Glass Stars: Chronicles of V, #1

1

First-Day Jitters

Iraced through the hallways of Sierra High School, determined to find Emma before the bell rang. Just as I rounded the corner, a deep, booming voice stopped me in my tracks.

Hold on there, Miss Jiménez. Where are you going in such a hurry?

I spun around to see the principal walking toward me, a stern look on his face. His grizzled beard and gray suit made him an imposing figure.

Great. What a way to start my first day of high school. I’m in trouble already, I thought.

Good morning, Violet, Dr. Michael Fitzgibbon said, all smiles by the time he reached me. How are you today? Did you have a nice summer?

Yes, sir—wait. I scratched my head. I’m not in trouble for running in the halls?

Nah, I just had to yell at you for appearances, he said. You know, to keep up the mean principal façade—at least for the first week. He winked at me, but it looked more like something got stuck in his eye. He cleared his throat and added, How are your parents? Ready for another stellar year, no doubt.

Yes, I guess so. I looked at my feet, eager for this conversation to end so I could find Emma.

Dr. Fitzgibbon (or Fitz, but we didn’t call him that to his face) furrowed his brow. He leaned down and spoke in a low voice, concern etched in his face. Violet, is everything all right? You were in a big hurry just now. And first period doesn’t begin for another fifteen minutes.

Yes, sir, I’m fine. I’m just looking for my friend, that’s all. And . . . I’m a little nervous, I admitted.

There’s no reason to be nervous, Violet. Just because your parents are rock stars at this school, it’s not like you live in their shadow, right?

Right, I said and tried to smile. Just what I need, the principal wants to be my new BFF because my parents are teachers here. Like that’s not bad enough.

Sorry, that was supposed to be a lame joke. What I meant to say is everyone loves your parents. And I’m sure they’ll love you, too. Just relax and be your awesome self. Have a good day, but slow down a bit, okay?

Okay, I will. Thank you, sir. Um, bye. I walked away from Dr. Fitz as fast as my legs would carry me—without running.

Now, where the heck is Emma?

Earlier that morning, Emma and I made plans to wear our matching Taylor Swift 1989 T-shirts to our first day of high school. I wasn’t a big Taylor Swift fan, but Emma was, and I’d do anything to make my best friend happy.

Well, if I’m being honest, Emma was my only friend. We did everything together. So when she wanted to go to Taylor Swift’s 1989 concert a few weeks ago, I went. Emma called herself a Swiftie and knew every line from every song, which could be annoying when she randomly belted out lyrics at inappropriate times.

Emma had sent me an excited text before I’d even finished getting ready.

Emma

I’m so psyched for the first freaking day of high school!!! Aren’t u?

Psyched is not the word that comes to mind. Now stop texting me and let me finish getting ready!

OK sorry. See you in a few!

I was about to reply when my mom called me from downstairs. I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my ripped jeans and dashed out of my room.

Good morning, Violet, Mom said and smiled at me when I walked into the kitchen.

I cringed.

Do you want eggs for breakfast? she asked, loud and cheery.

Mom! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s V! Call me V. Geez.

Sorry, sweetie. I guess I need to be reminded a few more times. Mom cleared her throat and emphasized, "V, do you want eggs and⁠—?"

No, I’ll just grab a banana. I looked at the empty spot on the counter where Mom usually kept the fruit. Um . . . where are the bananas?

Good morning, sunshine, Dad said. He smirked and tousled my stringy hair as he handed me a banana from the bowl of fruit directly in front of me at the kitchen island. He combed his fingers through his own shaggy, black locks and asked with a wink, Get enough sleep last night, V? Or are you nervous about your first day of high school?

You know I’m not a morning person, Dad. I grabbed the banana and plopped down on the bar stool with a loud thump. I pulled the banana peel down with hostility, bit off the top, and glared at my family.

Grouchy bear! Grouchy bear! V is a grouchy bear! Scotty, my six-year-old brother, sang out with a mouthful of scrambled egg. He looked like a mini troll doll with blond hair and big blue eyes.

My mom had thick, medium-length red hair that cascaded down around her face and shoulders like an unruly lion’s mane. My dad had dark hair, eyes, and skin. My auburn hair was stick-straight and hung limply to the middle of my back. I couldn’t do a thing with it. So how did Scotty end up with platinum blond hair? Easy—he was adopted.

Shut up, brat!

Hey, don’t tell your brother to shut up, Dad scolded. He’s just having a little fun with you. Besides, it’s true. You could try to be civil. It’s a big first day for him, too.

Sorry, I grumbled.

That’s okay. I forgive you, Scotty said. I’m starting first grade today! I forgive everyone.

My parents chuckled. Sweetheart, what do you think ‘forgive’ means? Mom asked.

It means to be nice. I’m nice to V, and I’ll be nice to everybody at school today, so I can make lots and lots of new friends.

How precious is that? V, you should ‘forgive’ everyone today, like Scotty. Mom’s fern-green eyes danced with mischief.

Cute. Real cute. I shot her an icy stare with my bright green cat-like eyes and walked out of the kitchen to get my backpack.

Walking into school with my parents that morning was the equivalent of the classic nightmare where you’re naked and everyone’s staring at you. Being a freshman on the first day in a new school was bad enough. And being a freshman whose parents taught at the same school? Priceless.

Have a wonderful day, V, my mother gushed.

Got a hug for your old dad? Dad’s lanky outstretched arms waited to wrap me up in them. At six-foot-five, he’d be intimidating if he weren’t so thin.

I dodged the hug, backed away, and said, No time. Gotta find Emma. Have a good day, you two. See ya later.

Dad pushed his hair back off his face and waved.

