My first real day of school.

  The alarm didn’t even get a chance to blare. My bedroom door flew open at what felt like the crack of dawn, and suddenly the overhead light blazed on like someone had detonated a flashbang right in my face.

  “Meleek! Wake up!”

  Kylie’s voice cut through the haze. She marched straight to the side of my bed, already fully dressed, already radiating that bright, unstoppable energy she always carried into battle (or, apparently, into mornings).

  I groaned, flinging an arm across my eyes. “Did you have to turn on the light? It’s like staring into the sun.”

  She didn’t hesitate. Her fingers wrapped around my wrist and yanked my arm away with the casual strength of someone who’d been bossing me around since we were toddlers. “Yes. Breakfast is ready, and I want to get to school before the Welcoming Ceremony starts. Come on—up.”

  It took a few painful blinks for my eyes to adjust. When the room finally came into focus, there she was: Kylie, already in full uniform, looking annoyingly perfect.

  The outfit was the same for both of us: crisp white long-sleeved button-up shirt, dark blue-and-white plaid tie, matching plaid skirt for her (pants for me), and clean white tennis shoes. On her, it looked cute and effortless. The skirt swished just above her knees, the tie sat perfectly knotted, and her straight golden-blonde hair—shoulder-length, parted neatly down the middle—framed her face like she’d stepped out of a catalog. A touch of eyeliner and mascara made her bright blue eyes pop, and a soft pink gloss shimmered on her lips. She barely needed makeup—she was Mom’s daughter through and through.

  I sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and gave the uniform a skeptical once-over. “Oh crap. I completely forgot how awful these things are.”

  She stepped back, smoothing her skirt with a little spin. “What? I think it looks cute on me.”

  I smirked. “It looks just as hideous as you do.”

  She gasped in mock outrage, then lunged.

  I flinched, raising my hands in surrender, laughing—expecting a punch.

  Instead, she snatched the pillow from under my head and started whacking me with it.

  “You’re—such—an—asshole!”

  Each word came punctuated by a soft thump against my arms and shoulders.

  I laughed harder, finally wrestling the pillow away from her. “Ow—okay, okay! Stop!”

  She stood over me, hands on hips, cheeks flushed from the effort. “Jerk. Hurry up and get ready. We’re leaving soon.”

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  “Fine. Get out so I can change.”

  She turned like she was going to leave—then spun back at the last second, grabbed my blanket, and ripped it off in one dramatic yank.

  Cool air hit my skin. I was in nothing but boxer briefs.

  She cackled and bolted for the door.

  “Oh, you’re dead!” I yelled, scrambling out of bed after her.

  She hurled the blanket back in my face and sprinted down the hall, laughter echoing behind her.

  “Yeah—you better run!”

  I slammed my door, locked it, and leaned against it, heart racing from the chase—and from the sudden, ridiculous wave of nerves that crashed over me.

  Real school.

  Actual people.

  I took a quick shower, the hot water doing almost nothing to calm the butterflies rioting in my stomach. Brushed my teeth. Deodorant. A splash of cologne—maybe too much. I styled my short platinum hair into its usual messy-but-intentional look.

  Then I faced the mirror.

  I stared at my reflection, stomach churning.

  I’d grown—a lot. Taller than Kylie now, broader from years of working out. But those pointed ears still jutted out unmistakably. The platinum hair no dye could touch. And my eyes—emerald green with that faint, constant glow—caught the light like they were lit from within.

  People were going to stare.

  Some would whisper.

  Others might be cruel.

  I exhaled shakily. “You can do this.”

  Downstairs, Mom waited at the bottom of the stairs, smiling like I was heading off to prom instead of high school.

  She stepped forward, reaching up to straighten my tie. “You look so handsome in your uniform.”

  The tie felt too tight. The shirt too starched. The whole thing stiff and foreign.

  “I feel like a dork,” I muttered.

  Kylie, already at the table, snorted around a bite of toast. “That’s because you are.”

  Mom shot her a look.

  While Mom’s back was turned, I flipped Kylie off with a subtle middle finger.

  She smirked.

  Mom set a plate in front of me—eggs, toast, bacon, orange juice.

  Dad glanced up from his tablet at the head of the table. “Nervous?”

  “A little,” I admitted, poking at my food. “I only know Kylie. What if people think I’m… weird?”

  Kylie swallowed. “You know some of my friends. Mia. Michael.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  Dad set his tablet down. “You’ll also see Headmaster Harry. Remember him?”

  “Vaguely. He was with you and Uncle Carl when you found me, right?”

  “That’s him. He’ll look out for you—no one will mess with you on his watch. And he’s arranged your classes so you’ll have familiar faces.”

  I nodded, unsure if that helped or made it worse.

  We finished eating amid more last-minute advice—lockers, schedules, cafeteria etiquette.

  Then it was time.

  Mom and Dad insisted on driving us. As we pulled out of the driveway, my stomach flipped again.

  New school.

  New people.

  New chance to finally feel normal. Or to crash and burn spectacularly. Either way, there was no turning back now.

  The drive to school took about fifteen minutes since we lived on the outskirts of town, but it felt both endless and far too short. The closer we got, the more my stomach twisted into knots. One part of my brain kept screaming to turn the car around—tell them I’d changed my mind, that homeschooling was fine, that I didn’t need this. The other part, quieter but stubborn, whispered about everything I’d been missing: real friends who were mine, not borrowed from Kylie; the chance to join the swim team (water had always been my escape, second only to video games); maybe even choir, though the thought of standing on a stage singing made my palms sweat.

  More than anything, I daydreamed about something straight out of those cheesy teen romance shows I secretly binged—one no one knew about, not even Kylie. A girlfriend. Someone who could look past the ears, the hair, the glowing eyes, and see me. Not the elf from the news, just Meleek. But that felt like the biggest fantasy of all. I’d probably settle for just making a few friends who didn’t treat me like a curiosity.