1.

Tristan had just run over something, or better yet, someone in a car that she had been permitted to borrow only because she had been trusted to take care of it and to behave behind the wheel. But as was the case lately, Tristan had been distracted while driving and wasn't paying attention. In her defense, it was with good reason. She had the radio too loud from blasting some band singing about how romance was dead and right after that the radio DJ popped up in full volume, screaming some advertisement in her ear. Letting go of the steering wheel so that she could turn the radio down, Tristan swerved just enough to hit something that had been, presumably, preparing to cross the road. If it was breathing or not was another question, but she knew it had been at one point by how it felt going underneath the tire. It was unmistakable. She had not only hit a breathing something-or-another in the car that wasn't hers to begin with, but she ran it over, too.

Already traumatized by the event, Tristan swerved back straight onto the road until she safely pulled over, flashing on her hazard lights. How funny it was that her driving corrected itself as soon as she was caught in the midst of misbehaving. Even her posture straightened out, her arms locked tight at ten-and-two, eyeing each mirror as if her safety instructor from grade eleven was watching her every move.

She was better than this, that much Tristan knew. But she had been acting out lately due to the anger she felt from a falling out with her now ex-girlfriend, Twila. Which meant in Tristan's not-quite-eighteen year old mind that somehow her anger was being retributive rather than combative, and it wasn't meant to be annoying as her dad, Mike, had been referring to her recent behaviour. She had a purpose behind her frustrations, and her poor driving habits that had manifested because of them were merely a hiccup... or was it a speed bump?

Unfortunately Tristan hadn't hit a literal speed bump with her car, instead there was something off in the distance that she could see in her rear-view mirror. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. It could be a cat, she thought, or something of the same size. When she squinted a bit more she could finally see the proper outline of the animals body, knowing exactly what it belonged to.

Tristan fell against her wheel and sighed, banging her forehead off of it a few times. This day was already starting out poorly, and it was not at all making up for her first day of senior year yesterday. So far the trivialization of her day consisted of her clothes accidentally running through the dryer for fifteen minutes longer, putting her behind schedule. By the time they were done, her new pants had shrunk two sizes too small for her to wear. Already feeling self-conscious about her body, this heightened her fear of her recent weight gain being more prominent. It wasn't noticeable to anyone except herself, but to Tristan it felt like enough.

Now there was the mangled body of an animal in her rear-view mirror and she was the one responsible for it, something she never thought would be possible. Sure, it was an accident. But had she been paying attention would she have been able to avoid hitting it? She mentally scolded herself for being so careless, except every time she stared back at the furry body in her mirror she felt as though she had to continue scolding herself. Tears swelled up in Tristan's eyes, threatening to jump at any moment down the soft palette of her cheeks.

Propping open the door of the car, Tristan hopped out and very timidly walked back to where the body was laying. As she approached she could clearly make out that it was a raccoon, which she found ironic considering the events from the night previous --- Tristan's bandaged hand a throbbing reminder of the slip-up. She knew there was no possible way that this could be one of the three raccoons that had raided the garbage and then Julian's vegetable garden, leaving a catastrophe of a mess behind. Tristan could only be so lucky, knowing how much of a pest those raccoons had been to her neighbourhood and the trouble they had caused through the night.

No, this wasn't the same raccoon as the pests in her neighbourhood, this was just an innocent raccoon trying to cross the road first thing in the morning. The more that Tristan approached the still body, the more her heart sank. She had been responsible for the early and untimely death of this creature, and that didn't sit well with her. Choking back tears, she paced around to the front of the body, seeing that the animal was seemingly physically in tact. But he was gone, that much Tristan knew. As she looked on, examining the brown tufts of fur that coated the raccoon's rotund body, she couldn't help but sniffle away and feel sorry for herself, wishing she could be a better person now more than ever. But this wasn't about being a good person, just a distracted one.

Frankly, this wasn't the first time Tristan had been absent-minded, once again reminded by the fact that her hand was still throbbing in pain under the bandages she had made herself at home. She hadn't sought medical attention, though she probably should have considering the damage done. It was just a sauce can that had cut her, but the jagged edge of the can cut deep enough that it bled for what seemed like hours, now showing signs of infection. Regardless, that didn't seem to matter. What did matter to her was how she got the wound, merely a case of one thing leading to another.

It all started last evening when Tristan decided to cook up a grand meal for herself, and in her mind it was a meal that even the most celebrated chefs would be jealous of. She had used up a ton of tomato paste for her concoction; a recipe in Tristan's mind that was akin to Chicken Parmesan with a twist (there was no twist, just lots of sauce). She went through many cans of sauce, throwing them in the garbage instead of the recycling --- somewhat out of spite for Julian's strict recycling regiment, but mostly due to the fact that she was trying to hide how wasteful she had been.

