The school day was just beginning. But for some reason, his mind kept drifting back to that abandoned house. And the feeling that, sooner or later… it wasn’t just going to be a drawing anymore.

  Peter shook off the nagging feeling and made his way through the school gates, blending into the sea of students heading toward the main entrance. Westbrook High was buzzing with the usual morning energy—people chatting in groups, some finishing homework last minute, a few loners keeping to themselves.

  As he walked toward the hallway where his locker was, he spotted his swim team friends—Jason, Ty, and Evan—already gathered near the lockers, mid-conversation.

  “Yo, Stark!” Jason called out, leaning against the metal doors. “Tell me you did the chemistry homework, man.”

  Peter scoffed. “Why? You wanna copy?”

  Jason grinned. “Not copy. Just… use it for inspiration.”

  “Dude, even Ms. Hawke would laugh at that excuse,” Evan said, shaking his head.

  Ty chuckled. “You guys worry too much. If she gives us trouble, we just—” He made an exaggerated shrug. “Act clueless. Works every time.”

  Peter smirked but didn’t comment. Ms. Hawke wasn’t the kind of teacher you could just charm your way past.

  "It wasn’t all that hard. If you put your mind to it, even you could do it, Jason." Peter pulled out the homework and showed it to Jason, who quickly compared it to his own scribblings.

  “Turns out I’m not as stupid as my mother says I am.”

  “And everyone else who knows you,” Evan added. Everyone burst out laughing.

  “Thanks, I’ve got everything in order now.” Jason put his notebook back in his bag. “I can’t wait to practice after class. Swimming is the only thing keeping me sane in this shitty school."

  "Too bad you lack talent in that too," Ty said with a straight face.

  Jason just looked at him, pouted, and stuck out his tongue. Ty couldn't help but laugh.

  Peter was about to say something when the first warning bell rang.

  “Ugh, time to suffer,” Jason groaned. “See you in class, Pete.”

  Peter watched them head off before turning toward his own locker, he quickly grabbed his books and ran towards his first class of the day. Peter reached the classroom just behind the boys. He took a seat and looked out the window at the school alley, covered in autumn leaves. He watched intently as the wind tore the last remnants from the surrounding trees until Mr. Robertson finally entered the classroom. They were supposed to discuss a passage from Moby Dick Today. Peter enjoyed Mr. Robertson’s lectures—there was something about the way he spoke that made even the most complicated topics seem interesting. Today, they were diving into symbolism, and Peter was absorbed in the lesson, his mind processing each word with a quiet intensity. He always felt a sense of satisfaction when a teacher’s words clicked into place in his mind, like puzzle pieces falling into their correct spots.

  But in the periphery of his attention, he couldn’t help but notice Alexa. She was sitting in the row next to him, her notebook open, but instead of scribbling notes, her pen was dancing across the page in fluid, unconcerned strokes. Doodles. As always, her mind seemed to wander in directions that had nothing to do with school. Peter’s eyes flickered briefly to her sketches—curved lines and sweeping arcs that almost looked like abstract swirls. It was the kind of art that didn’t really need a meaning, just a sense of freedom in its creation. He admired that about her. She never seemed to be confined by anything—least of all, the classroom.

  Mr. Robertson’s voice broke through his thoughts, calling out to Ty, one of the more confident students in the class. "Tyler, could you explain the symbolism of the white whale in this passage?"

  Tyler didn’t hesitate, answering in a steady, confident voice. "The white whale is a symbol of obsession, of nature’s indifference, and of man’s futile struggle to control what can’t be controlled. It represents Ahab’s personal demon, the destructive force of obsession that ultimately leads to his downfall."

  "Well said, Tyler," Mr. Robertson acknowledged with a nod, clearly pleased with the answer. "Very astute."

  Peter didn’t think much of it; Tyler had a knack for answering these kinds of questions. He was the type to read ahead in the books and always be prepared with the right words. He was good at school.

  Then Mr. Robertson turned his attention to Jason, a boy who was always a little less on top of things. Jason shifted nervously in his seat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck as Mr. Robertson asked, "Jason, what about you? What do you think the whale symbolizes in this passage?"

  Jason’s face went blank, his brow furrowing as he stared at the page in front of him like it was written in a foreign language. He stuttered, struggling to find the right words, but the silence stretched on. "Uh… the whale is... um… uh, I think it’s… I think it’s like... like a... a big fish?" His voice trailed off uncertainly, his eyes darting to his classmates, who were now starting to snicker.

  A few chuckles rippled through the room, and Jason’s face turned a deeper shade of red. Peter couldn’t help but feel bad for him. It wasn’t like Jason wasn’t trying, but sometimes it seemed like his thoughts just couldn’t catch up with his mouth.

