The Wrong Kind of Flock
Elara Rivers believed mornings were cursed.
It wasn't the alarm clock's shrill scream that did it, or the sluggish drag of her feet as she shuffled through her routine. It was the knowledge that she would once again walk into the buzzing halls of Ashwick High carrying the same heavy truth: she didn't belong.
Her glasses slid down her nose as she pushed open the school's main doors, a stack of textbooks clutched against her chest like a shield. The corridor was alive with noise—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile, voices bouncing off the walls like an endless swarm of bees. The smell of fried cafeteria food clung to the air.
And then there were her friends.
Three disasters orbiting her like mismatched moons, each brighter and louder than she could ever stomach. They spotted her instantly.
"Elara!" Mila's dramatic voice soared down the hall like she was performing for a theater full of spectators. "You left me at the bus stop again! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to leave a lady stranded in this wilderness?"
Heads turned. Elara flushed scarlet. She hunched her shoulders, muttering, "It's not the wilderness, it's the corner by the convenience store."
But Mila swept to her side with a flourish anyway. Tall and sharp-featured, she was a walking storm of emotions. Her dark hair fell like a waterfall as she gestured dramatically with her manicured hands.
Trailing behind was Jonas—round, soft-faced, and already chewing on something. Crumbs dusted his hoodie as he grinned at her, a chocolate bar sticking out of his pocket for later.
"Morning, Elara," he mumbled around his snack. "Want a bite?"
"No." She dodged him, adjusting her books.
And then came Sierra. Black eyeliner smudged artfully beneath her eyes, jacket ripped at the elbows, a smirk stitched permanently across her lips. She leaned against a locker, eyes half-lidded like nothing in the world could impress her.
"Elara," she drawled. "Nerd queen. Ready for another day in hell?"
Elara sighed. "Can you not call me that?"
"You are what you are," Sierra teased, shoving her hands into her pockets. "At least you own it."
Before Elara could answer, Derek Stone—the bane of her existence—swaggered past with his pack of football buddies. His laugh was sharp and cruel, meant for everyone to hear.
"Look at this circus," he said, eyes sweeping over Elara and her misfit trio. "Birds of a feather flock together? Guess not. More like birds with broken wings."
His friends cackled. Elara's stomach knotted.
But Mila clutched her chest, gasping as though Derek had spat a dagger into her heart. "How dare you, Derek Stone! Birds? Really? If I'm anything, I'm a phoenix!"
"You look more like a turkey," Jonas muttered, licking chocolate off his fingers.
The group erupted with laughter—except Elara, who wanted to melt into the floor.
Sierra smirked at Derek. "Better a broken wing than a broken brain. At least we read books."
"Books don't win championships," Derek shot back.
Elara kept her eyes on the ground, her face hot. She didn't need defending, not like this. But her friends didn't understand silence, and they never would.
---
Mrs. Carr's English classroom was a tomb of boredom and old chalk dust. Elara took her seat in the far corner, notebook already open, pen poised to take down every word. She loved this class. Literature was an escape, a sanctuary.
Unfortunately, her friends didn't share her reverence.
Mila leaned across the desk, whispering as Mrs. Carr called roll. "Look at her eyes. Cold. Calculating. She's definitely an undercover spy."
Elara kept writing. "She's an English teacher."
"Exactly what a spy would want you to think," Mila whispered, widening her eyes.
Jonas, meanwhile, was wrestling with the wrapper of a candy bar under the desk. It crackled like thunder in the silence. Mrs. Carr's sharp gaze snapped to him.
"Jonas!"
He froze, mid-bite, crumbs stuck to his lips. "Uh—it's for medical reasons?"
The class erupted in laughter. Jonas shrugged sheepishly and took another bite.
Sierra sprawled in her seat, feet propped on the desk, twirling her pen like a dagger. When Mrs. Carr asked her to analyze a poem, Sierra shrugged.
"This author clearly hated life," she said flatly. "Probably wrote it drunk."
The gasp that swept through the room made Elara's skin crawl. She buried her face in her notebook, silently begging the earth to swallow her whole.
Still, when she peeked at her friends, she found herself smiling despite everything. They were chaotic, yes. Embarrassing, often. But at least when they were around, she wasn't invisible.
--
Elara always went to the library at lunch. The cafeteria was a war zone—too loud, too cruel, too exposed. Among shelves of old books, she could breathe.
Today, her friends followed.
Mila flopped onto a chair, waving dramatically at the dust motes floating in the air. "This place smells like death. Do you come here to inhale cobwebs?"
Jonas plopped down beside her, pulling a sub sandwich the size of his head out of his bag. "She comes here to avoid people like Derek. Honestly, smart move." He tore into the sandwich with relish.
Sierra sprawled across two chairs, picking at the chipped nail polish on her thumb. "This place needs a fire. Or at least a scandal. Something exciting."
Elara rolled her eyes, flipping open a book on folklore. "Not everything needs to burn, Sierra."
"No promises."
For a while, the four of them sat together—an island of misfits in the quiet sea of books.
---
By last period, the noise of the day had dulled to a constant hum. Elara scribbled in her notebook, focused on every word the teacher said.
Then it happened.
"Elara."
The voice was faint, low, threaded with something wild. Her pen froze mid-sentence. She glanced around, but no one was looking at her. Mila was sketching hearts in her notes. Jonas was sneaking crackers. Sierra was carving initials into her desk.
"Elara…"
Her name again. Her skin prickled. She swallowed hard.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
Mila blinked. "Hear what?"
Elara shook her head quickly. "Nothing."
But her heart wouldn't stop pounding.
---
When the final bell rang, the hallway exploded into chaos. Students surged toward the exits.
Her friends drifted off one by one—Mila to drama rehearsal, Jonas to the vending machine, Sierra to detention.
Alone, Elara walked slowly, adjusting her glasses, clutching her books. The hallways grew quieter, emptier.
Outside, the sky hung heavy with gray clouds. A chill swept the air, brushing goosebumps along her arms. And then came that feeling again—like the world was holding its breath, like something was watching her from just beyond sight.
She paused, the weight of her books suddenly heavier.
Something was coming.
She couldn't name it, couldn't see it—but deep down, she knew.
The world she clung to, the fragile normalcy of Ashwick High, was about to shatter.
---