When Tristan finished her meal, she took the garbage outside like she was supposed to. But, instead of putting the garbage in the dumpster at the edge of the property like she always had, she decided to leave the bag at the bottom of the back porch stairs. A foolish and juvenile move, knowing that the neighbourhood raccoons frequented the backyard because of Julian's garden, but now the smelly garbage filled with the leftovers of Tristan's concoction was going to attract them even more. And it did.

It was safe to say that the raccoons did what any wild animal would do: they rummaged through the garbage and lived life to the fullest through the delicious goods that Tristan had thrown out. But Tristan hadn't realized that until the damage was done, having been occupied by a phone call with her best friend, Leigha. Unfortunately, Leigha attended another high school, which meant that Tristan was on her own at school. When they both got home every day, they immediately dialed the others number and talked over one another so often that Tristan's dad, Mike, and his own best friend, Julian, wondered how the two understood what they were talking about.

Caught in the midst of a heated conversation about how vindictive ex-girlfriends really can ruin your life, while Leigha talked on about her own issues, Tristan heard the sound that put all the pieces together in one moment. The raccoons ripped the garbage bag wide open, dragging the contents into the garden that they had also been digging in before that. None of this was realized by Tristan until it was too late.

Chucking the phone aside so that she could dash through the house, Tristan opened the back door wide so that she could scare off the raccoons. Three sets of beady eyes peered up at her, guilty and now displeased at her presence, but most of all --- afraid. Tristan was visibly upset, stomping down the back porch steps, avoiding the mess of garbage that waited at the bottom. She growled under her breath, grabbing a sauce can that she had carelessly tossed inside, carrying it with her to where the raccoons were scattering off to.

Without thinking, Tristan lobbed the can at the raccoons with all her might, but her hand slipped to the jagged edge and sliced across her palm. She let out a loud squeal of pain, holding her hand by the wrist as if to stop the blood from pouring out --- but it was no use, she needed to apply more pressure on the wound. She looked around for anything to hold against her newly formed injury, only to see that her blood was dripping down on Julian's now pillaged garden. Great, Tristan thought, as if this day couldn't get any worse.

This wasn't the first time Julian's garden had been ransacked by the raccoons --- going after his cabbage and carrots in particular, but this time it looked worse than usual. Having Tristan's blood scattered around the mess didn't help matters any. The raccoons were gone after doing some amazing moves to climb over the fence, the same one that Mike had apparently rigged to stop them from coming over.

Leaving behind the mess and chaos of the backyard, Tristan stumbled up the porch in retreat from a battle not even close to being won. After leaving a blood trail of where she had been, Tristan washed her hand off in the sink and used a towel to compress her wound. She knew she needed stitches, and she knew this because her dad, Mike, is a Registered Nurse. However, being as ignorant as she was, Tristan decided not to seek professional medical help and instead went for a makeshift bandage out of the supplies they had in the bathroom medicine cabinet.

Feeling humiliated and defeated, instead of going to clean up the mess of the backyard, Tristan headed to bed and called it a night. She had another day of school following, and she didn't care if Mike saw the mess in the morning. Frankly, she partially wanted him to see it. She was upset about the fact that her dad hadn't been home often, more preoccupied with work than his own family. His hours were seemingly getting longer every week, and Tristan was tired of it.

As tired as Tristan was, nothing could beat her tired brain that morning as she set the laundry in the dryer for too long, causing them to shrink. Then began the cycle of events leading to this very moment, standing over the body of a raccoon that she had hit with Julian's car. Julian had trusted her to take care of his car, especially since he was away until later on that evening. It wasn't her fault, Tristan weighed, but it was her fault that she wasn't paying attention to the road when she should have.

The front bumper of the car was cracked, a small line leading up through the plastic frame. The evidence of Tristan's misdeeds were as clear as day, there was no avoiding it. Not only did she leave the mess in the backyard for Mike to clean up, but now she cracked the bumper of Julian's car. If only things could have stopped at that, yet Tristan knew better. She knew what was waiting for her at school. None of the events of the morning could compare to what was happening on campus, and who was waiting for her.

Swallowing the dry lump in her throat, Tristan continued to eye the body that lay before her. The guilt associated with everything swallowed her whole. She nibbled nervously at her bottom lip as if at any moment it would gain legs and jump right off of her mouth, reiterating to herself that it wasn't on purpose. She had simply been distracted. But that had been her excuse for most everything these days. I wasn't paying attention. I wasn't focusing. And though it was an excuse, it wasn't entirely untrue.

