Waves, tragic and unforgiving, lash against the rocky formations, their unsteady roar hollowing out the center of my chest.

I close the door of my Uber and wave the driver away before turning back to the ocean, the choppy surface sending goosebumps up and down my bare arms. In part from the breeze, but more so from the emotions collapsing over me.

The last time I was here, Ava was beginning her freshman year of high school 1400-miles away from home. When I started 9th-grade a year later, I chose to stay in Nebraska—because I don't run away from my problems. I stick it out and face them, with a little help from my friend Jack Daniels.

At least, the old me did. New me is on her own.

The door to Archer House creaks when I open it. I roll my suitcase toward the front desk and wait in line, taking in the peaked ceilings and elaborately framed artwork, each with a personalized plaque underneath featuring the artist's name. The colors are bold, the brush strokes dramatic, alluding to a sense of urgency and frenzied movement. Post-Impressionism, I believe it's called. Though I can't say for sure. It's been years since I've studied composition styles and techniques.

When it's my turn to check in, a woman around my mother's age gives me a smile. "Well, you're a new face," she says, looking me over. "My name is Lauren Bressler, but please, call me Lauren. I'm the housemother here. What's your name, sweetie?" She pivots toward the computer, the screen blanching her narrow face, and positions her fingers above the keyboard.

I clear my throat. "Hi, Lauren. I'm Mia Greenley."

Lauren's eyes widen as she turns to me, a pink flush creeping up her neck and over her cheeks. "Mia. It's nice to meet you. Ava spoke of you—" Her voice catches and she drops her eyes. When they finally rise, tears hover above her lower lashes. "I'm sorry. I knew you were coming and I thought I was better prepared."

This is a reaction I'm used to. Discomfort. Shock. Guilt. Still, it doesn't make dealing with the awkwardness any easier. "I take it you knew my sister?"

She nods, ashy blond hair tumbling around her shoulders. "Ava is—was—" She stops again and shakes her head. "She'll always be one of my favorites. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Like clockwork, my lips move into their carefully trained smile, corners tucked tight and curling up ever so slightly. "I appreciate that. I hope being here will bring me closure."

Lauren cocks her head and brings a hand to her chest. "Bless your heart. Whatever helps, that's what I always say. Everyone handles these situations differently. I pray you're able to find peace." She slides a keycard across the counter. "I'm sure you've already received this information, but you'll be in room 319 with Iris Johnson—she's an absolute peach, by the way. You'll find your assigned laptop on your desk, and your uniforms in the closet. And if you need anything at all, please don't be shy. My suite is right over there." She points to a room with the word 'Housemother' engraved on a nameplate in the center of the door.

I thank her and head toward the elevator, the wheels of my suitcase bumping over the sandstone tiles. Move-in day isn't as chaotic as I expected, not now that the school schedules appointments over a three day period of time. Before, parents and students swarmed the campus during registration, reminding me of busy worker ants marching back and forth until they'd completed their tasks. Today, they shuffle through the lobby like jaded tourists passing by a familiar farmer's market. If you've seen one head of cabbage you've seen them all.

The elevator doors open and two parents emerge, followed by a guy that looks to be my age. He's taller than me, blond, and extraordinarily attractive, wearing khaki shorts and a royal blue button-up shirt the same shade as his eyes.

His brows rise as if he's surprised to see me, and his hand springs from his pocket to stop the door from closing. "Please, allow me," he says with a welcoming smile. His other hand gestures for me to walk inside.

I'm not used to such chivalry. "Thank you," I say, my eyes traveling down his legs, tanned and golden-haired.

"What floor would you like?"

"Oh." Again, his politeness catches me off guard. "Three, please."

He leans inside the elevator, presses a button, and steps back, his eyes holding mine as the doors slide shut.

The elevator is spacious and quiet. A moment alone will help calm my racing heart, keep it from breaking through the layers of my chest. But the closer I get to the third floor, the harder it pounds.

When the doors open, there's not another soul in sight. As I walk down the hall, my footsteps are silenced by the gray wool carpet, and the only sound I hear is the hum of electricity from the overhead lights. The chill I had earlier hasn't left. It snakes along my skin as though I'm moving through Ava's presence, her energy lingering inside the walls, weaving throughout the fibers, fusing with the brick and mortar holding everything in place.

It does the opposite of bring me peace.

By the time I find 319, my breaths are rapid and shallow, my heart beating too hard and too fast.

