Lunch was almost over, and I hadn't even eaten. I was just trying to get through the day, counting minutes until 4 p.m., until I could finally tell Chloe and Peter everything.
But before I could reach our usual table, Amanda and her friends stepped in front of me, like they were waiting.
"Hey, Blanders," Amanda said, folding her arms. "What's with the new look? Running a cult now?"
I tried to move past them, but they shifted, blocking my way.
"I don't have time for this," I said quietly, not even looking up.
"Oh, right," she said, her voice coated in fake sympathy. "You're probably busy stalking Peter. He's not into you, you know. I mean… have you seen you?"
The words landed, not like a punch, but like a hundred tiny cuts. I didn't respond. Just kept walking.
But then—I felt it.
Cold.
Water.
A full bottle i guess. It wasn't much at least not a bucket, but it was enough.
Everyone around us paused. A few giggles. Some murmurs.
I stood frozen.
I couldn't breathe.
My chest tightened, my vision blurred—not from tears, not yet—but from something deeper. My body tensed like it was bracing for something much worse. My hands started shaking. I could hear them laughing, but it felt far away, like I was underwater.
This isnt claustrophobic butnit felt like.
It's just water. Why can't I breathe?
I stumbled backward, dropping my tray, my heart pounding so loud I couldn't even hear myself think.
And then this thought hit me, sharp and clear:
There's something wrong with me. Something I don't remember.
I didn't know why this was happening. Why being humiliated in front of people made me feel like I was drowning. It had happened before—these moments where I just... froze. Where the world turned too loud and too close. Where I felt like a small kid again, scared of something I couldn't name. I get nostalgia this has happened before but it was very intense, I have these trauma, I don't know, thinking about this made me even more panicked.
"Emma!"
Chloe's voice broke through the noise.
And then, Peter.
"What the hell?" he barked, pushing past the crowd. He stopped dead when he saw me—soaked, shaking, barely able to keep myself standing.
"Amanda," he said, his voice sharp. "What is wrong with you? You think it cool? Ask me it isn't. You will make people hate you by doing this."
She laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. "It was just water—"
"It wasn't just water," he snapped. "Look at her, actually don't, just get lost, and don't ever look at her again."
He turned back to me. "Emma. Hey." His voice dropped, gentler now. "Breathe. Just look at me, okay? You're safe."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I was. My throat felt tight, like I couldn't swallow. But I focused on him—his voice, his eyes, his hand brushing the wet strands of hair away from my face. Slowly, like fog lifting, the panic began to loosen its grip.
Chloe was beside me too, wrapping her jacket around my shoulders, glaring at everyone nearby. "Y'all seriously need help," she muttered under her breath, shooting daggers at Amanda and her crew.
Peter helped me sit down at an empty table. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to steady my breath.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I don't know why it happens like this. I just—"
"Hey," Peter said. "You don't owe anyone an explanation."
I looked at him, blinking through the leftover blur in my eyes. "There's so much I don't know about myself. It's like—there are gaps. And when people come at me like that, it's not just now, it's like something old hits me too."
He nodded. "Then we figure it out. Together. All three of us, remember we will be together in all the battles and will champion them too."
Chloe sat down beside us. "And also, next time Amanda opens her mouth, I swear I'm launching mashed potatoes straight at her extensions."
I smiled a little. Just a little. But it felt like breathing again. God, I love them.
I sat in my room, legs curled under me, staring at nothing. My chest still felt tight from earlier—like something was trying to claw its way out from inside me.
My mom walked in quietly during her break, holding a half-empty bottle of juice. "Hey, baby. You good?"
I didn't respond at first. My voice was barely above a whisper when I finally said, "Mom... have you ever felt something—something that feels familiar—but you don't know what it is? And the harder you try to remember it, the more it crushes you? Like you can't even breathe."
She looked at me for a long second. I wasn't facing her—just staring blankly at the edge of my bed.
"That's called being on the edge of something important," she said softly. "Something your mind isn't ready for yet. But your heart remembers it anyway."
I finally looked at her. "Why would my own mind hide it from me?"
"To protect you," she said. Then she added something that stuck. "You're not just any ordinary kid. You never have been."
I blinked, stunned. "What does that even mean?"
But she just smiled sadly, handed me a bowl of fruit, kissed my forehead, and walked out. No explanation. Just that one cryptic sentence that now echoed in my head.
At 4 PM sharp, I grabbed my cycle and pedaled to the garage, heart still pounding with leftover panic. My plan was to meet Chloe and Peter, ride around, maybe distract myself. But at the edge of the forest—where my mom had strictly told me never to go—something changed.
I heard it.
"Emma..."
Soft. Whispered. But clear.
I looked around. Nothing. No one. Just the trees. And the wind.
My brain said imagination. My gut said run. But my feet pulled me forward.
I stepped into the forest.
And deeper.
Until I saw her.
Mrs. Maria Grace.
Standing with her back to me, rigid, arms down, staring at a tree like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Mrs. Grace?" I called out, my voice shaking.
She didn't move. Then her head—just her head—started to turn. Slow. Too slow.
Until it twisted all the way around, and her face was staring directly at me, while her body never budged.
I turned and ran. Trees whipped past me. But no matter which way I ran, I ended up at the same place. Again. And again. My breath tore out of my lungs. My legs ached. But the forest wasn't letting me go.
And then suddenly—Mrs. Grace was right in front of me.
I screamed—
—and woke up in my bed, heart pounding like a drum. My room spun for a second. My blanket was tangled around my legs. And standing there, in my room, were Peter and Chloe.
"Woah, are you okay?" Chloe asked, rushing to my side.
