I'm in English, seated with Ms. Perkins directly in front of me, with everyone else behind me. It was the only spot left when I entered the room. Ms. Perkins is cool—no lecture at yesterday's absence, no need to have me introduce myself. She pointed at the empty desk in front of her and plopped a pile of books and a ream of notes in front of me.

"I wouldn't make any plans this weekend, Miss Hails. You have a lot of reading ahead of you."

That was it. I wish all my teachers were like that.

It's only ten forty-five, but I'm already stressed about lunch, not because I'm hungry, but because I need a strategy to survive the social aspect of this place I'm imprisoned in until June. Math and English alternate every day, which means sometimes I'm heading to lunch straight from math and sometimes straight from English. Since there's no one in my math class I want to eat with, that leaves this class.

An image of Will's face drifts into my mind, but I brush him aside. He's got one foot in Nick's group. That's a strike against him, even if he seems okay on the surface.

Ms. Perkins discusses Macbeth, but I'm only half listening. Instead, I plot. Yesterday I took off during lunch. But it won't work today. I glance out the window. It's been raining since ten and without an umbrella, I won't risk getting soaked and having to sit through my afternoon classes like a wet dog, not with the attention that would bring.

Today I need to find someone to eat with, not for companionship, but for cover. If I'm with at least one living, breathing person, I'll blend into the background of the cafeteria. If I'm alone, I'll stand out. I need someone who will be okay with the barest conversation. I peek over my shoulder again at a girl I noticed in the hall yesterday, the only girl there when everyone else made their way to the cafeteria.

My previous two schools had strict rules about food in the halls, but I'm not sure about this one. If she eats at her locker, maybe I can sit with her today and avoid the cafeteria altogether.

She's in the same black denim jeans and tight faded T-shirt as yesterday. I try to read the words on her chest, but her limp blond hair hangs down to the desk and blocks some of the red letters. She makes no effort to brush her hair out of the way as she scribbles in her notebook. When the teacher calls on her, I note her name: Liz.

At lunch, I follow Liz to her locker, which turns out to be near mine on the second floor near the water fountain. Across from her, I spot Will talking to a girl with long red wavy hair and the toned body of an athlete. She leans in to whisper something and rests her hands on his forearm.

"Hi," I say, dragging my attention back to Liz.

Liz jumps in surprise as if she's not used to having anyone speak to her. She scrutinizes me through pale topaz eyes and I scramble for something to say. "I... I thought we could eat together. You're in my English class—"

"NO."

She says the word so loud several people look over, including Will and his friend. I expect something else, but she closes her locker and turns away.

My face flushes with heat. What I said was so lame and random. It's no wonder she responded the way she did. I stare at my feet. I don't know what to do. I can't go for a walk. I can't hide under the bleachers again; the ground will be wet and muddy from all the rain. But I can't walk into the lunchroom by myself either. In the middle of the crowd of bodies around me, I'm completely alone.

"Hey." Will's beside me suddenly, his brow knitted in concern. "Come meet Christine," he says and points at the girl he was talking to.

I follow him to where Christine stands. Her gaze flicks over me before she shoots a look I can't read at Will.

"Hi," she says, turning back to me.

"Christine, this is Leila. She's new."

"Yeah, I know. I sit behind her in English. You joining us, Will?" she asks as she heads to the stairs.

I stare in confusion. It's as if they've planned our lunch together and all I have to do is follow her.

"Sure. Save me a spot."

When I hesitate, unsure of what's happening, Will leans in and whispers, "Go ahead. You'll like each other."

Christine wraps her arms around her chest as she waits at the top of the stairs. "You coming, or what?"

[Author's Note:

Question: 

Is releasing a chapter a week an acceptable pace, or does it make it hard to get into the story and keep you interested?]