I was dead sure nothing could ruin the first day of my senior year at Ashmoor High. I even woke up early, which was a miracle considering I was late almost every single day last year. This time, it had to be different. I had goals. Make actual friends. Stop being the guy who only hangs out with Ethan. Maybe even get a girlfriend. Big plans for one year.
Step one? Look the part. I grabbed the new jacket I bought a few weeks ago—black denim, clean, sharp—and headed outside.
That's when Dad surprised me.
Tossed me a set of keys and pointed to the garage. I opened it, and there it was. His old Mazda RX-7. A little worn, but still smooth and aggressive-looking. Black with red rims. Low to the ground. A real head-turner. He used to talk about it like it was his first love.
"You keep your grades up," he said, "she's yours for the year."
No words. Just a stupid grin on my face as I climbed in and turned the engine. Smooth as hell. I picked up Ethan on the way—my one real friend since middle school. His jaw dropped when he saw the car.
"Bro, what the hell? This thing is sick!" he said, running his hand across the hood like it was sacred.
He talked about the specs the whole ride. Manual transmission, horsepower, torque, all that. I just nodded along. I didn't know jack about cars. I just knew people stared when we pulled into the Cresthill parking lot. And for once, they weren't staring because we looked like losers. They were just... noticing us. That was new.
Inside the school, I spotted her—Leah. Walking down the hall like something out of a daydream. She'd been my crush since sixth grade, but now she was up there with the popular crew. Cheerleaders, soccer captains, the kids who threw parties I never got invited to. Meanwhile, I might as well have been part of the furniture.
We headed to class. First period was with Mr. Calder, our English teacher. Balding, tall, always wore suits like he was trying too hard to look important. He stood at the front, smiling wide.
"Glad to see all your faces again," he said, pausing just a second too long. "Well... most of you."
His eyes flicked to the empty seat near the window.
"Except for one. Mason Rowe."
The room went quiet for half a second. Mason had been a bit of a mystery since last year. Ever since his mom vanished without warning. No goodbye, no note, just gone. His dad, Henry Rowe, was surprisingly normal. Friendly guy. Worked at the hardware store. No one could figure out why she left. Mason had been sharp, even kind of funny once. But lately he kept to himself, quiet, distant. Almost like he was living on another planet entirely.
The day moved on. Classes. Chatter. Noise.
After school, I dropped Ethan off, but I wasn't ready to go home. Driving the RX-7 felt like therapy. I took the long road around town, windows down, music up.
That's when I saw Mason.
He was walking alone, head down. I slowed the car and pulled up next to him.
"Yo, Mason! Didn't see you at school today."
Nothing. He didn't even glance at me.
I tried again. "Hey, man. You good?"
Suddenly he bolted. Just took off running like I wasn't even there.
What the hell?
That was weird. Not ignore-you weird. Wrong weird. So I followed—slow, at a distance. He ducked down a side street and headed straight for his house. A small, pale-yellow place with cracked paint and overgrown bushes. I parked half a block away and crept up to the side fence. Call it curiosity. Call it instinct. Something was off.
I moved to the side window and looked inside.
The glass was dusty, but I saw two figures. Mason sat on the floor, hunched over like a punished kid. Across from him sat a man in a dark blazer. His face was turned away. The shape of him looked familiar, though. Something about the posture. The way he crossed his legs.
I moved around to another window, heart pounding, trying to get a better look.
And then I saw him.
Mr. Calder.
Our English teacher.
Sitting on a wooden chair like he was conducting some twisted ritual. Calm. Relaxed. Mason looked terrified. At Calder's signal, he rolled up the sleeve of his sweater. His arm was covered in faint, jagged scars. Then he pulled a knife from his pocket. No hesitation. He sliced his forearm along the same path.
Blood welled up instantly.
I froze.
He held his arm over a clay bowl on the floor. Let the blood drip down like it was part of some sick offering. Calder didn't say a word. Just watched.
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to burst in, grab Mason, scream at Calder, something. But my body refused to move. The scene was too unreal.
I backed away, almost tripped over a garden hose, and ran straight to my car. Heart pounding. Brain on fire. There was no doubt in my mind—something was deeply wrong. I had to tell someone. Tell Mason's dad. Tell the police. Tell someone.
But first, I needed Dad.
I flew home, yanked the car into the driveway, slammed the door shut, and rushed into the house.
"Dad! Dad, you won't believe what I just—"
I stopped dead.
Sitting on the couch in our living room was Mr. Calder.
Sipping tea. Smiling like this was some polite afterschool visit.
"Hello, Ryan" he said casually, like we were old friends.
My blood turned cold.
What the actual fuck?
To be continued