Webs We Weave



Chapter Seven

DISCLAIMER :: This tale blends together aspects of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider/Spider-Gwen from Marvel Comics, Marvel Television, and Marvel Studios. Fanfiction? Sort of. The world and characters are mine, but they may seem familiar.

Author's note: Getting back to writing has been great. Had to do a bit of research here for authenticity's sake, but I think it created a deeper narrative. Hope this one was worth the wait for you guys.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_S9VvJM1PI ))

Contrary to presumptions, the weekend passed by quickly and without any hitches. Mingling with the shelter kids wasn’t as frightening as I’d originally envisioned. So long as I generally kept my mouth shut and let them talk, I was fine. Matcha did most of the talking. Nobody seemed to use their “government names”, as Matcha had phrased it. There was “Jefa” who had run away from her controlling parents who didn’t approve of her “lifestyle”, “Chispa” who was the quiet and non-binary one who liked to tinker, “Salty” who had been kicked out of his house by an abusive stepfather who found out he kissed another boy under the bleachers, “Lowkey” who tended to chill in the background until it was time to deescalate conflict, and “Peach” who everybody but him knew was probably a femboy in hiding. The connective tissue I’d seen in their eyes became obvious: they were all queer kids from “traditional” homes that had been punished for being themselves, then society forgot about them.

Before I knew it, Maven was waking me up with a backpack dangling from her finger. Monday morning would be the beginning of the day of reckoning. Upon accepting the backpack that seemed a bit heavy, I requested privacy while I dressed for the day. Fresh underwear was clawed on after a quick shower. Jeans and a t-shirt were next. After the socks and shoes, I grabbed the now-familiar white hoodie with the lavender lining and slipped the backpack over my shoulders. It was mostly a blur as I was barely paying attention to the choices made. It was also a far earlier time in the morning than I can remember being awake for in years. I was only half awake and entirely in need of coffee. Grabbing a cup with a lid and a few bites of waffle, I was ushered out the door while being told we were going to be late.

Maven kept her swift pace as she led me through the streets. It was rather difficult to keep up with her while also fiddling with the shoulder straps of the backpack. Once I was actually wearing the darn thing, I was better able to keep pace.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I finally asked after sipping coffee.

“School. There’s much we’ve got to do before you’re sitting in a chemistry lab, bored out of your mind.” She informed me.

“Oh. Part of me hoped you were joking about that.”

She gave me a side glance of disapproval while waiting at a corner for the light to change. “You mistake me for a comedienne. I gave an honest effort some time ago. I’m afraid I’m not very good at jokes.” The expression on her face encouraged me to stop being an idiot. “Now, we’ve need of getting our tale correct. What’s your date of birth, love?”

“August 10th, 1991.”

“Ah, yes… the old story of a thirty-year-old who looks like a teenager. That’ll pass muster.” She glared at me again. Her comedy may not have been great, but her sarcasm was on point.

“I dunno… 2009?”

“So you’re fifteen, then? Wanna do this for a further two years, do ya?”

“2008?”

“You’ll be turnin’ seventeen this summer, just in time for your senior year? Lovely.” The ‘walk’ signal lit up and we crossed. “Now, what the devil is a girl like you doin’ alone? Where are your parents?”

That one took me a few moments to think about. “So… you’re prodding me for believable answers so I can recite this if I’m asked through this whole process?”

“When you’re asked, Saoirse. When.”

The purpose finally clicked in my mind. I did need to get my backstory straight or the whole house of cards would crumble. “Right… um… my parents are… both dead? Died when I was younger?”

“Sorry to hear it, love. Who’s been takin’ care of you ‘til now?”

“Shit. Um… my aunt?”

“And where’s she now? Why aren’t you living with her?”

Taken aback, I had to think a little harder. “Um… well… she died a couple weeks ago? I’ve been on my own since then?”

“Sorry for your loss, love. Did you and she live in New York?”

“Yea?”

“Wrong. You say that you were in the New York City Department of Education system, they’ll go lookin’ for ya. What do you think they’ll do when they find no record of Saoirse Parker in the system?”

My body slumped. “Call me a liar and a fraud. Maybe report me to the Department of Corrections… or worse?”

“Good. Also, keep slouching. It’s a body tell that you’re not so sure of yourself. Past that, there’s plenty of towns in Jersey to be from.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t wanna be from Jersey.”

