4.shadows in the halls

The bell rang, its sharp sound cutting through the dull hum of the classroom. Marisol snapped out of her daydream and tucked her notebook into her bag. Careful to keep the frayed ear of Eri, her stuffed bunny, hidden from sight. She slipped into the crowded hallway, keeping her head down as voices and laughter surged around her.

"Move, freak," someone muttered as they bumped into her, shoving her into a locker. The impact sent a jolt through her arm, but she didn't respond. She knew better. She adjusted her bag and kept walking, blending into the background like a shadow herself.

She passed by a bulletin board plastered with posters for the spring dance, her stomach twisting at the sight. Emma and Ryan had been talking about it all week, bragging about their plans to go with their friends. Marisol knew better than to hope for an invitation. She wasn't the kind of girl anyone asked to dance.

Whispers followed her as she passed.

"She's so weird."

"Right, dont forget… that foul dumpster odor when she's around."

Marisol swallowed hard, her chest tightening. The rumors had started almost immediately after her arrival at Fullerton High, fueled by the strange incidents that seemed to follow her. A light fixture fell during an assembly on her. A glass trophy case shattering with no one except her near it. No one could explain these things, but everyone whispered about them—and her.

By the time lunch rolled around, Marisol's nerves were frayed. She sat alone in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, her back pressed to the wall, with Eri hidden in her lap beneath the table. The noise of the room was overwhelming, but she didn't dare leave. The last time she tried eating outside, a group of boys had thrown her lunch into the trash.

Today, it was worse.

From across the room, Emma's voice rang out, sweet and saccharine. "Marisol, why don't you come sit with us?"

Marisol froze, her eyes flicking to her step-sister's table. Emma was smiling, but her eyes gleamed with malice. Beside her, one of her friends—an athletic boy with a smug grin—held a tray loaded with what looked like spaghetti drenched in sauce. He gestured toward the seat beside him, feigning politeness.

"Come on, don't be shy!" Emma said, her tone dripping with false kindness.

Marisol hesitated. Her instinct told her to stay put, but the stares from around the room made her feet move. She approached slowly, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Just as she reached the table, the boy "accidentally" jerked his tray forward, aiming the spaghetti at her chest. Time seemed too slow as the tray tipped, the bright red sauce poised to ruin her shirt—and her last shred of dignity.

But before it could hit, something moved. A shadow, dark and fast, zipped through the air faster than they could see, knocking the tray out of the boy's hands. It clattered to the floor with a loud crash, the spaghetti splattering harmlessly across the tiles.

Marisol gasped, stepping back. The boy stared at his empty hands, his smug expression replaced with confusion.

"What the—" he started, but Emma cut him off, her smile strained.

"Ugh, so clumsy," she said, shooting Marisol a glare. "Go back to your corner, loser."

The laughter around her stung more than the words. Marisol ducked her head and retreated to her seat, her pulse racing. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her savior, but it was gone—if it had ever been there at all.

Beneath the table, Eri's button eyes glinted faintly in the harsh fluorescent light.

Someday, it'll get better," she whispered to Eri, her fingers brushing the frayed fabric of the bunny's ear. Her voice trembled, barely audible over the din. "Right?"

Eri's button eyes caught the fluorescent light, glinting faintly. For a moment, Marisol imagined the bunny nodding, but the illusion faded as quickly as it came.

The school parking lot was bustling with activity, students piling into cars or waving goodbye to friends. Marisol spotted Emma and Ryan standing by their stepfather's car, laughing with their friends. They looked so at ease, so perfect, as though they belonged in a way Marisol never would.

"Marisol, come on!" Ryan waved her over, his voice unnaturally cheerful. when Emma glanced in her direction, the smile on her face twisted into a smirk. She chimed in with a sing-song they sung together, "Don't make us late!"

She hung back, her feet dragging as she approached. By the time she reached the car, Emma was already inside, scrolling through her phone. Ryan leaned against the passenger door, grinning as he chatted with David.

