Elena’s POV

The cafeteria has its own smell.

It is a mix of burnt pizza, sour milk, sweaty teenagers, and bad decisions. If hell had a lunchroom, this would be it. Bright lights that make everyone look worse than they already feel, long plastic tables scarred with years of carvings, and noise so loud it feels like it crawls under your skin.

The day after the pep rally, I walk in knowing one thing for sure.

I am being watched.

I feel it before I see it. That prickly feeling on the back of my ...