Whisper in the Rain

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE

I watched the blood morph from bright red to a soft, less malevolent shade of pink as it swirled down the drain. The cut on my temple throbbed, but that pain was pale in comparison to the giant hole that had been blown through my pride. What was left of it, anyway.

Two months I'd been at a new school, and for two months I'd suffered at the hands of my peers. But the suffering didn't start there. I had been weak, scared, and lonely for as far back as I could remember. People like me - social outcasts - were sought out by bullies the second we walked through the door. It didn't matter what school I attended, I was a target. It didn't matter where I went, they were always there, waiting. They could smell my fear. They could sense that I was different. And like piranhas in the Amazon, their need for blood was all-consuming.

Whatever bred a bully's hate and need to inflict pain, I wasn't sure. All I did know was that if I wanted to survive the halls of any school, especially Triple Oaks High School, I had to keep my head down, stay out of their way, and try my damnedest to be invisible.

After the gash clotted, I shook my head so that black hair spilled in front of my face, concealing my most recent wound. If I called attention to myself in the eyes of the staff, be it by accident or not, I knew the repercussions would be tenfold. The less attention I drew, the better.

The noise in the hallway had died down, so I took one tentative step through the bathroom door and looked both ways, careful to keep my hair curtained in front of my face. The locker-lined hallway was completely barren, so I made my escape.

As I tip-toed toward the small room that housed my last-hour English course, my name rang out through the quiet hall, sending a flood of anxious tears to my eyes that I fought to contain.

"Grace?"

Slowly, I turned to face Mrs. Sherwood. She wore the same dark tailored suit as always, her blonde hair pinned neatly atop her head in an official looking bun. Her heels echoed off the tile walls as she approached me.

"Why aren't you in class?"

The bundle of nerves that arose every time a teacher turned their eyes my way made an appearance and I fought to remain calm.

"Just needed to use the ladies room," I answered softly.

Mrs. Sherwood stopped a few feet away and crossed her arms.

"Uh huh."

I knew that response. It was what teachers, or principles like Mrs. Sherwood, said when they didn't believe you. It was the non-response that led to questioning, and sometimes a note home to my foster parents. Or, if I was exceptionally unlucky, my foster parents were called in.

Because I wasn't a normal student. I didn't excel at anything. I had no friends. I kept to myself. I barely answered when spoken to. Because of this, because of the person I'd grown to be, I was labeled as 'troubled'. And troubled kids, especially high school seniors who were about to be released out into the real world, were closely monitored.

"Is everything okay?"

Instead of soothing me, like her question was meant to do, it made me shut down even further. Questions like that, ones that were meant to placate and disarm, were the most dangerous. There was only one answer to give, and it wasn't the truth.

"Yeah. Everything's fine." I nodded and attempted a smile, just to ease her concern.

I couldn't tell her that, no, nothing was okay. The fact that someone had spit in my lunch before I'd even had a chance to take a bite was not okay. The look of pity that every teacher in school tried to hide from me was not okay. The incident in gym, where a boy twice my size had elbowed me, causing me to trip and fall head first onto one of the bleachers, was not okay. The fact that no matter where I went, no matter if I was alone or not, the voices never left me... that was not okay.