"We almost left without you," said ryan, his tone light but laced with cruelty.

Marisol didn't respond. She knew better than to rise to the bait.

David's warm smile greeted her as she climbed into the backseat. "How was school, kiddo?"

"It was fine," Marisol lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

David nodded, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. "Good. You know, if you ever need help with anything, just let me know."

She nodded, offering a faint smile in return. He meant well—she believed that much. But his kindness wasn't enough to fill the void left by her mother's indifference or the cruelty of her step-siblings.

That evening, the house was unusually tidy, the table set with clean plates and folded napkins. The smell of roasted chicken wafted through the air, but Marisol felt no appetite.

"Why are we doing this?" she asked quietly, glancing at her mother as they set the table.

Her mother didn't look at her. "Your stepfather's bringing a guest. Don't embarrass us."

When the doorbell rang, David greeted the guest with enthusiasm. Aiden, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped into the house with an air of quiet authority. His dark eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on Marisol before moving on.

"This is Aiden," David said, clapping him on the shoulder. "He's a detective with Anaheim PD. He is one of my closest friends."

Emma and Ryan turned on their charm immediately, laughing at Aiden's jokes and acting like the perfect children. Marisol stayed quiet, sinking into her chair as she picked at her food.

At one point, Aiden's gaze settled on her. "What about you, Marisol?" he asked, his voice calm and kind. "What do you like to do?"

She hesitated, her face warming under his attention. "I… I like to draw."

"That's a great talent," Aiden said with a smile. "I'm a bit of an artist myself. Do you have any drawings here? I'd love to see them."

Sophia snorted softly, masking it with a cough and sip of wine. "She doesn't really show them to anyone."

"That's okay," Aiden replied, undeterred. "Sometimes it's nice to keep things to yourself."

Marisol looked down at her plate, unsure how to respond. It had been so long since anyone spoke to her like she mattered.

As the plates were being cleared, David's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed. "Sorry, everyone. Duty calls."

Aiden stood as well, pulling on his jacket. "I'll join you."

Before leaving, Aiden paused by the doorway. His eyes met Marisol's, and his expression softened. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

She nodded, clutching Eri beneath the table. "Okay."

The door closed with a quiet click, leaving behind a silence that felt deeper than before. Marisol sat at the dinner table, unmoving, listening as Aiden and David's voices faded down the driveway.

Her mother barely acknowledged her as she collected the plates, her nails tapping against the ceramic with an impatience that grated against Marisol's nerves.

"Are you going to help, or just sit there?" Sofia asked without looking up, her voice sharp.

Marisol hesitated before standing, carrying her own plate to the sink. The air between them was thick with unspoken words.

"You didn't say much during dinner," Sofia added, rinsing a glass too forcefully. "For someone who likes to be invisible, you sure like sulking."

Marisol's fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "I wasn't sulking."

Her mother scoffed. "Oh, please. Aiden actually tried talking to you, and you barely said two words. If you keep acting like some mute, don't be surprised when people stop trying."

Marisol stared at the soapy water swirling in the sink. She wanted to scream, to tell her mother that she didn't understand—that she didn't know what it felt like to be stuck between shadows, always on the verge of something terrible.

Instead, she muttered, "I don't care."

Sofia let out a sharp laugh. "That's your problem. You never care. You think people are just supposed to feel sorry for you? Life doesn't work like that, Marisol."

A lump formed in Marisol's throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no point in arguing.

From the doorway, Emma let out a dramatic sigh. "God, this is depressing. Can we be done with the mother-daughter bonding already?"

Sofia turned, her irritation shifting gears.

"Emma, stop eavesdropping and go to your room."

Emma smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I was just saying—"

"Now."

Rolling her eyes, Emma sauntered down the hall, throwing a pointed look at Marisol before disappearing into her room. Ryan, who had been leaning against the staircase, simply smirked before following.

Marisol exhaled slowly. "Can I go now?"

Her mother waved her off. "Go do whatever it is you do."

She didn't need to be told twice.