Chapter 1
Bella's Pov
I woke up to the sound of someone whisper-screaming my name.
"Bella. Bella. BELLA."
A pillow smacked my shoulder.
I opened my eyes slowly. Alya's dorm ceiling stared back at me — white, boring, and too bright for someone who did *not* go to sleep early. My vision adjusted, and Violet's face hovered inches from mine like a ghost that ate too many marshmallows.
"Morning birthday queen," she whispered dramatically, then grinned. "You're officially seventeen. Old. Ancient. Practically retired."
I stared at her. No expression.
She stared back, waiting for a reaction.
"Go away," I murmured.
Violet gasped like I just slapped her soul. "So cold. So heartless. And to think I burned myself making breakfast for you."
A loud pan clatter came from the tiny kitchenette.
"That's your fault for trying to cook," I said, finally sitting up. My voice still sounded like sleep.
Violet put a hand on her chest, pretending to be wounded. "I was trying to make a memory."
"You made smoke," I said.
Right on cue, the faint smell of… something charred drifted in the air. I didn't even have to look. Violet and a stove always equaled destruction.
Alya rushed in next, wearing pajamas covered in tiny planets and holding a big mixing bowl like a shield.
"Okay nobody panic," she said, which immediately made me think I should. "I fixed it."
"You threw water?" Jesse's voice called from the bathroom. "I swear if the hotdogs are drowned—"
"I turned off the stove," Alya replied, offended. "I'm not Violet."
"Hey!" Violet protested. "At least I was trying to cook for Bella's birthday."
I stretched. My body felt tired but flexible, the result of years of morning runs and boxing lessons. My dad paid for trainers because he believed discipline built character. Personally, I thought being around people built patience, which was much harder.
The dorm room around us was messy in a comfortable way — blankets on the floor, open textbooks, and half-packed graduation accessories scattered around. Three backpacks leaned against the wall like they'd given up on life. We practically lived here. Alya's parents never visited and mine were always busy with business trips, so her dorm became home… by default.
This morning felt normal. Safe. Familiar.
Funny how disaster likes to start quiet.
Jesse walked out brushing her curls, perfectly dressed even at dawn. Of course she was. Jesse Whitmore didn't believe in looking human. She spotted me awake and clapped her hands dramatically.
"Woah you're alive!"
"I did consider staying asleep," I said, deadpan.
Violet leaned over and whispered loudly to Jesse, "Her sarcasm grows stronger every birthday."
Alya giggled. Jesse rolled her eyes but smiled. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, just a little. They always tried too hard in the morning, and I always pretended not to like it.
"Okay, guys, breakfast attempt number two," Alya announced. "We have eggs. Bread. Cereal. And… slightly traumatized hotdogs."
"I heard that," Violet muttered.
"You should," Alya replied. "You nearly summoned the fire department."
Jesse touched my shoulder gently. "Happy birthday, Bella."
I nodded. "Thanks."
She smiled. She always did — effortlessly, like breathing. Sometimes I wondered how someone could be that warm without melting.
Violet suddenly jumped. "Wait! Gifts!"
"No gifts," I said, but nobody ever listened to me.
Alya reached behind her desk and brought out a neatly wrapped box. Jesse pulled a small velvet pouch from her tote. Violet dropped… something that jingled and bounced.
"Oops."
I rubbed my face. "Guys—"
"We know, you don't like dramatic celebrations," Jesse said, handing me the pouch anyway. "But we do. So suffer through it."
I sighed, but there was a soft warmth under my ribcage. Familiar. Annoying. Comfortable.
This was home — ridiculous as it was.
I opened Alya's gift first — a sleek silver bracelet with tiny initials of our group engraved inside.
Smart Sisters.
A name someone once called us in the hallway and it stuck like gum on a shoe. A mix of brains, chaos, and far too little sleep.
"Good luck charm for graduation day," Alya said shyly.
"It's cute," Violet whispered like she just saw a puppy.
Jesse raised a brow at me. "Say thank you in a non-robot voice."
