My alarm clock is going off. I’m usually very groggy at this time, but the shock from suddenly falling in my sleep has put me on high alert. Kind of. I reach for the source of that horrid sound, and mindlessly swing my arms around. I hit something and knock it off the stand. With a loud “thunk,” the room goes silent.

“Someone’s up bright and early,” says an all-too-familiar voice. With that, they jump out of my body and start stretching.

I start to do the same…as my fear wears off and sleepiness sets back in. I lay back down, hoping that I can go back to catching Z’s.

“Brock! Breakfast time!” I hear Mom call out.

I stay still with my eyes closed.

35 says “Kid, I get it. I’ve been there, done that. But you’re just making this harder on yourself.”

I ignore them.

“Correction: both of us.”

“How is it harder on you?” I ask without really caring.

“She can yell at me as much as she can you, you know? Or give me more restrictions around the house. Or just decide to tell everyone to lock us up, and they might. Now, are you going to get ready for school, or are you going to keep making this harder? Or, if you would like, I can do it while you continue to try to sleep?”

Wow.

They really can threaten me with doing something themselves every time I don’t want to. Goldang it.

I get up without wanting to. I hear Mom call out again.

“Brock, to the kitchen, now.”

“I’m coming mom,” I answer as loud as my sleepy state can.

“Hey, why don’t we get dressed first,” 35 suggests.

Okay… I guess it doesn’t really matter. Ugh.

I roll out of bed, nearly falling flat onto the floor. Instead, I land on my feet, with my legs bent into a squat. I shakily stand up and work my way to my closet.

Once inside, I open the drawers to my dresser, and go through all my pairs of cargo shorts. They all are one of three colors of army camouflage, so it almost doesn’t matter which one I pick. Similarly, I pick a T-shirt off the rack without giving it much care. I finish off the look with white socks and my dark gray zip-up hoodie I wear every day. I don’t care how hot it is. I wear it. I don’t feel safe or complete without it.

I turn towards 35, who’s giving me a sad look. This isn’t the first time they’ve done that, so...

“Why do you always give me that sad look whenever I get dressed?” I ask sharply.

They close their eyes. “I wish I could tell you, kid.”

I’m really not fond of all this secrecy. They showed up in my body, and then decided to keep secrets from me? That just ain’t right.

“You’re not still getting the visions in your sleep, are you?” They ask back.

“No, just regular dreams, I guess.”

I’m already forgetting the one that woke me up, so it’s hard to tell. Oh well.

“That’s good,” they respond, seeming a bit relieved. They stay silent for a moment. “I would like to say sorry.”

Okay…that’s unusual. “For what?”

“For how I’ve…talked with you. I guess my training in non-violent communication has lapsed a bit.”

“Non-violent communication?” I shoot them a confused look.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to help you communicate your needs and such without hurting the other person,” they summarize. “It’s been a few years since I’ve read up on it, so I must be getting rusty.”

“Ooo-kay…”

“I really do want a connection with you.” They lower their head. “I really do. It’s just…this last week has gone so horribly wrong. We were supposed to meet up in private, we weren’t supposed to ever show ourselves to the world. You were supposed to be able to keep attending school while being able to choose who you want to have seen this, if anyone. Additionally, I, uh…have stuff I should unpack, especially once the mission I have with you is complete. But I can’t right now, because it would jeopardize the mission. I’m sorry. I’ll try to better, I promise.” They look back up and at me. “Okay?”

I roll my eyes. “Okay.”

I think I see them smile. I don’t know. Hard to see without the mouth. But the eyes do look-

“Brock, breakfast, now!” Mom calls out.

Her words shock us both.

“Let’s go,” we say in perfect sync.

Wow. Jinx! They owe me a soda!

I head out to the kitchen. Delilah is sitting a t the table, eating her cereal. As soon as I enter, she turns towards me, looking me dead in the eyes. Her own are as wide as barn door. She leans away from me.

“Can you…not?” she commands, disguising it as a request.

“Not what?” I ask, not really wanting to be near her either.

“Be near me? I feel like you’re gonna…ghost me, or something.”

“Ghost you?”

“Yeah, do that thing where you like, knock people out of their bodies and tear them to shreds.”

“Hey! Please don’t credit your household cohort for my accomplishments,” 35 pleads as they emerge from behind me. “That is, if you’re referring to your ‘dearest’ Father Paul.”

The fear on her face grows. “Stay away from me, you freak!”

