We didn't immediately head for the chaotic heart of Lincoln High's social scene. First, a pilgrimage was in order. I had to collect the other pillars of my new reality from their senior-level ivory towers.
Sarah was in Advanced Literature, a class that smelled faintly of old books and intellectual superiority. I waited outside the door, leaning against the lockers like I belonged there.
The hallway traffic slowed. Kids coming and going from nearby classes did a double-take, their whispers forming a speculative cloud around me. When the bell rang, Sarah was one of the first out.
Her gaze, always so sharp, swept over me, not with surprise, but with quiet, methodical cataloging. She didn't say anything, and simply fell into step beside me, a silent, accepting sentinel.
Next was Emma, clear across campus in Digital Media Production. I found her hallway teeming with students, but she was an easy spot, a vibrant splash of color and motion.