  "Close, Jason," Mr. Robertson said, trying to salvage the moment with a sympathetic smile. "But maybe a bit too simplistic. Let’s move on."

  The laughter in the classroom grew louder, some of it lighthearted, others a bit more mocking. Jason slumped in his seat, muttering something under his breath. Peter glanced back at Alexa, who had her head tilted, her pen still moving over the page in rhythmic, almost absent-minded strokes. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the exchange, but Peter could tell she noticed it too. There was a certain intensity in her eyes whenever she observed the dynamics of the classroom—almost as if she were watching a performance unfold.

  Peter’s gaze flickered to the window, trying to return to the lesson, but his mind kept drifting. Maybe he’d be able to concentrate better when he was back in the pool, the water silencing everything around him. But for now, the noise of the classroom—Tyler’s confident answers, Jason’s flustered mistakes—echoed in his mind. He shifted in his seat, his eyes landing again on Alexa’s doodles, wondering what thoughts she was chasing today.

  Alexa was still doodling in her notebook, but now her eyes flicked up from her sketches and met his, the quiet intensity in them making Peter pause. For a moment, he thought she was lost in her own world, the way she always seemed to be. But then, she smiled and tilted her head slightly, a gleam of curiosity in her gaze.

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  "Hey, Peter," she said softly, her voice cutting through the ambient classroom noise.

  He turned toward her, blinking. "Hmm?"

  "I was thinking," she began, her smile widening as she spoke, "Would you like to go to the abandoned house after school? You know, the one down our street?"

  Peter’s stomach clenched at the very mention of the place. The house had been at the back of his mind ever since they’d left it an hour ago. Something about it felt wrong—unnerving, even. But he could see the excitement in Alexa’s eyes, the glint of adventure that always seemed to beckon her. It was the same spark that had led her to drag him into countless I didn’t know it would unfold this way situations before.

  He shifted in his seat, suddenly unsure. "I don't know, Alexa... that place creeps me out. I mean, what if—"

  She didn’t let him finish. Her smile softened, and she leaned in closer, her voice low but filled with that quiet excitement that always made her so impossible to resist. "I get it. It’s creepy. But… I think it’ll help with my drawings. I need to really see it from the inside, you know? The way the light filters through the broken windows. The textures, the way the dust and the old wood feel. It’ll help me capture the essence of the house." She paused, watching him closely. "Please, Peter. I can’t do it alone."

  Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Peter hesitated. He could see the sincerity in her expression, that familiar spark of determination. She didn’t just want to go because it was thrilling or exciting to her—she needed to experience it for her art. Her passion was something that always pulled him in, making him feel a little guilty for not indulging her more.

  The image of the house flickered in his mind again—dark, foreboding, and heavy with an air of forgotten history. But Alexa’s voice, gentle and persuasive, made it seem more like a place of discovery than a haunting mystery.

  He sighed, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I don't know, Alexa. I’ve got this weird feeling about it... like something’s just... off. I’m not sure it’s a good idea."

  Her expression shifted just slightly, the corners of her lips curling into a subtle smile as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Come on, Peter," she coaxed. "When was the last time you did something for fun? Just once, let's leave the doubts behind and see what’s really inside. I promise, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. You can even bring a flashlight or something." She grinned, teasing, "I’ll even draw you in the house if you want."

  Peter let out a soft chuckle at her playful tone, the sound making him feel a little lighter. He could never quite resist her when she was like this—persistent and passionate. Still, the rational part of him felt the weight of hesitation pressing down. "I just—"

  Alexa didn’t let him finish. She nudged him with her elbow gently, her gaze locking with his. "Come on, Peter. What’s the worst that could happen? It’ll be fun, I promise. And you’re not really scared, are you?" she teased, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

  He met her gaze for a long moment, torn between the unease in his gut and the undeniable pull of her enthusiasm. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gave in. "Alright, alright. But if anything happens, I’m blaming you."

  Her face broke into a grin, triumphant and excited. "Deal!" she said, bouncing slightly in her seat. "It’s going to be perfect. You’ll see."

  As she turned back to her notebook, the lines of her sketches taking shape again, Peter found himself quietly wondering if he’d just made the right decision.

  As soon as Mr. Robertson dismissed the class, the usual chatter and shuffle of books filled the air. Peter stretched his arms, letting out a sigh as he packed up his things. Before he could dwell too much on his conversation with Alexa, a familiar arm slung itself around his shoulder.

  "Yo, Stark," Jason grinned, his messy blond hair falling into his eyes. "You looked very deep in thought back there. What’s up? Writing poetry in your head?"

  "Yeah, Pete," Ty added with a smirk, leaning in from the other side. "Something you wanna share with the class?"