Their hands go up as they assure her. “Hey, you’re not him. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I don’t care, stay away from me!”

They take a few steps back, until they’re in the corner opposite from her.

She then looks at me and says “You too!”

I walk over to where 35 is, and then notice something: A stream of white, the same color as their eyes running down their face.

Are they…crying?

Delilah seems to have noticed too, because her face went from fearful to confused. We look at each other, wondering what the heck is going on.

“Uh, you got something on you face there,” I say innocently.

They perk up, as if pulled out of deep thought. (Maybe they do have ADHD?)

“Sorry?” they ask softly.

Delilah points to the same side of her face as the “tear” on 35’s. They reach for theirs, until they find what we’re talking about. Upon realizing what it is, they wipe their face downwards, then comb their hair back. (Well, except I don’t see any “hair.”)

We both stare at them. A brief silence remains until they break it.

“So, how’s my host supposed to eat?” they ask, changing the subject.

Before either of us can respond, Mom comes in.

“Good morning, Brock,” she says as she reaches into the microwave and pulls out an egg omelet. “It’s for you.” She places it on the island.

Not wanting to get any closer to Delilah, I eat from the plate where it’s set.

“Why would a monster cry?” Delilah blurts.

I guess we’re bring that up now.

“What?” Mom responds in confusion.

“Deli and I thought we saw a white tear on 35’s face,” I explain.

Mom looks towards them. The “tear” is gone, as is any indication that they were ever crying. They mutter something even I can’t hear.

“I don’t like being called names,” they say quietly. “’Demon,’” they look at Mom, “‘freak,’” they look at Delilah, “‘ghost,’” they look at me. “Twice as bad from people I’m supposed to help.”

People…plural?

“I thought your mission was to help me, not them.” I interject.

“Yeah, but I can help them both the same way as well. Besides, helping them improves your home environment, which in turn helps you. Not that I really need that ulterior motive.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I would help them from the good of my heart. But only if they ask me to.”

I just stare at them, not sure what to make of that. I feel my mom and sister look at each other behind me.

“Why don’t you finish your omelet? You’re probably going to need the energy,” they redirect.

After a second of hesitation, I turn towards my plate, stab what’s left of my breakfast with my fork, then stick the whole thing in my mouth, swallowing it in one bite. Once it’s down, I look up to notice a puzzled look on Delilah’s face. Only for a second though, as she quickly turns back to her cereal.

As soon as she finishes, we both grab our backpacks, and head out to the car. Mom follows right behind us. She hops in and starts the engine. She drives us to the bus stop and waits. The only reason she’s doing that is so that my sister can catch the bus so that she doesn’t have to ride with 35. At least, not the whole way.

The wait for the bus is completely silent, except for the humming of the engine. I want to ask something, but don’t have the courage. Mom looks outside intensely, facing away from all of us, and Delilah just stares at the floorboard. 35 looks out the window, clearly lost in themselves. Eventually, the bus shows up, at which point Delilah gets out, and Mom tells her goodbye and to make good choices.

As soon as the bus leaves, Mom starts driving to school. About halfway through, I finally get the courage to speak.

“What did you mean last night?” I pierce.

Slowly, 35 turns to me. I also seemed to have gotten Mom’s attention.

“What are you talking about?” 35 asks.

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Mom adds.

“That there’s ‘nothing inherently wrong with me,’” I clarify. “Especially with how much you stressed the word ‘inherently.’”

Looking in the mirror in the visor, I see 35 blink. I glance over to mom. She seems just as interested in their answer as I am.

“I meant in that there’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed. You weren’t born wrong. Your ailments can be worked on like most other people’s. They can be helped.”

Oh, whatever.

Mom looks at me quite concerned. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

“I’m fine,” I shut out. “Nothing you need to worry about. None of your business.”

“Kid, not to be rude, but you did kind of drag her into it when you decided to interrogate me right in front of her,” 35 interjects.

“I thought we agreed that you’d shared whatever you two talked about,” Mom reminds 35.

“We did, but you haven’t been asking. I was wondering when you were going to get to that. Besides, I barely remembered it. It’s just a little convo we had last night before dozing off.”

Mom sighs. “I still don’t appreciate you going behind my back like that.”

“Mom, please, I don’t want them sharing every detail of my personal life to you,” I beg.

