silent intimidation in hoodies? I blinked down at my notebook. Maybe this was just how new schools felt. Maybe every first day had ghosts. The class dragged by, but I barely heard the lecture. I didn’t need to, I’d heard it all before. Curious, I kept stealing glances toward him. He didn’t move. Not once. Just sat, shoulders still, eyes locked on whatever was outside the window. When the bell rang, he was the first one gone. No one even stood until he cleared the door. I gathered my things and slipped out with the crowd, unsure if I was intrigued or unnerved. Probably both. I moved through the next two periods in the same haze, finding each classroom, sitting in the back, pretending I didn’t exist. But even in my silence, I could feel an odd tension. People weren’t just indifferent. They were cautious. It seemed as though everyone walked under some unspoken rule. Stay in your lane. Stay with your group. Don’t get too close to certain people. And every hallway I passed through carried whispers. Many of them centered around one name. Kade Thornhill. As a lifelong wallflower, I was always listening and no one really cared if I heard their hushed secrets. A perk of being invisible. By the time lunch rolled around, I knew that name belonged to the boy in black from my first class. And apparently, he wasn’t alone. “He’s Kade. Ryker’s brother.” “They run this school. s**t, this town” “Just avoid them. Trust me. Seriously.” I grabbed a tray and looked for a seat. Every table seemed to be marked by invisible boundaries. Social groups with sharp edges I wasn’t ready to brush against. But near the back, one table stood empty. Perfect. I pulled out my sandwich and focused on chewing. A wave of chatter stifled suddenly, and that’s when I saw them. Two boys at the center table. Based on what I heard, the one with the easy, cocky grin had to be Ryker. He was surrounded by people (mostly girls) who leaned in close but not too close. He looked like someone who knew he was being watched and enjoyed it. Beside him sat Kade. No smile. No jokes. Just that same intense stillness I’d seen in class. Like a statue made of tension and silence. His hands were clasped in front of him. He didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t eat. Just sat there, taking in the room like he was waiting for something. Or someone. I froze, food halfway to my mouth, as his eyes lifted and met mine. For a second, I forgot how breathing worked. He didn’t glare. Didn’t look annoyed. He just... stared. Like I was something unexpected. I looked down quickly, heart thudding harder than it should have for a glance. I busied myself with peeling a sticker off my apple and pretending that hadn’t just happened. But I could still feel it—his attention, lingering like smoke in my lungs. I told myself I was imagining it. But I wasn’t. The rest of the day passed in slow motion. I floated from class to class, keeping to corners, avoiding eye contact, letting my body move on autopilot. But something had changed. I didn’t feel invisible anymore. I felt seen. Watched. I hated it. In Earth Science, the girl sitting next to me tapped her pencil nervously and kept glancing toward the windows. At one point, the lights flickered, and she flinched like it had happened before. There was a weird electricity in the building—like the whole place was waiting for a thunderstorm that never arrived. After class, two boys passed me in the hallway whispering in hushed tones. “Did you hear it last night?” “The howling?” “Yeah. Thought it was just coyotes, but…” Their voices faded as I turned the corner. The words stuck in my head anyway. My last class of the day was history, upstairs. I moved through the hallway, grateful for the quiet. My shoes made soft thuds against the tile, almost rhythmic, almost grounding. The stairwell echoed under my feet as I climbed. Then I heard it. Footsteps behind me. Even. Steady. Just one pair. I glanced over my shoulder. Empty. My pace quickened. So did my pulse. I turned the corner and nearly walked straight into someone. Someone very solid. I stumbled back a step, then froze when I saw him. Kade. He stood right in front of me, silent as ever, eyes locked on mine. Closer now, I could see just how sharp those eyes were. Not just in color, but in focus. Like he was reading me without a word. Like I was a puzzle he didn’t expect to find here. My books shifted slightly in my arms. He didn’t move. Neither did I. The hallway felt too quiet. Too still. A fluorescent light above us buzzed faintly. Then, very softly, he growled. It was quiet, low, more vibration than sound. But it was unmistakable. My blood turned to ice. He walked past me without another glance, steps smooth, casual. Like nothing had happened. I turned slowly, watching him disappear around the corner. My heart thundered in my chest. What the hell was that? Why had he growled? Why at me? And why did it feel less like a warning and more like something else? Possessive? No. That was ridiculous. I leaned back against the wall for a second and closed my eyes. Welcome to Crescent Ridge, Aria. Population: confusing boys and bad vibes.