“You’ve a better idea, then?” In response to her, I shook my head. She continued. “You’re from South Amboy. She was a singer. Died in a plane crash. That still happens. A real pity.”

“My aunt was Violet Sanford, now?”

“I don’t care what her name was so long as the story is sorted. So, your dear auntie passed, leaving you all alone, until I showed up. Lovely, let’s begin again.”

We reviewed the backstory several times before arriving at the New York City Department of Education’s local Family Welcome Center. Apparently, we’re situated in District 2. Our brisk morning walk took us through many neighborhoods and the buildings progressively got taller as we walked down 7th Avenue. The building we arrived at looked like it might have been a tenement building for workers back when the whole area was “the Garment District”. It was pretty big, had a lot of floors, and had a facade like a lot of buildings from the late 1800s. We entered the shiny metal and glass main entrance marked “333” and crossed the lobby for the elevators. So long as we didn’t trip the metal detectors—which we didn’t—security didn’t even give us a second glance. The building appeared to be a bunch of offices, judging by the directories scattered around the lobby.

Arriving at the floor we needed, I quickly tossed the empty coffee cup into a trash bin before we entered the office we needed. The whole environment was as sterile as any social services office. The walls were white. The floors were white. The ceilings were white. The fluorescent light pierced through to your very soul. There were some windows with personnel behind them that may or may not have existed as a result of precautions during the pandemic. All the while, Maven guided me through the office. Our first stop was reception, where a thirty-something woman with a fake smile asked us to grab a number and have a seat. Maven, knowing how the system worked, demanded we speak with someone in enrollment pursuant to the McKinney-Vento Act because I was a student in temporary housing.

After producing some paperwork from the folder she’d been carrying with her, we were ushered over to a person behind a computer screen in the Enrollment area. The woman with random gray streaks in her hair took one look at Maven and rolled her eyes. It seemed as if my escort might have been well known in the office.

“Good morning, Eliza,” the woman greeted, confirming my suspicions. “What’s the student’s name, this time?”

Maven offered the woman a professional grin. “Good morning, Beatrice. Her name is Saoirse Maxine Parker. You’ll not find her in the system, but I know you have to look anyway.”

I didn’t recall declaring a middle name to Maven. I opened my mouth to say something, but Maven’s hand gently lifted to cover my mouth while the woman did her work on the computer.

Beatrice frowned before asking, “Mind spelling that for me?” Maven did as requested while the woman typed on the keyboard. The frown stayed as she viewed the screen. “She’s not in the system. Date of birth?”

“The tenth of August, two thousand and eight,” Maven announced without hesitation.

With a heavy sigh, the woman began inputting the information and beginning the paperwork. “Have a seat, you two. I have to create identification from scratch, so this will take me a minute. You’ll need to speak with a placement councillor once I get this entered.”

“I am aware, Beatrice. Thank you.”

We sat together in a pair of chairs about ten feet from the window where Beatrice was busy at work. There was quite a bit of hustle and bustle going on around us. Enough noise was reverberating off the walls that I felt it was safe enough to actually whisper to my escort.

“I never gave you a middle name.” I objected in a strong whisper.

“There was no need,” Maven responded with the same whisper volume. “I investigated your history, as I do with all those in my care. Your father is Captain Gregory Parker of the New York Police Department’s 77th Precinct. Your mother was Maxine Parker, a teacher in the New York City Department of Education’s Sixteenth District at the time of her death. It’s Irish tradition to bestow the name of a deceased loved one upon a new child in the family. Your mother’s name seemed like a fitting tribute. Was I wrong in assuming that?”

“Not entirely, but I was still considering possibilities for a middle name. I haven't decided on one yet.”

“You were instructed to have a name prepared by Saturday at supper, were you not?”

“Yes, but–”

“You only decided on a given name. There are some that move through the world with no middle name, but they are rare outliers. Often, they are teased by their peers. I suspect you’ll have a hard enough go at identifying with your peers that you needn’t have another reason to be ostracized.”

“I would have liked to have been consulted about the middle name. However, I kind of like it, so we’ll keep it.”

“You’ve no choice now. You’re in the system.”