Why am I so nervous? Isn't coming here what I asked for? Why I begged Mom to sign the admission application? Maybe beg is a strong word. It didn't take much convincing. She probably won't even notice I'm gone. In time, I'll become one more hazy memory lurking in the dark corners of her mind. Another ghost haunting her already haunted house.

I fumble with my keycard and try to fit it in the slot, but staying true to the course they've taken over the past few months, my hands are shaking. My fingers unwilling to cooperate. A cold sweat breaks out along my hairline.

Just as I'm about to give up, the door swings open and I'm standing eye to eye with a girl who's close to my height. She's pretty in an Abercrombie sort of way; flawless brown skin, dark curls framing a heart-shaped face, a smattering of perfectly placed freckles across the bridge of her button nose.

She thrusts out her hand. "You must be Mia. I'm Iris. Welcome to Maliseet Bay."

Her English inflection makes me smile. It's warm, like a hug. Genuine. I let out a breath and immediately feel at ease. Briefly, our hands entwine. "It's nice to meet you."

"Here, let me take that."

Before I can respond, Iris grabs the handle of my suitcase and rolls it into the room. I follow her inside, taking the opportunity to slide off my backpack and roll my shoulders.

"Have you been on campus before, or is this your first time?" she asks.

Okay. Here we go. "I was here once a few years ago. My sister was a student."

"Ava, right? I'm sorry about what happened." Iris positions my suitcase next to the twin bed on the right. The bed on the left must be hers, the one beneath the corner windows. "You don't look anything alike. Almost complete opposites."

Physically, yes. We were complete opposites; Ava slender and golden, and me more rounded and brunette. But we're both broken. And now Ava will never have the chance to be made whole.

Something tightens in my chest. "Did you know her?"

"Everyone knows everyone here," she says with a lopsided grin. "It can be a bit much at times—you'll learn that soon enough. There aren't many secrets between us. Just a bunch of overachieving rich kids, sticking their uppity noses where they don't belong."

I step past her to toss my bag onto the bed, and run a finger along the shiny new laptop sitting on the center of my desk. It's the most advanced device on the market, compatible for both hard core gamers and million-dollar entrepreneurs alike.

"Everyone has secrets," I tell her. "It's human nature." In other words, the dark underbelly of our existence. Those who claim to have none are liars.

"Oh, I didn't mean we don't have secrets. It's just harder to keep them around here. The student body is more like family than friends—minus the resident black sheep."

Black sheep. That's an identity I'm familiar with.

"So, would you like an official campus tour—namely, all of the places the teachers wouldn't want you to know about?" Iris smiles again, and hooks her thumbs through the belt loops of her white capris. "Like, where we go to get completely wankered, or hook up with guys. You do know we're not allowed to go into a room belonging to the opposite sex, right?"

"I remember reading that somewhere." Though that's not why I'm here. With Mom in bed all the time, I basically had an entire house to myself back home. I did whatever I liked. "A tour sounds great. But I'd like to unpack first, if you don't mind. Maybe later?"

"Splendid. I'll give you some privacy and let you settle in. We can meet up for dinner if you don't already have plans."

"It's a date."

Iris closes the door behind her, leaving me all alone. I glare at my suitcase. Unpacking is the last thing on my mind. Unwind would have been a better word. There's no thinking involved in that, just a head full of nothingness as I stretch my limbs and let the tension leach from my muscles.

I cross the room and open the blinds to get the full panoramic view. Under different circumstances, the scenery would be breathtaking. An endless expanse of ocean, the sky a perfect shade of blue. Tree-covered cliffs in the not-too-far-off distance. It has all the makings of a picturesque New England postcard.

But all I see is Ava falling.

The image makes the lingering chill even colder. I turn away and push down the longing for a drink. That's not me anymore. Jack Daniels and I have parted ways, though we left things on friendly terms. There's a time and a place for pleasure—if that's what you want to call it.

I drop onto the bed and let my head sink into the flannel-covered down pillow. It's fluffy like a cloud, and leaves me with a sense of floating through the air, my body defying gravity as the essence of who I am mingles with the mysteries of the universe.

A crinkling sound disturbs my meditation.

I flip onto my side, my fingers crawling beneath the pillow, and pull out a piece of white paper. I sit up and unfold the corners until it opens into a square, and a knot of dread tightens below my ribs.

It's a note written in pomegranate-colored marker, the longhand matching the message I found at home.

If you know what's good for you, Mia Greenley, you'll jump from the cliffs like your sister.

If you're looking for more creepy reads, I'm just starting a young adult dark historical thriller on my profile. Stop by and check it out!