There was nothing Tristan could do for the raccoon now and staring at it wasn't going to bring it back to life, there was no helping it. This made Tristan crumble into pieces, spinning away from the body and trotting back to the car where she could fall apart in privacy. She couldn't believe the immense amount of guilt she felt for what she did, choking on her own tears. After a few minutes of crying and feeling sorry for herself, Tristan peered over to the clock on the dashboard. She was already behind and now she was even more late, the first bell was going to ring in less than ten minutes and she still had to find a parking spot.

Clutching the steering wheel, Tristan peeked back at the furry body in her rear-view mirror, apologizing under her breath. She really was sorry for what she did, and promised to keep her eyes on the road from now on. In fact, she wouldn't blast her music anymore either, she reasoned that was the cause of everything. That darn radio DJ appeared loud and clear which scared her senseless, forcing her to take her eyes off the road. Of course she was making excuses, but it seemed plausible if she told it to Julian. Whether Julian would really believe it or not was entirely up to him, though Tristan leaned towards him not buying it for a second.

Tristan put the car in drive and began her way to school, seemingly more behaved with her road habits. As she drove away, she watched that brown tuft of fur disappear from view. But the cloud that was now hanging over her didn't seem to go away quite as easily, bringing down a rainstorm around her. She sighed and figured that if anything else bad was going to happen, then it was fate at this point.

Arriving on campus, there was an odd aura hanging over it; students were mingling outside despite the rain trickling down on them, a name clutched to their tongues in gossip and wonder. Tristan didn't hear what the name was at first because she couldn't find the will to care. But as she began to cross paths with other students, it wasn't some nasty name directed at her as had become the norm for her lately. She had almost become accustomed to not hearing her name said properly, or being referred to as something even more demeaning. Yet today, being only her second day of senior year of high school, there was another name on everyone's lips.

Esme.

Had the attention finally lifted off of Tristan and onto someone else? That would mean that after months of mental and emotional torture, Tristan may actually be able to let her guard down. Who was this girl and what did she do that was worse than what Tristan had done? Without questioning it any further, Tristan rushed up the stairs to the front foyer of Northrop Secondary, still hearing that particular name spouted over and over again. It was comforting for a little while, then it only made Tristan more curious.

It was only minutes until the first bell was going to ring and Tristan still had to run half way across the building to get to her locker, all the while trying to avoid any sight of Twila and her gaggle of followers. Tristan had been the target for months now after the break-up with Twila, it seemed like everyone knew what had happened and wanted their say on it. This made Tristan hate school more than any normal kid would. Twila had made school a living hell for Tristan, deservedly so. But Tristan carried on, and today all eyes weren't on her for once. She walked the halls nearly invisible, catching that name spoken in repeating tones of intrigue.

Esme. Esme. Esme.

Whoever this was, they were taking the attention off of Tristan and for that she was momentarily grateful. She felt at peace as she walked up to her locker, smacking it once to prop it open. She had the same locker for the last three years, and it hadn't been repaired in all that time despite her pleas for the school board to invest more money into repairing all the broken lockers, hers included. Inside her locker wasn't much different from the outside; books and papers scattered in every which direction and a plastic container filled with something that had resembled her lunch at one point. She grabbed the necessary textbook for homeroom class and her fountain pen that her grandmother gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, slamming the locker closed. She hoped to make it to class before the bell rang, but as she turned around to face the hustle and bustle of the hallway, she was met by a pair of eyes she had hoped not to see.

Hasson Clearview. He is where all the trouble began, which seemed odd seeing as how at one point Tristan and Hasson had been best friends. But friendship often sours when romantic feelings get in the mix, and in this case, it wasn't Tristan who had the romantic feelings that made their friendship fall apart. But there Hasson stood --- angry, filled with testosterone, blooming with ache for the fact that he had been rejected.

In Tristan's eyes Hasson seemed wild and untamed; he was a raging bull heaving from his nostrils. His heart was aching for the fact that he had been so vulnerable for the wrong reason and, more importantly, to the wrong person. It was only natural that he should feel a little disheartened, but to take it to the extent that he did was more than uncalled for in Tristan's eyes. He decided to make her life a living hell.

Tristan choked back any fear that she felt for Hasson, but only long enough to run away in the opposite direction of her classroom. She felt stupid for having to run every time she saw him, but what else was she supposed to do when he was committed to finding ways to upset her? Hasson and his friends Clint, Reyez, and Ahmed would stop at nothing to find ways to make her cry in front of everyone, and for no reason other than the lie that Hasson spread from his own mouth. Tristan had to suffer because both Hasson and Twila made the conscious effort to lie about it together.