Within moments, we were called back into some cubicles by a guy who appeared about the same age as I used to be. He identified himself as my placement counselor, though he mostly spoke with Maven. It had been a long time since I was completely overlooked and barely spoken to by other adults in the room. It was pretty weird to be considered window dressing rather than someone responsible for paperwork and decision-making. Maven provided the NYC Housing Questionnaire and Affidavit of Person in Parental Relation upon request. She had made a few copies, just in case. When prompted, she requested my placement at a place called Midtown High School because of its relative proximity to the shelter and the fact that all the other kids attended there. She stressed that having a familiar peer group was essential to integration.

Within moments, the guy turned to me from behind the two monitors on his desk. “I appreciate that you’ve got all the paperwork in order, Ms. Maven. However, I need to speak with Saoirse for a few moments.”

“Of course,” Maven nodded to the man. “I’ll not interfere.” She nudged me to get my attention.

I didn’t even notice that I’d been slouching and immediately straightened up in my chair. “Huh? Did I miss something?”

The guy chuckled at me, but maintained a kind demeanor. “Not much. I’d first like to welcome you to New York City, Miss Parker. Since you’re new to the city—well, new to the school system at the least—I’m generating your Office of Student Information System number. It’s a nine-digit code that’s given to all students in the New York City school system from pre-K through college. There’s also a ten-digit code that will be generated by the state shortly, but we don’t use that one in our system.”

I nodded along to his explanation. I knew all about the OSIS number. I’d been given one when I was in school before, but it was always something in the background. It seemed to be mostly for bureaucratic purposes in those days. I never even knew what my OSIS number was before. “Okay. That’s cool, I guess.”

“You’re going to want to memorize this number. You’ll use it for everything: your TeachHub login, your grades, and even to access the wi-fi in the building. It’ll start with a ‘25’ since you’re a new 2025 enrollment.” His fingers danced over the keyboard and he manipulated the mouse a bit. “I’m also going to log your McKinney-Vento status here. Your school will issue any MetroCards or OMNY cards necessary for your transportation needs. With a student status, you can use them four times per day absolutely free. That includes weekends and holidays, too. You’ll also be entered into the free meal program, where you can get breakfast and lunch with no cost every school day.”

“Thanks?”

He nodded once again and seemed to read off a prompt. “The New York City Department of Education is an equal-opportunity educational environment that embraces the diversity that has made our city everything that it is over the course of the past four hundred years.” He turned to actually look at me. “Is there a preferred name or gender marker that you identify with that may not be expressed on your legal documentation? The DOE system allows us to update that at a moment’s notice based on student preference, independent of legal documentation.”

My seat was feeling a bit warm in that moment. “Uh… no, Saoirse is fine. I’m a girl, so… yea.” I was sounding like a teenager without even trying as a result of the information overload coming at me.

His face remained neutral and his weird smile returned. “Okay, then.” He returned to his screens. After a few more minutes of silence, other than the sound of his typing and something being printed, he glanced in our direction once more. He handed a couple of pieces of paper to Maven. “These are two copies of the Placement Letter for Saoirse. One is to be presented to the Students in Temporary Housing Liaison at the school. The other is for your records, Ms. Maven. You can scan the QR code for an orientation video.” His eyes fell on me once again. “Welcome to New York City public schools. Have a good day.”

We quickly thanked him and made our way out of the sea of cubicles, back into the main office area, and toward the elevator. Maven handed me one of the pieces of paper once the doors closed.

“You’ll need to review that.” She requested.

My eyes scanned the paper. At the top was the stylized “NYC” logo with the green, orange, and light blue colors of the old Dutch flag for the city, as well as an unfulfilled environmental promise. Below that was “Public Schools” in a darker blue. There were addresses and phone numbers for the various points of contact along the header. Below that, it started listing the student information. It was weird seeing “Saoirse Maxine Parker” typed out with official font and formatting. Immediately below that was my OSIS number, followed by the date of birth that Maven and I had fabricated: August 10, 2008. Below all of that were my placement details. It listed the school—Midtown High School—the school’s DBN, the address, and phone number. The next thing to be listed was the grade level—marked as “11” to denote a Junior-level student—and the effective date of May 5, 2025.

“What’s there to really review? We went over all the details already. Everything checks out.” I commented, handing the paper back to her.

Maven glanced at me just as the elevator doors opened. She said nothing while we maneuvered through the lobby. It wasn’t until we were back on the sidewalks of the city and being ignored by everyone around us that she spoke. She knew where she was going and I was only following along.

“Something else we need to emphasize, love: dumb it down.” She instructed me.

“Dumb what down?”

