I WAVED DAWN GOODBYE as we headed into the assembly hall, where we would meet the Eights. We were a bustle of noise and stories from the December holidays, so it was a while before any order ensued. I ate that apple, while Graeme spoke about the hunting trips his dad had taken him on and the family vacation in the Cape, while Lou humbly enthused about her week in France visiting her grandparents and aunts for the Christmas season, and then the sit-ins on meetings with municipality officials.

"But that's not incredibly exciting anyway," she said conclusively and unexpectedly.

"I thought you wanted to follow in your dad's footsteps?" I inquired.

"I do," she smiled cheekily. "He thinks the meetings are boring, too. On a different note, how are things with you and Justin?"

I could practically feel Graeme roll his eyes behind my back. "So, Leslie studies the supernatural and spends her December learning judo, but that's what you want to know?"

Lou rolled her eyes back at him, "Yes Graeme, that is what I want to know," and then they focussed on me.

"Fine, thanks," I said.

Justin Levine was known as the handsome, smart, and talented star of the school's rugby team (sorry, Graeme). Our unpredicted relationship began when he had asked me, a total nobody, to the school's Valentine's Ball the year before. Thus, by a select few, he was also known as the best thing to ever happen to me, and more often than not I thought he was entirely that.

"Are you sure?" Lou asked, her face covered in concern, and I knew exactly what she meant, but I didn't really know how to answer her.

I swear Lou and Graeme hadn't stopped looking at me that way since October.

"Guys, I'm telling you, we're fine," I insisted, playing with a laugh for emphasis.

Justin was the one who'd promised to protect me from darkness and hold me when I cried, the one who loved me in spite of my quirks. He was the one who was perfect. Of course we were fine.

When Principal Wickers appeared on the stage, anyone saying anything came to a much appreciated hush. The man stood as tall as the microphone pole in front of him, and we ECs flocked together at the front of the hall.

"Good morning, boys and girls," greeted Wickers, speaking his second language, I presumed, for the first time since the last time he had stood upon that stage. "Goeie môre, seuns en dogters."

He welcomed theEights to the school, welcomed the rest of us back, and then said something encouragingabout being an initiate. There was not much he could say after his mandatoryintroduction, so he tried a few hopeless jokes, and then instructed the councilto conclude the formalities with a recital of the school song. We stood with our hands to our sides, as was expected, counted to three and started singing.

As do the ravens curiously seek
Shall we knowledge pursue
And light into our futures bring.
We cultivate our minds for tomorrow.
Here, within these walls standing strong,
We prepare for our soar beyond.
And as we try
And as we fail, 
Again we rise
Like suns and daughters
And reap the seeds we sow.
As God is our guide, we humbly abide
And speak not without kindness
And speak not without wisdom
For in wisdom, there is light!
Quia lux non est sapientia!

When we had reached the end of the song, tumbling over the Latin, Wickers gave us his praise and we clapped – as was our habit. Wickers then motioned towards the staff room where, as he'd mentioned, he and the parents would have their meeting (or more accurately, tea and cookies), leaving the freshmen to us.

"Graeme, it's time to go up," Lou chimed.

"Again," he sighed melodramatically.

Graeme wanted me to hear that, that guilt tripping tactic that meant I owed him for saving my butt earlier. He trotted up the stage steps, grabbed the microphone and the attention of the students at the same time.

"Hey, guys," he said with a grin. "My name is Graeme, I'm the head boy of Raven High, and I hope you come to enjoy it here as much as I do. Of course, before we can accept you into our school, we have to deem thee worthy, hence what we call initiation. It's going to be a lot of fun." Graeme's grin went dark with anticipation, and he may have scared some of the Eights, but there was laughter somewhere in between.

"But fortunately for you, all you have to worry about for today is getting yourself a nametag from that table at the back over there." He pointed to said table. "We took the liberty of giving each of you a number on there, which represents your groups from one to seven. Now, the desks on the sides of the hall are where you'll meet your group leaders. You're going to line up at the desk with your group number on it. You don't have to stand in alphabetical order, but try not to be all over the place, please. Oh, and leaders, be nice for today. Thanks."

Thus, the freshmen went hunting for their nametags while committee members found their desks. Each group had five leaders, two of which were currently responsible for putting faces to the names on the class lists we'd been given. Basically, it was a meet-and-greet. Graeme and I joined our colleagues at table 6, which already had a considerable line of students filing before it. We greeted the Eights, shook their hands and gave them their booklets. It was all systematic and lacklustre, going on and on, and then she appeared.

Merribel.

