The next day, we're barely ten minutes into third period when Marissa is called to the office. She slowly packs her gold bag, glancing at me with a smug smile that reads, I told you so. I roll my eyes, but truthfully, I'm glad for her. Even though I hate the reason, I haven't seen her this happy in a long time. Marissa's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. Her new conquest – or 'Nice-shoes' as I've taken to calling him – showed up at the office. He's a day late, but here nonetheless.

The class watches her with an eagerness that makes me uncomfortable. You'd think Marissa just won the lottery or something.

I shake my head, wondering if she's taking her time to revel in the class's admiration – only seven girls from our grade have been able to turn someone so far, and this is Marissa's fifth time. Knowing Marissa, it could also be for the game of it, keeping her guy waiting and wanting, and driving him mad with desire.

The brass tardy bell rings, interrupting Marissa's gloat. Sister Hannah Marie rises from behind her desk and walks to the door to see who it is. She opens it a crack, then slips into the hall. It's odd behaviour for a Sister. They don't normally leave us unattended. The class chats among themselves, a mixture of excitement for Marissa and gossip over My Vampire Alien Life's latest episode.

I think I'm the only one who hasn't seen the show.

After a few moments the Sister returns, breaking up the chatter. A serious look has spread across her normally bubbly face. I can't help but sense something isn't right.

'Rachel, pack your things and escort Marissa to the office.' The Sister doesn't make eye contact. Instead she rushes to the board and hastily wipes the bullet points from yesterday's class. Marissa and I share a worried look.

'Am I in trouble?'

It's a perfectly valid question, but Sister Hannah Marie hangs her head. 'Just go,' she mumbles.

Marissa shrugs and I gather my books, following her into the hall. It's only Wednesday and it's the second time this week that I've been sent to the office – this has got to be a new record for me.

'I hope he's as cute as I remember,' Marissa says. 'I have a good feeling about this guy. Who knows, I may even keep him.'

I roll my eyes and fall into step beside her.

'Ooh, what if he has a six-pack?' She squeals and quickens her pace and I have to speed-walk to keep up. She has her mind on Nice-shoes. But all I can think about is how strange Sister Hannah Marie was acting.

The halls are unusually empty – we don't even pass patrol nuns ushering first years between classes. That only adds to my nerves. I bite the inside of my cheek. The closer we get to the office, the more uncertain I feel. Everything in me screams to turn and run. Instead, I stop in the middle of the hall.

'Something doesn't feel right.'

Marissa rolls her eyes in her typical belittling fashion. Then she pushes past me, reaching for the office door. She steals a quick moment to straighten her outfit and smooth down her eyebrows, even though they're perfect.

'Eyebrows?' she asks, pointing to them.

'Good,' I say.

'The rest of me?'

Flawless. 'Also good.'

Satisfied with my answer, she grabs my hand and strides into the office, dragging me in tow. When she stops abruptly, I slam into her, sending us both stumbling into the room. I regain my balance and gasp, staggering back.

In front of us are three police officers, guns drawn, pointing straight at us.

One of the men wears thick red-framed glasses and a wool sweater the same shade of brown as his skin. I only know he's an officer by the badge hanging around his neck. He pushes his way to the front of the group. His shaky hand clings to a gun. I glance from him to Mother Superior, hoping for some form of understanding. She stands behind the officers and gives a weak smile. When they're not looking she mouths something, and I'm pretty sure it's, we'll get you out of this.

'You're under . . .'

His words fill the room, and everything slows as the officers grab me and push me to the ground next to Marissa. I fight back every image I've seen on TV of police brutality and tell myself it won't happen to me. But then they yank my books out of my arms, jerk my wrists back to handcuff them, and then lift and shove me against the wall.

Marissa is guided beside me. The difference in treatment is startling. They've so wrongly judged which of us is the threat. And Marissa doesn't even seem to notice how scared I am, instead she looks bored by the whole thing. It frustrates me that her cool, cocky demeanour doesn't even slip when we're handcuffed. I fight the need to cry and instead focus on taking slow, deep breaths.

'Don't worry,' Marissa whispers, her eyes darting to the officer holding me. 'We got this, you ready?'

I can't believe what she's suggesting. Still, another part of me is tempted to try using my ability, to see if I can save myself. My guess is the nuns will act like this is a normal Catholic school and turn on us if they need to. Still, I can't, not even for this. Not only is it wrong, but I'm unpractised. Even if I did somehow manage to successfully turn one of the officers, and Marissa another, we couldn't fight off the third officer. Could we?

I shake my head no, and she rolls her eyes.

So I do the only thing I can. I lift my chin and try to be brave. 'What have we done?'

The officer holding me shoves me further into the wall, and the one in the red glasses begins reciting our rights. All I really understand is that we have the right to remain silent. It's hard to focus on what he's saying when he's staring at me like I'm about to shoot laser beams from my eyes. It's like he's scared of us.

He wouldn't know about our ability, would he?

I bite my lip and return the stare, hoping to read something on his face that could give me answers. His eyes bulge through the thick lenses, and he steps back.

'Take these, these girls to the holding cell.'

I'm jerked around, landing face-to-face with a large sweaty man.

'I'm Officer Tucker Johnson, that's Officer Mark White, and that,' he points to the officer with the glasses, 'is Officer Ammon Matos. You two are coming with us.'

The officers thrust us toward the door and Ammon watches, cleaning his glasses on his sweater.

I twist in their grip to look at him. 'Will you tell us what we've done?'

I'm knocked back around.

'When I find out exactly what you two girls, if you even are girls, have done, I'll . . . well, I'm going to make sure you never reach the mother ship, that's what.'

That confuses me at first, until realization sinks in, slow and painful – they are scared. But it's even worse than I thought. They think we're the vampire aliens.

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