“You can be interested in STEM all you like. What you must remember is your average high school junior hasn’t yet learned the amount of delta-V required or the maneuvers necessary to achieve orbit around one of Jupiter’s moons.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “They might if they’ve played Kerbal Space Program.” She looked confused, which caused me to scoff and roll my eyes. “It’s a PC game with the most comprehensive orbital mechanics and relativistic physics on the market. The characters are literally little green men. It’s hilarious and educational.”

“I repeat: dumb it down. The events that affected you and I have happened five thousand years apart. When it happened to me, my people were still largely nomadic. Losing the status of a clan leader was an enormous scandal in my time. Beyond our clan, no one was the wiser. They took me for what I appeared to be: a young woman and member of another clan. We weren’t as centralized as it is now. I’ve no idea how your paranoid government will treat this phenomenon. Until I know more, do your best to blend in. It’s the only way we can protect you. Understand?”

“Back off the advanced robotics and act like I don’t yet understand calculus. Got it.”

“They will likely test you when we arrive. Be prepared for it. They’ll likely also ask you many questions. Repeat the performance from the Family Welcome Center just now and you should be fine.”

“I wasn’t really acting. I was almost blinded by the fluorescent lighting, trying desperately to ignore the voices echoing off the walls, and trying not to smell anything.”

“A bit overwhelmed, are we?”

“More than a little.”

“Keep that energy going, love. You’ll make it through this morning yet.”

The response she got from me was a very juvenile groan. There was a lot of unanticipated walking that morning. There’s a chance that Maven was using the time between destinations to drive certain points home. The current presidential administration wasn’t known for level-headed thinking in the face of a crisis. The energy wave and subsequent particle rain had caused quite the stir. While I was dealing with my own issues, the internet was ablaze with sensationalistic interpretations of what happened and what it meant for society as a whole. News stations wouldn’t stop talking about things they had zero evidence of. Speculation was running amok. People had little evidence and even fewer answers.

As much as I might not enjoy the consequences, Maven was correct in trying to insulate me from distrust and speculation. She was really doing me a solid with the idea of going to school. I hadn’t yet learned about anyone else affected by what had happened, so I had nothing to compare my experience to. Before last week, no one would have entertained the idea of putting me back in high school for any reason whatsoever. Now, it seemed like a viable cover, given what had happened to the world.

Before long, we finally arrived at the front steps of the school. The building wasn’t as old as some others around the city. Back in the 19th Century, schools weren’t really given names. They had numbers. The building before us was an imposing eight-story structure with a design language that communicated with the other 19th-century buildings. It had a design flair indicative of the period with large windows and a stone/brick facade. There was no number over the front entrance, so it was built after some of the other schools. However, “Midtown High School” was chiselled into the stonework above the door. Interestingly, nobody would really refer to its location as a midtown spot. It was on 15th Street, just off 6th Avenue. Nobody would consider anything south of 34th Street to be “midtown”.

Shrugging off the odd designation, I entered the building right behind Maven. The student entrance was dominated by metal detectors. A few words from Maven about getting to the office with a new student got the security guards to usher us through without complaint. The interior was a mixture of old charm and contemporary technology. It had obviously been renovated a couple of times. Before I knew it, Maven was passing the Placement Letter on the counter to be reviewed. I stayed quiet and patiently awaited my fate. My eyes wandered while Maven did much of the bureaucratic heavy lifting.

Until that moment, I hadn’t really taken in the architecture of the building. The main lobby corridor was a well-preserved relic of the Gilded Age. The dark wood accents contrasted against the marble-looking floors blew me away. Lining the corridor were what appeared to be antique display cases with various awards displayed. I wandered a little to glance at them. There were trophies of every stripe inside the cases. The older section began in the 1930s and featured mostly sporting accolades. That continued into the 1980s before more academic and artistic accolades began to replace them. By the time the dates on the trophies reached the second decade of the 21st Century, there was about a 60-40 split between artistic, debate, and intellectual accolades alongside sporting trophies. In the very center of the corridor, there was a circular symbol made entirely of aged brass. Along the outer edge of the circle was printed “Midtown High” and “Wildcats”. The center was an image of the mascot of the school: a wild feline that looked like any number of small predators in the genus—bobcat, lynx, or ocelot.

