It was raining the first day I walked into Heatherfield High. A dense fog hung low over the small town of Heatherfield, clouding up the windows which were already frozen thick with a layer of solid ice. I stood awkwardly at the front of the room, my old backpack slung low over my left shoulder. 27 other ninth-graders sat silently at their desks peering up at me with a look of curiosity, making me feel even more nervous than I already was.

“Why don’t you tell the class something about yourself?” my new teacher, Mrs. McKenzie, suggested, peering up at me through her polished, gold-rimmed spectacles. I hesitated, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat at the thought of having to speak in front of a group of kids I’d never met before.

“My name is Elyon Woodrow and I’ve just moved here…I used to go to Berkley High School.” Uneasily, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other until Mrs. McKenzie realised I was finished with the introduction and I was shown my seat.

The only seat left in the entire classroom was in the far left corner of the room.  I slowly made my way to the back of the room where a boy sat slouched low in his chair next to my new desk. He had spiky black hair, which stuck out from beneath his light blue baseball cap. I dropped into the seat gracelessly, accidentally knocking one of the boys’ exercise books onto the linoleum floor. I felt heat rising up my neck, spreading onto my cheeks as I slipped off my chair to retrieve the bright green exercise book from the floor.

“S-sorry,” I mumbled, too embarrassed to say anything else. A few students in the row in front of me turned their heads, looking me up and down before turning their gaze to the front of the room. The boy laughed quietly to himself and I stole a sideways glace at him. His dazzling emerald eyes glittered in amusement and his lips curved slowly into an enchantingly crooked smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” the boy spoke softly. “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong.” Something in his eyes told me he had really meant it. I breathed out an inaudible sigh of relief. Maybe this year wouldn’t be as bad as I’d expected.

“My name is Caleb Matthews.” His vivid emerald eyes bore into mine, making me feel as though he could see into my soul. “I could show you around after school if you want.” He smiled over at me and my stomach did a somersault.

“That would be amazing!” I caught a flash of a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned in my seat. I locked eyes with the girl sitting in the desk just in front of mine who was in the midst of whispering something to her friend. Both girls snickered before turning their attention back to Mrs. McKenzie.

The rest of the day dragged by painfully slow. Caleb and I had agreed to meet outside the library at 3:30 that afternoon and I was out of my seat as soon as the final bell rang. I was halfway down the hallway, fighting the sea of unfamiliar faces when I saw it. I made my way off to the side of the hallway as I reread the plaques inscription.

In memory of Caleb Mathews 1994-2011. My head spun as I tried to make sense of what I had just read. Was this some kind of joke? I stumbled through the heavy wooden doors that lead to the library and brought myself to an abrupt halt at the counter. The librarian who was sitting behind the counter looked up at me from behind her computer screen.

“Can I help you?” I was aware that I must look dishevelled, but I couldn’t manage to wipe the crazed look from my face. The librarian was looking up at me patiently while I tried to phrase what I was about to say.

“Who is Caleb Matthews?” I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, my breath coming out in short ragged heaves. The woman faltered before answering, pushing her cat-eye glasses a bit further down her nose to look at me more clearly.

“Caleb Matthews was a student here. He died in a car crash ten years ago.”