“Hold on a minute, sweetie…”

They talk back and forth about me for ten minutes as if I’m not in the car with them. I just ignore them as much as I can, but I can’t help but notice Mom getting softer and softer as it goes on. Eventually, she turns back towards me.

“Sweetie, I might not like this ’35…’ ‘guy,’ but I think they’re right about this. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing you can’t fix anyway.”

Ha! As if! But Whatever. Hey, wait a minute…

“Hey what’s with the honoring of my pronouns all of a sudden?” 35 asks before I could.

“It’s…nothing,” Mom seals.

Nobody says anything for the rest of the ride to school. Not that it lasts that much longer anyway. We pull up to the school, I hop out, Mom says goodbye, and 35 re-enters my body. This time, Agents Collins and Thompson are outside to greet me. I shrug as I notice a bumper sticker on one of the other cars.

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” it says.

I snicker. That would have been a great sticker for yesterday. Eh, not that it really matters.

The first four hours go by similar to yesterday. Claim, evidence, and Warrant, finding the slope on a graph, adaptations organisms have, such as looking bigger or like something else to scare predators, how humans describe where they are. Except Nat doesn’t even get to talk to me. He just gives me a wave as class starts. I return it with a half-smile.

Lunch rolls around, and like yesterday, I sit at my table with Thompson while Collins gets my tray for me. He gets back and places it on the table. Upon doing so, he crosses his arms, frowns, shakes his head and mouths a silent “no.”

He sits down, pulls out his lunch box, and pulls out two sandwiches. Doesn’t Agent Thompson have her own…?

“Hey Sport, want some real food?” he offers, gesturing one of the sandwiches towards me. “Black forest ham and cheese.”

This is unreal. I’m being offered food by an FBI agent… at my own school! Then again, this is probably the most believable thing that’s happened all week…so…

“I’d take it if I were you,” suggests 35. “Looks an order of magnitude better than what’s on your tray.”

They are not wrong. They are not wrong in the slightest. Might as well, even if I think I shouldn’t.

“Thank you,” I say while reaching for the sandwich.

I take a bite of it. I don’t like it, but somehow, it feels more like food than the cardboard on my tray.

As I’m eating it up, Nat tries to approach me, but Thompson stops him.

“Please, let me talk to him!” he pleads loudly, trying to push past her.

“Sorry kid. Government orders,” she replies coldly.

I stand up and turn towards the scene. “Come on,” I beg. “We’ll be under your supervision anyways!”

“No exceptions, Brock,” she stands.

Just then, my sister’s friend Courtney shows up.

“Please, Mr. and Mrs. FBI,” she starts awkwardly. “I just want to thank 35 for saving my brother.”

Agent Thompson tenses up for a second before allowing herself to relax just a little bit. “You have ten seconds.”

She runs up to our table and says “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou so so much for saving my brother! You’re a hero and I’ll never forget this. If you ever need anything, just ask! Okay? Okay, bye!” as fast as she can.

I sit there with my head back and my eyes wide like my life just flashed before them. I’m not sure what’s more impressive: the fact that she said all of that in the span of ten seconds or the fact that I actually managed to catch all of that.

35 seems to have understood too, because as Courtney’s running off, they call out “Thank you! You have a good day!” using my mouth.

Nat meanwhile is looking a little agitated, but he turns around and walks away without saying anything himself.

I finish my lunch, go to my study hour without going outside for recess just like yesterday. And just like yesterday, not much happens, aside from doing what would-have-been homework, and once again wishing Alexia was here. She’s one of the only two friends I’ve made since moving here, and I really, really feel alone without her right now. Her or Nat.

Fortunately, this is like the ONE class that allows me to listen to music, as long as it’s through my headphones. I scroll through the music on my phone. I haven’t gotten any new songs, but my mind checks anyway. Kind of like when one checks the refrigerator or pantry after having checked five minutes ago. But alas! The same country-only music selection is still there. Is that really good enough? What if I go to YouTube and find a song there? Eh, the school doesn’t really want us doing that. Besides, we have limited data for our phones anyway. But I guess…it would be nice to play something that’s NOT country, especially after hearing all the songs 35 introduced me to. But oh well. I need the distraction and put on Big Iron.

Eventually, the bell rings and I work my way to Environmental Science. I sit down at my seat, with Thompson sitting right behind me as usual. I just sit there, waiting patiently for the class to start. At least it’s one of my favorite subjects, even if the teacher is a little-

I freeze. My mind blanks. My eyes blink. They’ve been locked on to something.

Or rather, someone.