My focus was broken by Maven gently taking hold of my arm and leading me away from the entrance foyer. A lot of the Gilded Age styling was kept in the corridors and sharply contrasted with the more modern styling of the administration offices. Maven led me to a door that we swiftly entered. The room seemed to be a more modern office with a bit more blue than many of the other spaces I’d been in thus far. Inside was a younger woman who appeared to be about the same age Maven appeared to be, which was late 20s. She wore a sensible blouse with a cardigan and an A-line skirt with modest pumps. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and plastic-framed glasses sat on her nose quite comfortably. Her smile caught me off guard — nobody smiles that big in New York.

“Hello, Saoirse!” She greeted in a bubbly, high voice. “So good to have you here at Midtown High. I’m Ms. Warren, your Students in Temporary Housing Liaison.” She held out a hand for me.

I accepted the handshake, but the positivity was a little overwhelming. “Nice to meet you.”

“Why don’t you and Ms. Maven have a seat and we’ll get you settled.” She requested and we obliged. “I’m your penultimate stop before getting you into a classroom and learning your little heart out.”

Mirroring the Jews around Brooklyn, I thought, ‘Oi, vey…’

Ms. Warren handed Maven a blue piece of paper. “That is the emergency contact form. All you need to do is sign it, Ms. Maven.” Then, she turned to me. “I’m merely here to help give you a leg up, Saoirse. There are roughly sixty-five thousand kids in a similar situation to yours in New York City, so you are most certainly not alone in your experiences. I’m sure you’ve already met a few of them inside Ms. Maven’s facility. I’m not here to ask questions about that. I’m here to make sure you have the things you need to be successful in this school. Do you need clothing, school supplies, toiletries, or a school-issued laptop?”

My face probably resembled a deer in headlights. “Um… all of the above? I mean, Tír na nÓg Community House has a lot of donations that come in, but it’s still my first week and there’s not a lot of things that work for me.”

Ms. Warren nodded quickly. “Alrighty then. I’ll get right on that. I’ll have some things for you throughout the week. You got your student email from the Family Welcome Center?”

“It’s right here in the paperwork.” Ms. Maven answered for me. “Yes, she has one.”

Ms. Warren gave a quick side-eye to Maven before continuing with me. “I’ll send you notices to that email so that we can keep it discreet, okay?”

All I could do was shrug. “Sure. Sounds great.”

Once again, the toxically positive smile returned to Ms. Warren’s face as she handed me a MetroCard. “Alrighty. All that’s left is for you to speak with the guidance counselor, unless you have any questions for me?”

“No. I’m okay.” It was likely evident in my voice that I was very much done with all the bureaucracy of the day.

Maven and Ms. Warren worked out some particulars while I wanted to pull my hood over my head and crawl inside. It was almost as if the inevitable was being delayed excruciatingly. Within moments, Maven was ushering me out of Ms. Warren’s office and leading me toward another. Every part of me wanted to be done with offices for the day. The office we arrived in struck me as more of a living room than a traditional office. There were more comfy couches than institutional seating. We were greeted by a guy in his mid-thirties with well-groomed brown hair and an actually stylish mustache. He wore glasses on his face, a button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a sweater vest, some nice slacks, and oxfords. His smile was genuine.

He stood and walked around his desk to greet us. “Good morning, ladies. I’m Andrew Davis, one of the guidance counselors for Midtown High.” His gaze fell on me. “You must be Saoirse, then?”

Both Maven and I shook his hand before I said anything. “Yes, I am.”

He tilted his head to the side and offered an understanding grin. “Looks like you’re already feeling like it’s been a long morning. Why don’t you pull up a cushion on one of the couches and we’ll start in a minute.” His gaze turned to Maven. “Ms. Maven, if you’d like to grab some coffee in the office and join us in a few minutes, Saoirse and I can get started on what the next two months are going to look like for her.”

Maven took a seat next to his desk. “I’m quite all right, thank you. I shall be but drapes in the corner.”

Mr. Davis picked up a tablet from his desk and joined me on the couch. I had already slipped off the backpack and sat ‘criss-cross-applesauce’ on one of the couches. He powered up the device and shot a smile in my direction.

“Okay, then,” He began. “New York City Public Schools has placed you in the eleventh grade. That feel about right to you?”

Again, I shrugged. I was doing a lot of that today. “Sure.” I stole a glance in Maven’s direction before returning to Mr. Davis’ face. “My aunt was homeschooling me since my parents passed away.”

His face bore genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry you’ve gone through that. How long has it been?”