The bell rang out, bouncing against the busy hallways as people rushed to their classes, whereas Tristan was now a safe distance from Hasson walking further away from her classroom. She could use the excuse of hitting the raccoon if Mr. Smith questioned her, but she was almost sure he wouldn't really notice her existence if she was late. Maybe a dismissive look or two in her direction, but seeing as how he barely remembered her name was comforting to her. He often referred to her as Tricia, despite the fact that Tristan had been in his class for the last few years. Again, she was almost getting used to it.

Finally finding a corner to safely hide behind, Tristan stopped to collect her thoughts and emotions. Hasson wouldn't be hanging around the halls, he couldn't risk getting a late slip and tarnishing his near perfect record. Which meant that besides being late for class the only safety Tristan really had was her classes, none of which she shared with Hasson. She had spent all yesterday walking on eggshells because she didn't know whether she had accidentally taken a class that Hasson also happened to be in, something she dared not to do in their current situation. Luckily, she was in the clear for the most part, only having to avoid Twila's best friend, Jessica; who had been taking the same Chemistry class as Tristan.

Waiting ten minutes to be sure that there was zero possibility of Hasson waiting for her in the halls, Tristan ventured out to her homeroom class. She was incredibly late when she walked into class, summoning the attention of all her peers. As she looked out over the faces almost all of them were displeased to see her, all except one. Her heart raced the moment they locked eyes, leaving Tristan in sheer panic. She dropped her books, letting them fall to the floor with a loud thud, bringing Mr. Smith's attention to her now. Because the eyes that met hers belonged to the same dark eyes from the hallway. Hasson was in her classroom.

Scrambling to figure out if she had walked into the wrong room, Tristan looked around to see if the faces were familiar and they were, not to mention Mr. Smith looked even more annoyed than everyone else. There was no mistaking it, Hasson was there in her class, sitting in her seat --- and he was happy about it. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to toy with Tristan's emotions, and this was only the second day of senior year. How was she going to get through an entire year like this?

"If you'd quietly take your seat, please," Mr. Smith snapped, directing Tristan to grab her books and sit. Tristan hated the sound of his shrill voice mixed with that patronizing tone he could so easily adopt.

"Sorry, and sorry that I'm late," Tristan sputtered, juggling her books back into her arms clumsily. She thought about her excuse and what she was going to say, but Mr. Smith never questioned her once about it. Instead, he pointed over to the desks en mass, not realizing that there weren't any free desks available.

Hasson had taken Tristan's desk, and now he was perched at it with a wide smile playing at his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing and how this put Tristan on the spot. There was no doubting that he was proud of himself, having gone out of his way to switch homeroom classes just to be in hers. This flustered Tristan at first as she, once again, scanned the room to see if there were any available desks, but there weren't. She then soured and could feel the prick of tears in her eyes, mumbling to herself softly to keep it together. Looking at each of the faces staring back at her, Tristan felt as though she was the laughing stock of the room and no one was there to save her.

Swallowing hard, Tristan turned once more to Mr. Smith. "There aren't any free desks, sir."

Each time Tristan spoke to Mr. Smith it felt like a scream for help, and yet her voice was no louder than that of a mouse. No matter how many times she screamed out in her head, Mr. Smith took no notice of anything. Instead, he shook his head and rolled his wrist out, smacking his lips together a few times before addressing Tristan directly. His arrogance was showing more than anything else.

"You'll have to get one from the basement," Mr. Smith directed. "Go on now."

Feeling small and humiliated, Tristan gathered her books in her arms and nodded. There was no use in her arguing with Mr. Smith as he wouldn't be sympathetic to her whatsoever, probably seeing her issues as trivial at best. All she knew was that she didn't want to be in this class any longer now that Hasson had transferred to it. She could easily stop by the office at lunch to see if there was any way she could transfer out of her homeroom class to another one, wondering how Hasson was able to pull it off last minute. Usually class transfers took a week or so to process, so how did Hasson get lucky enough to move over to Tristan's class after only the second day? It didn't matter, Tristan thought, because he was there now.

Each step toward the door felt like there were a thousand weights attached to Tristan's ankles, sinking further down with every chuckle from her peers. She couldn't bare to look back at them all, knowing they were laughing at her and how pathetic she must have looked just then. Hasson had won again. No matter what Tristan did, she felt like the teasing and constant shadowing over her life would never end.

Until the door opened and her life changed forever.