I met Alya's eyes. "Thank you. I love it."
Alya lit up like Christmas had arrived early. Violet squealed and hugged me before I could escape. Jesse smirked like she'd won a bet.
"You do have emotions," Violet said. "Hidden, but alive."
"Shocking," I replied.
We sat around the small dorm table while Alya toasted bread and Violet aggressively scraped burnt hotdog bits into the trash. Jesse took aesthetic pictures on her phone — she claimed every memory deserved to look good.
Somewhere outside, faint emergency sirens wailed in the distance. Nobody noticed.
It was too early for danger. Too warm for fear.
Too quiet for the world to already be ending.
And for a second, I let myself think…
Maybe today could actually be good.
Spoiler: it wouldn't be.
By the time we left the dorm, the sun was glowing like it approved of our existence. Which was rude, because I still wanted sleep.
Alya led the way, hugging her binder like it contained national secrets.
Jesse walked like she was on a runway instead of a school pathway — hair swaying, posture perfect, sunglasses on despite the fact that sunlight had barely committed yet.
Violet? She tripped on absolutely nothing within the first three minutes.
"THE EARTH ATTACKED ME," she declared when we stared at her.
"Yes," Jesse deadpanned. "Gravity woke up and chose violence."
I shook my head, trying not to smile. They were exhausting. In the best way.
Students filled the campus like a swarm of over-caffeinated bees — seniors buzzing about graduation pictures, gossip, and TikTok angles. Banners waved overhead:
GRADUATION WEEK — THE FUTURE IS YOURS!
Irony really liked today.
We passed the security gate where two officers were arguing quietly with each other, glancing toward the main road.
"Another ambulance?" One said.
"Heard the hospital's backed up — something weird downtown."
We didn't think twice about it.
Because why would we?
Danger was always something that happened to other places, other people.
Violet pointed at a poster. "Look! They spelled 'Congratulations' wrong."
"Again?" Alya sighed. "This school is allergic to correct grammar."
Jesse snapped a picture. "I'm making a scrapbook called *Our School Tried*. I'll post it after graduation. If we survive finals."
We reached the courtyard — groups laughing, teachers yelling, someone loudly warming up for choir even though no one asked them to.
Normal. Perfectly normal.
Except…
A sound in the distance. A siren again. Then another.
I paused.
Jesse noticed. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just… sounds like a lot of ambulances today."
"Maybe the universe is allergic to graduation," Violet said.
"Same," Alya added, sipping iced coffee like she was a tired 40-year-old tech CEO. "I've been mentally done with school since like tenth grade."
We laughed — because life was still funny, and the sky was still blue, and none of us knew the clock was already ticking.
A professor waved us over. "Girls! Photo call in twenty minutes. Don't eat anything messy, don't get dirty, and don't—"
"Breathe?" Jesse offered sweetly.
He blinked. "Yes. Something like that."
We saluted. He walked away looking immediately stressed, like talking to us drained him spiritually.
Violet leaned in. "Okay, game plan. After pictures: snacks, cake shopping, a dramatic birthday speech from Bella—"
"No speech."
"—a speech from Bella," she continued, ignoring me, "and then tonight? Face masks and horror movies."
Jesse raised a brow. "Horror movies? On her birthday?"
"It builds character," Violet nodded like this was motivational.
Alya tilted her head thoughtfully. "Technically, fear increases adrenaline, which sharpens—"
"NO SCIENCE RIGHT NOW," Violet yelled, covering Alya's mouth. "Let me be chaotic."
Alya peeled her hand away like she touched a frog. "Okay, but you eat like one."
"Hey! Frogs are elegant creatures!"
Jesse snorted. I shook my head, watching them with a softness I'd never admit to out loud.
We pushed inside the hall — decorations, cameras, teachers running around like chickens in blazers.
A sign read:
NO FOOD OR DRINK IN PHOTO AREA
Meaning we would definitely sneak some later.
A group of freshmen saw us walk in and whispered loudly:
"That's them — the Smart Sisters."
I heard it. We all did.