She has wavy light blonde hair that goes all the way down past her shoulders. Her bushy thick eyebrows are almost the same color, complementing her glowing blue eyes, which are comfortably at home on her soft-featured face with equally soft-looking pale skin. Sitting below her face is a necklace with a crucifix attached, centered perfectly between her locks of hair, and resting on top of her white dress that goes down past her knees. Whatever is not covered by her dress is either under her jean jacket, or her socks and shoes.

(Since when was I this poetic? I must really think she’s pretty!)

My gaze remains locked on her. Eventually, she turns to face me. I quickly look away. A tightness forms in my chest. I swear I could hear Agent Thompson scoff behind me.

I look back up, and she’s staring at me. Oh no. Oh no. Her eyes are wide, but seemingly not as wide as they can be. Her mouth is straight, maybe a tad on the frown side. I just sit there, frozen. Can she see my fear?

She eventually has mercy and turns around to face the teacher. She gestures towards the desk closest to her. Mr. Leonard just nods, and she takes it. We continue to wait for the bell, with her glancing back towards me several times before it finally does.

Once everyone is settled in, Mr. Leonard stands up to address the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone! We have a new student today!” He turns towards the new girl. “Would you mind standing up and introducing yourself?”

She does. “Hi everyone!” she says with a wave and a nervous smile. “My name is Tiffany, and I love Jesus!” She holds out her necklace as she says that last part.

Of course she does.

“She should have already been informed of the whole ‘shadow thing,’ so there won’t be a need to sit through the rundown again,” Mr. Leonard assures while glancing at me. “Now, roll call!”

She sits back down, and the class picks up where it left off. It doesn’t go as planned. I spend the whole time stealing any glances of her that I can. I can’t help it! There’s just something about her that just…

“Hey, kid, snap out of it!” 35 scolds. “You got an education to work on!”

I shudder. “Well, sorry! Come on! Surely, you can see how pretty she looks!”

I feel a bit of suspicion as 35 says “I don’t trust her. I don’t know her.”

“’Know’ her?”

“Yeah. You see, I know everyone in your vicinity. All your classmates. All your teachers. Your family. Even the FBI agents babysitting you. I know you. I don’t know her. She’s new.”

Confused, I just respond “Well, you did just meet her.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to know her already. How do you think I knew about Father Paul?”

Okay… that is a bit troubling. But aside from maybe being an over-the-top Christian, she seems…kinda nice? I don’t know. But also, how does 35 know everyone before they meet them?

“Sorry kid, I’ve said too much.”

Pickles.

Eventually, the class ends, and we move on to the next one. I spend the whole time thinking about Tiffany. There’s something about her that keeps her in my mind. She’s gorgeous. Then again, I think that of almost every blue-eyed blonde. But her? She’s different, somehow. I don’t know what it is, but I just…ugh.

I can feel 35’s feelings on the matter. They’re not happy, but they don’t say anything either.

The final class is spent with my thoughts as glued to her as they were the last, and the end of the day doesn’t stop that. I continue to think about her as I wait for Mom at the parent loop. As I do, a Raven lands in the tree across from us. Pretty cool, I think. I’ve been seeing them a lot since I’ve moved here.

It’s just then that Tiffany approaches us. Collins and Thompson try to stop her.

“It’s the end of the day, the rules don’t apply anymore!” she pleads.

“The restriction applies to all students as long as they are on school grounds,” responds Collins.

“Are we sure about that?” Thompson questions. “We were never given orders to stop friends from visiting outside of school.”

“I’m pretty sure the exact wording was ‘in school,’” answers Collins.

“Still, don’t you think we isolate him enough as it is?”

Collins pauses, then sighs. “We’ll check in with the boss and the principal later.” He turns towards Tiffany. “We’ll let it slide this once, but stay at least five feet away from him, okay?”

She smiles and says “Okay!”

“And remember that we will be listening in on whatever you say to him,” he advises.

Without giving much thought to that last part, she comes as close as they allowed her to.

“Hi! I’m Tiffany! But you can call me Tiff for short!” she smiles and waves as she introduces herself. “Brock, is it?”

I silently nod with a mixture of fear and confusion. She’s talking to me?!?!

“I just want to say, no matter what’s possessing you, God is with you, he wouldn’t have given you this battle if He didn’t think you could handle it. It’ll be good, I promise!”

“Uggghhh,” 35 and I both groan in at the same time.