"We waited for like twenty minutes at the garage," Peter added, eyes wide. "Then we came here and found you, like, completely out of it. You were breathing so heavy."
"Looked like you were fighting something in your sleep," Chloe said. "Scared the crap out of us."
Peter handed me a glass of water. I took it with shaking hands, still in my home clothes—a tank top and those old faded shorts. My cheeks flushed red.
Peter noticed and quickly looked away. "Uh—I'll, um, get more water."
He left like he was on fire.
I threw on an oversized tee and pajama pants while Chloe stayed in the room. "What happened? You were seriously freaking out. Was it a nightmare or something?"
"Yeah," I said too quickly. "It was dumb."
"What was it about?"
I hesitated. "Just... school stuff. Like... I forgot my homework and everyone was staring at me. Total brain-warp dream. Nothing major."
Chloe looked unconvinced. "You were screaming."
"Okay, fine," I huffed, flopping onto the bed. "It was about... falling. From a building. I fell and kept falling and... yeah. Freaky."
"Still doesn't explain why you looked like you'd seen a ghost," Chloe said, narrowing her eyes.
Before I could answer, Peter returned, awkwardly handing me a second glass of water. "Everything okay now?"
"Yeah. Better," I lied again. "Thanks."
A long silence stretched between us.
Later, when we all walked back to the garage, I couldn't take it anymore. My hands were still shaking.
"I lied," I said suddenly.
Chloe and Peter both turned to me.
"That dream... it wasn't about school. Or falling. It was... messed up."
I told them everything.
The forest. Mrs. Grace. The tree. The twisted neck. The running. The endless loop.
When I finished, Peter's face had gone pale. Chloe just stared at me.
"You dreamt all of that?" Peter asked.
I nodded. "And the weirdest part? I've never been inside that forest. Ever. But in the dream... I knew where to go. Like I'd been there before."
Chloe glanced toward the tree line. "Okay. I know this is crazy but... should we check it out?"
I froze. "What? No. No way."
"Just the edge," Peter said. "If it was just a dream, it's not gonna match reality, right?"
We walked together. I hesitated the entire way. But when we reached it, I stopped cold.
There it was.
The tree.
Same twisted shape. Same roots.
Exactly like in my dream.
I stared at it, heart pounding again. "I don't understand. I've never seen this tree before. Not in real life."
Everyone was freaked out.
Peter and Chloe looked at each other, because it looked exactly the same as I told them.
Neither said a word.
But the silence was louder than anything.
Peter stepped forward first, eyes scanning the tree like it might suddenly jump at us. "Okay, so... this is the tree?"
I nodded slowly. "Exactly the same. Same roots. Same curve. I even remember that weird branch that looks like a witch's finger."
Chloe frowned. "It looks old. Like, really old. Why would you dream about something you've never seen?"
I shook my head. "That's the part that's freaking me out."
We circled the area, looking for anything unusual—symbols, markings, anything even slightly Scooby-Doo-worthy. But there was nothing. Just trees, roots, and more silence than should exist in nature.
"No carvings. No hidden trapdoors. No magical floating books or evil squirrels," Peter said, sighing. "I don't get it. It's just a forest."
"Yeah," I said softly. "But it doesn't feel like just a forest."
Chloe tilted her head. "Okay, weird question. Do you remember anything else from that dream? Like any clues?"
I thought for a second. "No... except—wait."
They both turned to me.
"There's something I didn't tell you. Earlier today, after the panic attack... I had this weird talk with Mrs. Maria Grace. You remember she called me out after I zoned out in class and I told you about how I opened her desk and found weird stuff? And then after Amanda and her friends pulled that crap on me, she called me again."
Chloe and Peter exchanged looks. "You talked to her? Alone?"
"Yeah. In school. She looked kind of... spaced out. Like she wasn't really there. She was muttering to herself. I asked her if she was okay and she just looked at me and said, 'You're not supposed to remember yet, what did you feel, what do you remember?.'"
"What the hell does that mean?" Peter asked.
I shrugged. "I have no idea. But then she showed me something—this photo. It wasn't like the one I saw in her desk... I mean, it was like that, but different. Super old. Black and white. Looked like it came straight out of one of those old history documentaries... but older."
Peter leaned forward. "What was in it?"
"A group of people standing right where this tree is. Like, right here. The forest looked younger, but it was definitely the same place. And there was this little girl in the photo... who looked exactly like me. I was freaked out. I don't even know what she was trying to tell me. Is she good? Is she bad? And how am I even related to that girl? I was just... full of questions."
Chloe stepped back. "Wait—what?! Are you messing with us?"
"I swear," I said. "Same face. Same birthmark under the chin. It was me. Or someone who looked exactly like me. I had the same reaction as you."
Peter's voice dropped. "Did Mrs. Grace say anything about the picture?"
"She just smiled weirdly and said, 'It always finds its way back to the beginning.'"
Chloe made a face. "Okay, that is officially nightmare fuel. Who talks like that?!"
Peter crossed his arms. "And you're telling me she just happened to have this ancient creepy photo in the middle of school? For no reason?"
I nodded. "Yup. And then she walked off. Like she hadn't said anything weird at all. Just went to her next class smiling. Like she didn't even remember what she did."
We all stood in silence, trying to process it.
Chloe finally said, "So... we've got a creepy tree, a spooky dream, a maybe-time-travel-photo, and a teacher who's acting like she's the main villain in a mystery novel."
"Are you sure about the villain part? I think... I'm not sure if she's a villain or good. But about that dream—I'm gonna talk to her," I said.
"Great," Peter muttered. "We're all gonna die in the sequel."
I rolled my eyes, but inside, my stomach twisted.
Because the more I remembered... the less it felt like a dream.
And the more it felt like a warning.