six

"Winnie, did you-"


"Where're the car keys?" Dressed in dark skinny jeans, a black and red flannel and black platform ankle boots. Her hair was lightly curled with the sides twisted back, her makeup done up with winged eyeliner and natural eyeshadow. Her black leather shoulder bag was with her and she wasn't much for talking.


Aaron, in his usual attire of a suit, sighed lightly. He slid two pairs of keys across the island in the kitchen. "Ford Taurus or Chevy Malibu. Black Ford, red Chevy."


"Years?" Winnie asked, navy painted nails holding her phone idly.


"Both newest models," Mr. Jones informed, sipping on coffee.


"Chevy." Winnie halfly looked at him, taking the Chevy keys and heading for the garage. "Bye."


"Winnie-"


"I don't want to be late," she flatly said, leaving the house. With annoyance in the way she moved, she went to the red car and climbed into the driver's seat. She stayed still for a moment, breathing in as she closed her eyes.


She didn't want to be mean to her dad, but this was also a cruel punishment.


Winnie gave up on being guilty, wanting to get school over with. She put the keys into the ignition and brought the vehicle to life. Pressing a button on the key chain, the garage door on her side rose up and allowed her passage out. Jabbing on the radio, she reluctantly followed the GPS to Beacon Hills High School.


¥ ¥ ¥


When the life you live is unusual, there is no doubt a difference in that person from the plethora of painfully normal people in the world.


That, over anything, has to be a fact.


But there are different kinds of different, naturally.


Per say, moving every 2 1/2 years due to being the kid of an Air Force major is different from someone who grows claws and fangs and is under the sway of the moon.


Those who are painfully boring want to be different while those who have to deal with anything unnatural want to be normal.


Winnie fell under the category of wanting to be normal.


She desperately wished for it, but no matter how much she wanted it, it would never happen.


This, of course, was all racing through Winnie's mind as she sat in the parking lot of her new high school.


A bell had already gone off and Winnie was trying to figure out a lie of why she had to move to Beacon Hills.


Literally anything would be better than saying she got caught out at a party and moving to California was her punishment.


Giving in, Winnie put the car keys into her bag and headed towards the school. She noticed the cop car, but what caught her attention was the cops coming out of the school with a curly haired boy in their grip.


Winnie's pace slowed, her breath knocked out of her.


It was him.


It was Isaac Lahey, the boy from her paintings.


A barely audible swear left her lips, unable to look away.


Isaac's head turned, catching Winnie's eyes before being forced into the patrol car.


Before Winnie could collect herself, the school doors opened again.


Tanned with pushed up hair, another boy was frantic and stopped dead when he saw Isaac in the cop car.


Winnie took one more look at Isaac, the car beginning to pull away. Avoiding looks from the boy she didn't know, she went into the school. Before the door shut her inside, tires screeched to a halt and the brunet boy never came back in.


Collecting herself, Winnie dug into her bag and leaned her back against the cool tile wall. She brought out a piece of paper and unfolded it with nearly shaking fingers.


She'd done it right when she woke up.


It was Isaac, again, but it was specifically of him looking out the back window of a cop car.


Winnie felt sick to her stomach, nearly cutting out and going home instead of dealing with school.


"Winowna Jones?"


Winnie lightly jumped, automatically refolding her drawing of Isaac Lahey. She cleared her throat, seeing a dark skinned woman with sleek black hair. "Yes?"


"I'm Ms. Morrell, the guidance counselor. I'm sorry to have startled you. I saw you on the security camera and you looked like the picture that came with your transcripts."


"Yes, sorry I was only taking a minute for myself." Winnie put away the paper, "This is all a little overwhelming."


"I understand completely," Morrell replied, her voice tamed and calm. "Do you need another minute or are you ready for our meeting?"


"No, I'm ready." Winnie let go of a soft sigh but smiled lightly as she joined the counselor. "And, I actually go by Winnie."


"Well, Winnie, it's nice to meet you." Ms. Morrell shook Winnie's hand before motioning down the hall. "My office is just down here. How was your first night in Beacon?"


Winnie brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, "I'd say a little concerning, seeing as a man was killed the night I arrived."


"Mr. Lahey's death was a tragedy. He was our swim coach here for years," Morrell told her, letting her into her office first.


Winnie's eyebrows came together, hesitantly sitting in a chair across from Morrell. "Lahey?"


"Yes, why?"


"Nothing, I just, the name is familiar."


Morrell only watched Winnie closely, pausing before moving on. "Why was your reason for coming to Beacon Hills?"


And there it was, Winnie thought, barely hesitating before speaking. "My dad's work. I only should be here for a month or so."


"How do you feel about that?"


"I thought we were meeting to discuss my classes." Winnie followed Morrell without missing a beat.


"I was only curious," Morrell told her, her hands folded in her lap as she sat across from the newest student of her school. "Today you should only worry about getting down your schedule and maybe make a few friends. I doubt you'll have much work since your teachers will just be trying to get you adjusted."


"Are my classes being transferred over or were there any issues?" Winnie questioned, her ankles crossed.


"No, no issue." Morrell handed Winnie a slip of paper. "The curriculum is slightly different here, but you have chemistry with Mr. Harris, advanced English 10 with Mr. Woodsen, and history which are your three sophomore classes. Gym is with both sophomores and juniors, precalc here is a senior class as well as your European Studies and your art is of juniors like it was your previous school."


Winnie checked over the schedule, "Are there only seven hours here?"


"Yes, and it's not on a block schedule so it'll stay the same everyday until you leave us," Ms. Morrell said. "It's a change for you but you seem like you can adjust."


"I guess we'll have to see," she said with only a soft distaste.


"Winnie, is this your first time moving?"


Winnie watched Morrell, knowing she was switching the topic. "Yes."


"Are you uncomfortable being outside of your hometown?" she asked, her eyes on Winnie's.


"Incredibly."


"Why?"


"Why is this turning into a therapy session?" Her voice wasn't rude, but simply nonvacant. She was passive and almost bored.


"Why are you so against one?" Morrell repeated her same tone, tension in the air.


"You're the one with the degree, Ms. Morrell. How about you tell me?"


Morrell leaned forward, placing her folded hands on the table. "I think that you're here on some sort of punishment. You're incredibly closed off to the idea of being here and you're acting meaner than you actually are because you think you shouldn't make any ties due to only being here a month, or you've got something you don't want anyone to find out."


"Sounds like you're invasive."


"Seems like you're hiding something."


"So are you."


The room grew quiet, the eye contact between the two unwavering.


Ms. Morrell simply lifted an eyebrow, "I don't know what you're talking about, Winowna."


"It's Winnie."


"Winnie," Morrell said with conviction, "why are you in Beacon Hills?"


"I went to a party that wasn't worth it and my father made a surprise visit and caught my brother and I."


"You have a brother?" she asked. "Where is he?"


"He's still in Arvada." Winnie didn't appreciate her tactics, and it was obvious.


"Why is he not here?"


"Why do you care?"


Morrell blinked, not taking a hit in her words. "I'm trying to figure you out."


"Don't." Winnie stood, reaching into her bag. She flipped through a small sketchbook and tore out one page near the front, dated three months previous. "I'm not as easy as you." Folding it in half, she tossed it onto Morrell's desk before starting to leave. "Have a nice day."


Marin looked to the paper, reaching out for it once the door shut her in her office alone. She slid a finger across it so it unfolded, moderately concerned from what she found.


It was a man, sunglasses blocking blinded eyes.


There was an image of Morrell, much smaller and in the background. There was one word in cursive across the top.


Emissary

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