“You really and truly like God, don’t you?” I ask sarcastically. I know she does. But she’s clearly one of those who takes it a little far.

“Yes, I do!” She proudly squeaks. “I even made a promise before Him to my dad that I would stay pure until marriage!” She holds out her left hand and points to a ring on it.

Just as I’m thinking that’s a little weird, 35 jumps out of my body to my left, making a puking motion and sound.

“I’m sorry, that is just like…so gross,” they comment.

I turn back towards Tiffany to say something, but her eyes are fixed on 35. But not in a horrified way. No, she looks like she’s meeting her favorite celebrity, or something. Her mouth is open, but she can’t speak, until she finally does.

“Ar-are you…an Angel?” she asks nervously.

35 and I tilt our heads, then we look at each other, confused. We can both agree that 35 hardly looks like an angel. The only thing that alludes to any sort of divinity would be their white eyes, and barely so. And the rest of their body, well, I don’t blame anyone for calling 35 a demon. An angel? That’s a stretch. So why would…

“You’re so beautiful,” she continues, as if hypnotized.

Mom’s car pulls up.

“A face like yours surely is made in heaven.”

Suddenly, I feel a surge of terror. But not mine. It’s…

35’s?

I turn towards them. They’re shuddering.

“You alright?” I ask them.

“Kid, get in the car, right now.” they command.

What’s going on?

“Now! Please!” they urge.

I reach for the handle to Mom’s Outback. I hop in, putting my backpack down at my feet, and buckling up as soon as that’s done.

“Hey sweetie, did you have a good day?” asks Mom. She then notices Tiffany. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

With the door still open, I can hear everything.

35 is holding their arms out wide with their fists closed. What is going on? Even the FBI Agents look confused.

“Yes, I’m sorry, dear angel,” Tiffany apologizes. “I won’t de-”

“Not a single word!” 35 pleads. They gesture towards the FBI Agents standing behind Tiffany. “Not even them! It’s really important!”

“Not even my dad?” she asks, hoping 35 would make an exception.

“Especially, not your dad.”

“Please?”

“No, no one. At least, not until I say so, okay?”

“Okay…” she sulks, walking away right afterwards.

The two agents look at each other, then at 35. The raven from across the street flies over the scene, cawing as it goes.

For a second, I see Thompson go frozen stiff. What’s going on? Is she scared of ravens or something? But just as quickly as she snaps into it, she snaps back, and confronts 35.

“Care to explain what just happened?” Thompson asks sharply, as if she didn’t just glitch out.

Collins gets a phone call.

“Not now,” says 35.

“What do you mean not now? You just told a child to keep secrets! Keep secrets from us! If you were a person, this can be considered intimidation or obstruction of justice! Do you really think-”

“Hey Dana,” Collins interrupts. “We gotta go. Boss needs to talk to us.”

“Now?! But what about-”

“They’re insisting, hard. Saying it’s extremely urgent and needs our immediate attention.”

She shrugs. “Fine.”

Did no one else notice Thompson going unnaturally still? Just me? Okay…

Collins turns to 35 “This is not over. You have some explaining to do.”

“I look forward to it,” they respond harshly as the agents walk away.

Once they finish saying that, they hop in the back seat of the car. They tuck their head in between their legs and cover it with their arms.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asks.

“Yes, it’s fine, just drive.” they insist. “And close your door, kid.”

Not knowing what else to do, we both do as we’re told. Mom waits until we’re on the road before trying to lighten the mood.

“So, did anything interesting happen at school today? Aside from…that?”

“Well,” I start, also trying to ignore what happened. “There’s a new girl in my Environmental Science class.”

“Oh, is she pretty?” Mom asks, her intentions behind that question clear as day.

“Well, yes, but-”

“Please just stay the hell away from her,” 35 interrupts.

“Why?” I ask insistently.

“She’s going to do nothing but cause you trouble. She’s a threat. A huge one. To you, to my mission, to all of us.”

“A threat? What do you mean ‘a threat?’” asks mom.

“No more questions, please. I’ve said enough.”

The rest of the ride home is silent, I can tell Mom and I are both thinking the same thing: 35 is hiding something. That’s not new, of course. They’re hiding a lot of things, and it’s kind of getting annoying. But there hasn’t been anything I could do about it, until now.

Something about the new girl is scaring the living daylights out of 35. And I intent to find out what it is.

Guess I’ll be talking to her as soon as the two-week talking ban is up.