Jessa

The next morning felt… normal.

Which was weird, because nothing was actually normal.

The sky was gray, the air was cold enough that my breath puffed out in little clouds when I stepped out of Mariah’s car, and Ridgeville High looked the same as it always did—brick walls, flickering fluorescent lights, students pouring through the doors like it was any other Tuesday.

But I knew better.

Because Ridgeville didn’t just move on.

It recycled.

It chewed people up ...