And for a second… pride warmed my chest.
We weren't perfect, but we were us.
Then someone bumped my shoulder hard in the hallway — a tall boy running like his life depended on it. He didn't say sorry. Didn't look back. He just sprinted away toward the exit.
We blinked.
"That was… dramatic," Violet said.
"Probably late," Jesse shrugged, fixing her hair.
But the back of my neck prickled.
Something felt wrong today.
Not obvious. Just… present. Like a shadow that hadn't decided where to fall yet..
If there was one universal truth about high school seniors, it's this:
We will risk disciplinary action for food.
So the moment photos wrapped, Jesse pretended she needed a touch-up, Alya claimed she needed to "fix her bun's gravitational balance" (whatever that meant), and Violet simply announced:
"I'm hungry and rules are a scam — let's go."
We snuck into the girl's bathroom like criminals escaping prison — giggling, tip-toeing, holding snacks like sacred treasure.
Inside, we locked the door. Violet immediately pulled out chips from her bag like she was a magician.
"Tadaaa."
Alya gasped. "Those are banned."
"Yes," Violet whispered, dramatic. "Forbidden crunch."
I snorted. Jesse opened a fancy cupcake she bought earlier and handed it to me.
"It's your birthday. Calories don't count."
"They never count if you say it confidently," Violet declared.
We sat on the tiled counter, legs dangling. Our reflections stared back at us — four girls with big plans, big hearts, and big delusions about adulthood.
"Graduation in three days," Alya sighed. "After that, no more uniform."
"No more cafeteria food," Jesse added.
"No more teachers who act like breathing loudly is a crime," Violet said.
"No more alarms at 5 a.m.," I whispered, nearly emotional.
We clinked snacks together like they were champagne glasses.
For a second — a real one — everything felt… right.
Warm. Young. Alive.
Then—
BANG.
A slam shook the hallway outside. Loud enough that the walls trembled, like someone ran into a door at full speed. Violet froze mid-bite.
"What was that?" she whispered.
We stared at each other.
Jesse slid off the counter first — calm face, stiff shoulders. "Probably someone dropped equipment."
Then another noise. Not a slam — a scream.
Short. Cut off.
The kind that doesn't sound like drama.
The kind that sounds real.
My heart did a weird drop. Not panic yet — just recognition.
Something was wrong.
Alya swallowed. "Should we… check?"
"No," Violet whispered, clutching her chips. "I prefer ignorance."
But Jesse was already walking to the door, slow and cautious.
She cracked it open.
And immediately got slammed backward as a person stumbled in.
We screamed. Violet dropped her chips. Tragedy everywhere.
The student collapsed on the tile, gasping. His left arm was bleeding — like someone took a bite out of it.
Not a cut.
Not a scrape.
A bite.
Red smeared across the floor, too bright, too real.
"Oh my gosh" Alya breathed, voice tiny.
He tried to speak — choking, shaking. "R-run… they—"
He didn't finish.
Because suddenly, pounding footsteps echoed down the hall.
Fast. Heavy. Wrong.
Then another scream — closer this time, raw and terrified.
Violet's voice shook. "What's happening?"
I didn't have answers.
But the hair on my arms rose and my stomach went hollow — the kind of instinct you don't learn, you're born with.
Jesse pressed her back to the stall divider, wide-eyed.
"We need to move," I said without thinking.
"But—he needs help," Alya protested, voice cracking.
The boy coughed. Blood smeared his chin. He didn't look like he was going to live long enough to tell us anything.
"Bella…" Jesse whispered. "Do you think—"
CRASH.
Something slammed into the bathroom door so hard the metal bent inward.
We jumped. Violet squeaked like a rubber duck.
The door handle jerked violently once… twice… then stopped.
Breathing. On the other side. Heavy. Hungry.
I didn't know what it was yet. Not fully.
But fear finally arrived — sharp and electric.
"Girls," I whispered, pulse hammering, "We need to get out. Now."
A beat of silence.
Then the lights flickered.
And the screaming outside got louder.
Happy birthday to me I guess....