"You're Justin and Teylor's sister, aren't you? I'm Leslie," I said, hoping my smile looked less awkward than it felt.

She arched a thick brow, her olive-green eyes widened at me and then thinned in confusion. Her long, dark eyelashes made her gaze so intense, and yet all I could think was how adorable the girl was.

"That's a pretty name," she muttered eventually.

"Thanks, I like yours, too!"

Merribel blushed and smiled like she was hoping her unease wouldn't offend me – it didn't. However, her expression changed when she dipped into thought and probed her memory. "Oh. Oh, you're that Leslie!" she giggled suddenly, and I laughed.

"I am that Leslie!" And she was that Merribel.

Justin always talked about her, in the way any proud brother would talk about their little sibling, but I'd never had the chance to meet her until then. Aside from Teylor, his younger brother, I hadn't really met any of Justin's family. Our one-year anniversary was next month. I still wondered if the only reason I knew Teylor was because he went to Raven High, too – if either of them felt like I needed to be hidden away like some kind of secret.

"I'll tell them you say hi," uttered Merribel.

"I'd appreciate that." I shook her hand once again before she turned away, her long waves of hair undulating down her back with each step she took.

I smiled when I looked at Merribel now, but my mind wandered into plains of cold thoughts. Like how Justin had met Ronan, and how Dad already had this idea that we were going to be married someday, and yet his family were all but a list of names to me. And Justin was a locked door – when it came to me at least – one I could not just force open, no matter how badly I wanted in.

After every sweaty-palmed Eight had been accounted for, Graeme whispered to me, basically begging me for hand sanitiser. Once we were alone at our table, I fetched the bottle out from my bag, observing it first carefully before passing it to him.

Of course, I thought. "It's my mom's mix." She must have put it in there.

"Clementine's special verbena-tizer," he joked. "No wait, that sounds like a drink."

I laughed, "She makes those, too!"

Graeme laughed, too, but it was vacant, a shell of a sound. He poured a few drops of the stuff into his hand, stared into it while his mind went somewhere only I could find it; he always had that look in his eyes when he thought about that night, about verbena and what ifs. I stood nearer to him, my smile sympathetic as I tried to change the subject.

"Did you know you can eat that?"

"Really?" he asked, his curiosity peeking out from behind his walls, briefly, but not before he gave me a sceptical glance.

"Mm-hmm," I nodded. "It is organic after all."

He eyeballed the bottle. "Why don't I trust you?"

"Do you ever?"

Graeme bit his lip and scrutinised the bottle like a pretend scientist, and then me, and then the bottle. He had already rubbed it into his hands, so he gave his palms a sniff before deciding whether or not he was actually going to try it. I had a feeling that scent would be deceiving. He looked at me again, shaking his head and letting out a disparaging sigh.

"The things you make me do," he said, and then he did it. He choked on the taste, tried to cough it out of his mouth. "You liar, it's so gross!"

"I said it was organic, not gourmet!" I laughed.

That was when he jumped out of his chair and swiftly stood behind me, grabbing my wrists and holding them behind my head with one hand – it was almost impressive, honestly. I didn't scream because I thought the best thing to do in that situation was to keep my mouth shut, which was only a challenge because I was still laughing.

"Leslie, that's not fair," he said, trying to get me to speak, but I just nodded innocently in reply. "I'm going to tickle you."

With which hand? I thought. I wasn't afraid of his threat until the answer came forth as he let go of my wrists to attack my sides. I squealed as my hands fought to keep his torturous, tickling devices away, but he was too quick. Before I knew it, I could taste the verbena on my tongue, and the witch hazel and essential oils and aloe vera.

"Ha!" he exclaimed victoriously.

I simply glared at him as I forced the taste down. "I'm not talking to you."

"Aw, come on, don't be like that!"

I held my hand out for the bottle without saying a word. When I got it back, I slowly stood up from my chair and nonchalantly graced Graeme's golden hairs with the liquid.

He straightened up, looked at me with his head tilted to one side and groaned, "Really?"

"Yes, and we're done," I said quickly and with a theatrical bow.

Graeme shook his head at me before trying his best to get the sanitiser out of his hair and rubbing it into his hands. "You know, this is not how hair gel works."

"I don't know," I replied, standing on my tiptoes to assess my handiwork. "I think it has the same effect."

He laughed with me, but was much more focussed on his hair. After watching him struggle for a bit, I actually felt bad for him.

"Come here, let me help."

I put the sanitiser away and came to his aid with pocket tissues, and I said nothing else and neither did he. I pondered about how we should probably have hurried up and joined our group outside, but then another thought followed: would we really be missed?