A TRICKLE OF POMEGRANATE JUICE SLID DOWN GOLA'S CHIN. It stained her tongue and dripped from the plumpness of her lips.

"You don't have to stay." She informed the red haired boy sitting next to her on the velvet cushioned love seat. Although she was sure he knew.

Levi merely hummed in return. His eyes clenching and his eyebrows furrowing further at the sound of her voice softly slicing through the silence.

Yona and her gang of cheerleaders cut through the library on the way to the cafeteria. She made a big deal of waving exaggeratedly to her little sister who in return glared and threw the bird. Her friends pointed at Levi, giggling and whispering.

Levi was the schools golden boy. He gravitated girls like the sun. And ran from them like a plague of the night.

Not many of those girls knew he much more akin to the moon, half hidden, always sulking and brooding.

Uncomfortable he shifted and rose in his chair with a deep sigh. "I do." He finally answered.

"Accepting my marriage proposal so soon, Richards. I thought you were still playing hard to get."

An exasperated hand ran through his thick forest curls to rest against his face. The irritation sewn on his face almost painful. "I do have to stay to protect the books—classics, ancient scrolls, one of a kinds, from your piggish ways, ratbag!"

Gola had the audacity to look offended as she went on shoveling her lunch down her throat wolfishly. With none of that 'lady-like' grace. The tips of her fingertips red and chocolate stained. "Studying with food is the only way to a means."

"It's disgusting, you make a pitiful woman!" He looked as repulsed as he sounded.

"Some people leave grocery list, notes and flowers. A sprinkle of coffee or two will do no harm."

Levi scoffed and threw a pair of the library's reading gloves at her face. She giggled sheepishly.

Her smile faded the slightest. "How come you never eat?"

A shadow crossed the boy in questions face. Response did not come.

Mirth now myth, Gola pushed. "I've only ever heard you mention eating when used to further a conversation you hardly seem interested in."

"What's the point if it won't stay down?"

She sighed deeply. Concern etched into the deep lines of her brow.  "Depression?"

Fool. He thought. "Yes." He said.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

A silence devoured the room. Not stiff nor thick. But comfortable and appreciated.

Until it was interrupted.

"Students, attention." Mrs, Laurent demanded from in intercom, she was not the kind of teacher to ask.

"As is tradition, the annual autumn dance will be held in just one weeks time."

Elated whispers rose like the singing of the wind. Mrs, Laurent waited, tapping her red bottom heel against the floor impatiently. And silence returned with a shiver.

"There are rules. As there have always been. Dress restrictions, etiquette."

A choir of groans resonated off the old ivy covered walls, making the building seem very much like some beast stirring in its sleep.

"Please." Mrs, Laurent sighed exasperated, and Gola could almost imagine her slender finely manicured hand pinching the bridge of her straight nose. "Behavior of such is not becoming."

She'd repeated the phrase so often that Levi, who still sat leaning back into his folded arms mimicked her. Mouthing the words silently.

Gola might've kicked him under the table and warned him to behave. He might've smirked.

But Gola was no longer smiling when Mrs Laurent added. "And I will need to see Ms Gola smith in my office—immediately."

She looked startled. Were there cameras in the library?

Immediately. The way Mrs Laurent has uttered the word it held just as much finality as death.

Levi must've noticed her solemn eyes, for he stood and outstretched a cold hand. "Take my hand, I'll walk with you."

—————

BROOKSVILLE HIGH WAS OVER TWO HUNDRED YEARS OLD. So it made sense that it was haunted. With memories of people who'd yet to pass on adrift in the halls.

Toby a speckled eyed girl who'd been poisoned at the school in the fifties could be seen hurrying off to class. Although she'd never make it.

Students have complained about feeling a gust of freezing air blow through them. Hearing books clatter to the floor, wet chocking and cruel laughter.

Then there were World War II soldiers writing love letters that would never be sent, stealing extra food from the kitchens, pestering the nurses about old wounds and patrolling the halls.

Those boys were chaos inducing all in all.

One of them, Danial, Nick named Danny, faux saluted Gola as she passed. With a wink of course.

Another acknowledging nod. Only this time she left her lunch box behind. When she would return the remainder of her chocolate covered strawberries would be gone.

Hungry dogs are best kept fed.

It was strange that Levi never noticed her nods at the air or glances in directions where nothing stood. Strange things always took great notice of him.

"Devourer of hearts." The ravens squawked.

"Something worser than death." The slaves, who'd been there longer than the school would shake their heads as he passed.

"Pale faced demon!"

"Shadow made man, have a pencil?" Toby would ask almost embarrassed in French class.

"Lend an extra eye to the goblin, I don't trust him." The soldiers would talk amongst themselves, discussing the safety of the students like a battle plan.

Spirits and ravens weren't the only creatures unsettled by Levi's presence brookville high itself seemed wary. Doors would slam and lock by themselves as he passed. Passage ways disappeared. The floorboards would moan and tremble.

The walls wept blood.

It was hard to heed any of this as anything more than a misunderstanding when he was so oblivious and indifferent. Strewn out in any ray of sunlight the boy stumbled into. Eyes closed, brilliant hair blazing like a halo of liquid gold atop his head, his skin rosy and honey gilded.

Levi Richards. The golden boy. Not ghastly at all.

"Beware." The chalk board in the principals office read.

"Ah." Mrs, Laurent gestured to the embroidered cushioned chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."

"May I ask what this is about?"

"Good girl, straight to the point just like young girls ought to be." Mrs Laurent settled back into her own chair, crossing her long legs elegantly. "Tea?"

Gola thought to nod. But the teacher in question had once given her a two hour lecture about the importance of using her words. "Of course, thank you."

"You're in no trouble, darling, I assure you. Take a moment to breath."

The stream of peppermint tea infiltrating Gola's system made it hard to disobey. She eased back into her uncomfortable chair with a deep sigh. A weight lifting off of her shoulders.

"I've called you here to return your journal. Could've had someone pass it along but it seems personal. Precious even."

"Ive been looking all over for that!"

With a big beautiful pearl toothed smile, Mrs Laurent handed it over. "Now that I've confirmed the owner, dear, I'll need to know why the journal is covered in blood."