Chapter 2
Autumn Berry – POV
I woke up to something scratching on my dorm wall.
Not like horror-movie scratching, just… suspiciously rhythmic.
Scratch. Pause. Scratch scratch. Pause.
Either a rat was practicing Morse code or someone next door was aggressively peeling tape off the wall at 7 A.M. Neither was ideal.
I stared at the ceiling.
Day two of college and my first thought was: *Maybe being homeschooled in a cave would've been nicer.*
My alarm buzzed. I ignored it. It buzzed again, louder — as if saying, *Get up, socially anxious potato.* Fine.
I sat up, hair looking like a small bird attempted to build a nest there overnight. New school, new town, same chaotic hair genetics. I shuffled to the tiny dorm sink, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, and practiced my "I am normal and emotionally stable" expression.
I had three settings:
* Blank
* Slight confusion
* Customer-service smile (rare, uncomfortable)
I stuck with blank. Safe option.
Downstairs, my aunt was wiping down the entrance desk. She owned this dorm, and yes, that meant I was under family surveillance 24/7. Which, honestly, was probably saving me from living in a cave for real.
"Sleep well?" she asked, handing me a banana.
"I survived," I replied.
"That's not sleeping, that's doing taxes." She squinted at my shirt. "Turn around."
I turned. She tugged a price tag off my collar.
"I knew people would notice," I muttered.
"They wouldn't," she shrugged, "but you'd think about it the entire day."
…Fair.
She handed me a food container. "Lunch. And talk to someone today."
"I talked to someone yesterday."
"You told the barista, 'thanks.' That doesn't count."
"It counts in introvert court."
She gave me the "don't argue with me you adorable gremlin" look until I saluted dramatically and left.
---
On campus, the sun was too bright for the amount of social effort required to exist. Students zipped past like caffeinated bees — friends forming, gossip already thriving.
I ducked into the café again. Safe place. Familiar table. Chamomile tea. The barista smiled knowingly.
"Chamomile?"
"Yes, please. Can I also get a… chocolate muffin?"
She froze like I just told her I robbed a bank. "Wow. Growth."
"I'm unpredictable like that," I deadpanned.
I sat. Sipped. Observed. Everyone looked so confident — like they'd been given a manual titled *How To Be A College Human* and I was using a bootleg version translated by a toddler.
Two girls at the next table giggled at a detective club poster. "They solved another wallet theft last week! They're like campus superheroes."
Campus superheroes. Cute. Ordinary crime-solvers. Very far from my world. I hoped it stayed that way.
I finished my tea, mentally high-fiving myself for functioning, and left.
---
By noon, the cafeteria was buzzing at earthquake levels. I found a seat near the corner — best strategic position: one wall behind me, exit visible. Overthinking? Absolutely. Habit? Also absolutely.
I opened the lunch my aunt packed. Chicken salad. Safe. Reliable. Predictable in all the right ways.
Across from me, a quiet girl placed a salad bowl down. She had soft brown hair and big glasses — like a delicate academic fairy forced to mingle with loud humans. She gave me a tiny polite nod. I nodded back. Silent alliance.
I bit into my chicken. She picked up her fork. She took one bite.
Then her throat made a tiny choking sound. Not dramatic. Not movie choking. Just a tiny, tight, wrong sound. She blinked. Blinked again. Breathed weird. Her hand shook.
That alarm in my brain? Instant.
*Flash —*
Classroom.
Teacher explaining anaphylaxis.
Slide image: swollen throat.
Student joking about peanuts.
Teacher snapping, "This is life or death."
My hand mentally memorizing how to hold an EpiPen.
Back to now.
Bracelet on her wrist.
Peanut crumbs.
Fear widening her eyes.
I leaned closer, voice low. "EpiPen?"
She pointed weakly toward her bag, face already blotchy and tightening.
Nobody else noticed — everyone too busy arguing about oat milk.
I found the pen, pulled off the cap, pressed it into her thigh. She gasped — sharp, desperate — and suddenly the cafeteria realized drama was happening.