  Peter rolled his eyes. "Just listening to the lesson, unlike some people."

  Evan, already a step ahead of them in the hallway, turned his head back with a smirk. "You mean Jason?"

  Jason put a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Excuse me, but I answered perfectly today. You saw how Mr. Robertson was practically moved to tears by my literary genius."

  Ty snorted. "Oh yeah? What part of Moby-Dick was ‘about whales being big fish’?"

  Peter chuckled as Jason scowled. "Okay, first of all, I almost said ‘big dick’ instead of ‘fish.’ Second, I just wanted to give Robertson a chance to feel smart by correcting me. You’re welcome, everyone."

  Evan laughed. "Generous of you, man."

  The four of them weaved through the crowded hallway, the energy of the break filling the air— voices rising, the occasional hurried footsteps of someone running to catch a friend.

  As they neared the chemistry lab, Jason groaned. "Ugh, chemistry. Wake me up when it’s over."

  Peter smirked. "You mean if you make it through."

  Evan nudged him. "So, what’s the deal? You looked kinda serious earlier. Alexa giving you an artistic crisis?"

  Peter hesitated for a second, then shook his head. "Nah, just… she wants to check out that abandoned house after school."

  Jason’s eyebrows shot up. "No way. That place is cursed, dude. Straight-up horror movie material."

  Ty snorted. "What, you think a ghost’s gonna eat her sketchbook?"

  Evan grinned. "Nah, if anything, Peter’s the one who’s gonna be haunted. He’s got ‘reluctant horror protagonist’ energy."

  Peter groaned. "I knew I shouldn’t have told you guys."

  Jason clapped him on the back. "Too late, buddy. If you go missing, we’ll tell your story. ‘Peter Stark: Taken by the Art Ghost of 4th Street.’"

  Peter shook his head with a small laugh as they finally reached the chemistry lab. As much as they messed around, he was glad they were his friends. If nothing else, they always made the day a little more interesting.

  The chemistry lab was silent the moment Ms. Hawke entered. Unlike most teachers, she didn’t demand attention—it settled around her naturally, like an unspoken command. Her sharp heels clicked against the tile floor as she strode to the front of the class, her white coat pristine, not a single wrinkle in sight. She was meticulous, composed. Almost too composed.

  Peter sat at his station, back straight, glancing around at the others. Even Jason, who usually found a way to slack off in every class, was sitting up, hands folded in front of him. Ty, normally unbothered, tapped his fingers against his notebook in silent anticipation. Alexa, beside him, had stopped doodling altogether.

  Ms. Hawke turned, slow and deliberate, as if considering each student with an unseen weight. "Today," she said, voice smooth yet strangely flat, "we explore the nature of reactions. The meeting of substances. The fundamental truth of change."

  She moved with an effortless grace, writing on the board—clean, precise letters, each formula flowing into the next like a secret language.

  She turned back. "Tell me," she said, her piercing gaze sweeping over the room, "what is the true nature of a reaction?"

  The question hung there, heavier than it should have been.

  Sophie cleared her throat. "Uh… change?"

  Ms. Hawke tilted her head slightly, just a fraction too slow, as if processing the word in a way the rest of them wouldn’t. "Correct. But not just change. Irreversible change. Once a compound has reacted, it cannot return to what it was. That is the cost of transformation."

  The class remained silent. There was something about the way she spoke—measured, deliberate—that made each word settle uncomfortably under Peter’s skin. It was hypnotic, in a way. Not forceful, but… compelling. Like a tide pulling them forward, deeper.

  She turned back to the board and continued.

  As the lesson unfolded, Peter found himself leaning in despite himself. The way she explained things—it was effortless, too smooth. Every chemical equation made sense in a way it usually didn’t. Concepts that had been dry and tedious in the textbook now clicked into place with unnatural clarity. It was intoxicating, and judging by the complete stillness in the room, everyone else felt it too.

  Ms. Hawke walked between the rows, her gaze flickering over their notes. "Chemical bonds are like all things in this world," she murmured. "Some are strong, unbreakable. Others fragile, requiring only the right catalyst to shatter."

  Peter swallowed.

  There was something unnerving about her. Something… hard to grasp. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t even strict. But the weight of her presence made the air feel heavier, like the pressure before a storm.

  Alexa, beside him, had tightened her grip on her pen. Her eyes were locked on the page, not sketching, not even moving. Just staring.

  Peter’s stomach twisted.

  He forced himself to look back at Ms. Hawke, who, for just a fraction of a second, had paused.

  And smiled.

  It was small. Almost imperceptible. But there was something wrong about it. Not unkind, not sinister. Just… off.

  Then she turned back to the board as if nothing had happened, and the lesson continued.