The first thing Nova noticed about Ridgewood High was how normal it looked.
Red bricks, big windows, a slightly crooked flagpole in the front lawn. Kids laughed too loudly near the doors. Someone was vaping under a stairwell. A girl blasted music from a Bluetooth speaker even though it was 7:46 a.m. and the sky was still gray.
Normal.
It was almost offensive.
Nova tightened the sleeves of her hoodie around her hands and walked up the steps like she belonged here — like she hadn't burned her entire life to the ground less than a year ago.
Her mother had said this was their "fresh start." A new town. A new name. A chance to be normal again.
But Nova had never been normal.
Not before the fire.
And definitely not now.
Homeroom smelled like pencil shavings and weak perfume. Nova chose a seat near the window and kept her head down.
No one looked at her twice — not yet.
That was good.
She didn't want attention. Attention meant questions.
And questions led to things she couldn't explain — not without revealing everything she'd spent months trying to forget.
A girl with glossy lips and fake nails asked if she was "the new transfer from Portland or wherever."
Nova just nodded.
Let people make their own stories. That was safer.
She watched the teacher scribble her name on the whiteboard. Mrs. Claymore.
"Welcome to senior year, everyone," the teacher said cheerfully, as if the world wasn't on fire somewhere else.
Nova tried not to roll her eyes.
By second period, she had the school map memorized and had already clocked three girls whispering when she walked past.
She didn't blame them.
There was something about her — she knew that.
Something… cold. Distant. Unreachable.
But that was the point.
She was rebuilding herself, brick by careful brick. And if the walls felt too thick, too lonely, too suffocating — well. That was still better than being seen.
Because when people saw her too closely, they started to remember.
And remembering was dangerous.
At lunch, Nova sat under a tree behind the science building. Not the cafeteria. Too loud.
She picked at her sandwich. Didn't eat it.
Instead, she watched the other students through a gap in the trees — watching the way they moved in packs, as if none of them had anything to hide.
She envied that.
A girl laughed so hard she dropped her phone. Two boys were play-fighting with water bottles. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing an old Lana Del Rey song from a speaker.
Nova leaned her head back against the tree trunk.
This school. This town. This life…
It was all so painfully normal.
Which made it so easy to forget — for just a second — what she'd left behind.
But as she walked into seventh period — her last class of the day — she felt it.
That feeling.
Like someone had just said her name… but only in their mind.
Her skin prickled.
She looked around.
And that's when she saw him.
Sitting at the back of the classroom. One foot kicked up against the table leg. Arms crossed. Hood up.
He wasn't watching her. Not directly.
But something about him…
Nova turned back around before he could catch her looking.
Still, she felt it.
Eyes. Like heat on her back.
Like recognition.
But that wasn't possible.
No one here knew her.
No one could know her.
That night, she told herself she was being paranoid.
Just nerves.
Just a new place.
Just her mind, still haunted by the past.
But deep down, Nova knew better.
Because secrets don't stay buried forever.
And the past has teeth.