"What's going on?"
"Did she choke?"
"Is she dying?!"
Campus group-panic level: theatrical.
I wiped sweat from my palm. "She's having an allergic reaction. She's okay now."
Paramedics rushed in minutes later. The girl squeezed my wrist weakly. "Th-thank you."
"Anytime," I said, trying not to sound like my heart just did 300 push-ups.
A loud girl near the juice stand pointed at me. "ARE YOU A DOCTOR?!"
"No," I muttered. "Im just a normal girl"
I packed my lunch and ran like someone had just offered me a public award. Horrifying.
---
Outside, I sat under an oak tree and stared at clouds dramatically like a Victorian child recovering from emotional distress.
I saved someone. Good thing.
Everyone stared at me. Bad thing.
My anxiety and I needed a moment to negotiate terms of peace.
Eventually, I wandered back into campus life. Seminars happened. Ice-breaker introductions happened (I introduced myself as "Autumn, and I like quiet places," someone clapped like I shared a deep revelation). Club booths lined the lawn, colorful banners everywhere.
Photography club offered free Polaroids. I politely declined because my face does not respect cameras.
The theater club tried to hand me a flyer. I recoiled like it was a cursed object. They laughed. I fled.
Then I passed the detective club table again.
Cassandra stood there — crisp posture, clipboard, severe bun, energy of a girl who carries spare pens and judgment. Kai sat typing like code was his native language. They didn't even notice me. Perfect. I looked away and kept walking.
Not my world.
Not this time.
Not again.
---
By the time I dragged myself back to my dorm, my brain felt like overcooked noodles. I dropped my bag, threw myself on the bed, and stared at the ceiling like it personally offended me.
"I'm too young for this level of mystery," I muttered.
After a moment of recharging like a depressed phone battery, I sat up and opened my laptop. I had notes to organize — syllabus stuff, dorm rules, my neat little crime-free academic life plan. Very wholesome. Very uneventful. Very normal.
Click.
Click.
Loading.
Then my screen blinked.
Okay. Weird. It never did that.
I frowned and tried again. My files... didn't look right. One folder blinked in and out, like it was glitching. Then a notification popped up.
*File encrypted.*
I stared.
Slowly.
Like my brain needed a few extra seconds to assemble the meaning.
"…Excuse me?"
Another message flashed.
Then another.
*Access denied.*
*AutumnBerry_private** — *locked*
My stomach dropped a little. I clicked again. And again. The folder kept flickering like it was being touched by invisible hands.
Not a breakdown flicker. A wrong flicker.
"Don't—" I clicked aggressively. "Don't do that. I did not survive four years of high school chaos just to get cyber-bullied by my own computer."
The laptop screen glitched again — this time with a short burst of static, like someone remote-tapped into it.
Okay. No. Nope.
Nope nope nope.
I closed the lid fast, like it was about to bite me.
For a second, I just sat there, frozen, hugging my pillow like a five-year-old who heard ghosts in the hallway.
This wasn't normal stress-shut-down.
This was… wrong.
I exhaled through my nose.
"Okay, Berry. Breathe. Worst case… your laptop is possessed."
A beat.
"Better case… someone hacked you."
Pause.
"Why is that my *better* case?"
I rubbed my temple. My photographic memory replayed every click I did today, every screen I saw in the café, every detail of those detective club people — their quick glances, their organized chaos, their very annoying clipboard girl.
I groaned into my pillow.
Of course. Because why would my life be boring for even one semester?
I sat up slowly.
I needed help. Tech help. Detective help. The kind given by people who yell things like "Run trace! Faster!"
And I knew exactly where they hung out.
Great.
Just great.
Day two of college and I was already becoming *that* student — the one who accidentally attracts trouble like a magnet in a junkyard.
I shoved my laptop into my bag, stood up, and muttered:
"If I walk in there, and they smirk… I'm transferring schools."
END OF CHAPTER 2