My mind dug for anything I could work with. After a moment, there was only one answer that seemed plausible enough. “I was nine.”

He tapped a few buttons on the screen of the tablet. “So it’s been about seven years, then? Was it structured well enough? Did you feel like the education was fulfilling?”

Out of the corner of my eye, Maven was shaking her head. She was trying to help me with subtle body language. I answered after a moment of contorting my face in a way that attempted to convey that I wasn’t trying to be rude. “I mean… my aunt meant well, but I don’t think she knew what she was getting into with me.”

“In what way?”

“Well, she’s more average intelligence and I’m smarter.” I tried to feign a blush, hoping it worked well enough.

“Ah. It wasn’t challenging enough, eh?”

“She was good with books. Like, fiction books. I like reading well enough—”

“But it’s not your primary focus, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Right. What gets you excited about learning, Saoirse? What do you want to get with your education here at Midtown High School?”

“I really like math and science. I wanna end up in some experimental laboratory, or the Hayden Planetarium, or at JPL someday.”

Mr. Davis chuckled. “Some pretty lofty ambitions there, Miss Parker. We love to see that kind of interest in STEM fields, especially from young ladies such as yourself.” He tapped a few things on his tablet. “We’ll get an assessment and see where your aptitude is. I’ll schedule you in Trigonometry for the moment, but test you in a day or so to really get a sense of where your math comprehension is. Sound fair?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, I guess.”

“As far as the sciences, we can slot you into a chemistry lab, a physics class, and our robotics lab if that strikes your fancy?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great!”

He tapped a few things on his tablet. “English, History, and Civics courses are required for Juniors at this school. You may have to make up some of the coursework over the summer. We’ll do one of those assessments this week to see if that’s required. Have you thought about electives?”

Somebody on my train of thought pulled the emergency brake. “Uh… as in…?”

“We have pretty extensive programs for sports, music, painting, sculpture, and theatrical arts at this school. Any of those sound fun?”

My shoulders performed one of the largest shrugs I think I’ve ever pulled off. I’ve never really done electives, let alone anything artistic. “I… don’t… know?”

“I’ll pick out a couple and apply them to your schedule. If anything doesn’t feel right, you come back to me and we’ll work on your schedule. Sound good?”

With a whole lot of trepidation, I answered, “Sure.”

He chuckled again. “It doesn’t have to be scary. Think of it as another experiment.” He once again tapped a few things on his tablet before his eyes returned to me. “Hopefully, we’ll get a well-rounded schedule solidified for you in the next couple of days. It’s going to be crazy enough trying to acclimate to the social scene with just about two months left in the school year. I want you to know that I’ll be here for you to support you along the way. You can come to me with anything, alright?”

“Thanks, Mr. Davis.”

The printer in the corner beeped as he smiled. “Not a problem, Saoirse. Welcome to Midtown High. We’ll make a Wildcat out of you, yet.” He stood, turned, and headed for the printer. He grabbed a second sheet of paper from his desk. When he returned, he was armed with a schedule and a map. “The room numbers should be easy enough to find. Classrooms start on the second floor, so they’re numbered in the 200s. The numbers go all the way up to 700, even though the building has eight floors. There are no classes on the top floor. Easy enough to understand?”

My eyes scanned both pieces of paper as he handed them to me. “Not really, but maybe it’ll make more sense in a couple of days.”

“That’s the spirit!” He grinned. “Follow the map and schedule. In a few minutes, Second Period begins. What room are you looking for, Saoirse?”

My eyes darted to the sheet of paper. “Uh… Mr. Harrington’s World History course in room three-thirty-one?”

“Third floor. East end of the building. Why don’t you get a head start while Ms. Maven and I have a chat?”

My glance bounced between the two of them for a couple of seconds. “O… kay…”

“Have a good day, Saoirse,” Maven bid me with a smile.

In the next moment, I slipped on the backpack I’d been given that morning and was finally let loose. Once out of the office, my nose was in the schedule and the map I’d been given. Each individual floor of the building was quite small as it had to fit on the same sheet of paper. Thankfully, I found the stairs and began climbing to the third floor. At the top, I couldn’t quite make out which direction was East. My eyes darted up and down the corridor.

In the next instant, a bell rang out through the halls and teenagers flooded the corridors like a liquid deluge in any disaster movie in the past twenty years.

My eyes shot wide open and only one thought crossed my mind: ‘Oh, shit…’