2

Morning Like Molasses

Icouldn’t find Emma anywhere. I practically searched the entire school. And worse, she wasn’t answering any of my texts. She always answered my texts. She always had her phone with her. It was a part of her, like an extension of her hand.

By the time the bell rang for first period, I had soothed myself by thinking Emma’s phone must have died. Or maybe she’d forgotten it at home and went back to get it—that would be so like her. She wouldn’t dare show up to the first day of school without her precious phone.

She’ll show any minute. I’m sure of it.

The tardy bell rang. I took a seat in the third row and stared at the door. First period was Honors English 9. We’d picked up our schedules yesterday and only had one class together—this one.

So where is she? I don’t get it.

She’d been so excited for high school to start. She kept saying how it would be better than junior high and how she couldn’t wait for more freedom. She’d gone on and on about how she looked forward to being treated like an adult, not a kid—all summer. It was practically all she’d talked about. There’s no way she’d miss the first day.

Violet? I heard a voice in the back of my mind, but it didn’t register. Violet? Are you all right?

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. I shrank down in my seat and muttered, Yes, Reb—um, Mrs. Nichols. I winced at my blunder. Um, it’s V.

Excuse me?

Please, just call me V.

Certainly, V, Mrs. Nichols said with a smile and continued taking roll. She was my mom’s best friend and had been ever since they both began teaching here, seventeen years ago. I’ve known her all my life. Mom wasn’t sure Rebecca (as I knew her) should be my teacher because she worried about favoritism.

When deciding which freshman English teacher’s class I should be in, Mom wavered between her friend and a newer co-worker she didn’t know. She ended up choosing Rebecca Nichols. She said Mrs. Nichols was strict and organized and promised not to show favoritism. Mom knew she could count on her because she was a true professional. I just needed to remember to call her Mrs. Nichols while in her class.

Mrs. Nichols went over the class syllabus, her rules and expectations for the semester, and handed out copies of Lord of the Flies. I worried about Emma. Twenty minutes into class and she still wasn’t here.

I’d been freaking blowing up her phone for over an hour, and still nothing. Something’s wrong! An unexplained fear squeezed my stomach as panic rose up the back of my throat like bile.

Emma and I have been friends since the first day of first grade. Literally. She walked up to me on the playground at lunchtime on the first day of school and said, Hi, my name is Emma. Wanna be friends? She handed me a Nutter Butter Peanut Butter Sandwich cookie and that was all it took. We’ve been best friends ever since. Inseparable.

We joke that we’re the missing twin the other one never had. Our birthdays are even on the same day: June 24, 2001.

We do everything together, including family vacations with each other’s families. I know her better than I know myself. And Emma Maria Moreno García would not miss the first day of high school unless something terrible happened.

I squeezed my eyes shut. What if she got in an accident on the way to school? What if she’s in a hospital dying right now and I’m not there for her? I need answers, not more questions! Why do I feel like this is about to be the longest day of my life?

The morning torturously ticked by like a turtle stuck in molasses. I sat through each class alternating between looking at my phone for text messages from Emma and staring at the wall clock waiting for the bell to ring. I didn’t talk to anyone all morning, and I sat in the third or fourth row in every class. Not in the front row with the suck-ups, and not in the back row with the slackers, but right in the middle. I just wanted to get through the day and stay under the radar.

Each teacher droned on about classroom policies, grading procedures, and what wonderful things we had to look forward to this year. And of course, every teacher said the same thing, as if they were all reading from the same script: "I know you have other classes, but this class is the most important one not to miss. Your attendance is mandatory." Yeah, yeah. Whatever.

Finally, at two minutes left of fourth period, the bell was about to ring for lunch, and I had a plan.

3

First Day Turned Worst Day

Lunchtime—finally. With my only friend missing and no one else to hang out with, I decided to ditch. I’d miss AP World History and PE, but nothing happens the first day anyway. And I had to find Emma.

My family lived a mile from the high school, in the Old Town District of Orange, California. Living in Old Town meant we lived in an old house. Ours was built in 1918. The old homes in the area had been preserved by the historical society. It was supposed to be some kind of treasure of history. Therefore, we weren’t allowed to demolish our home and start over. Walking around our neighborhood was like being transported back in time about seventy years—but with modern cars in the old driveways.

It had been mostly easy to leave school during lunchtime since we had an open campus. Upperclassmen (juniors and seniors) were allowed to go off campus during lunch. Freshmen weren’t. But I wasn’t about to let that little detail stop me. I spotted a tall senior boy and hid behind him, using him as a shield. When he showed the lunch aide his ID at the gate, I snuck out past them.

Hey! she shouted.

I turned around, thinking I’d been caught, but she was talking to someone else. Pick that up and throw it away. The trash can is over there.

This was my chance and I took it. I ran to catch up with the others and blend in before she noticed me.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know any upperclassmen willing to give me a ride. I’d have to walk. Luckily, Emma lived close. Her house was just one street over from mine, a few blocks away.

Not much of a runner, I half jogged and half walked. It took me less than fifteen minutes to get there. But I wasn’t remotely prepared for what I saw when I rounded the corner to Emma’s house.

Halfway down the street, right in front of her house, were two parked police cars. Panic and dread coursed through my body, and cold sweat oozed through my pores.

What the hell?

The fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and my feet took off running for Emma’s house before my brain could catch up.

Without hesitating, I burst through the front door of Emma’s house like it was my own. When I entered the living room, I saw Emma’s mom, Rosa. I blinked a couple times to try to make sense of what I saw.

Rosa was sobbing on the couch, while a uniformed police officer, looking uncomfortable, tried consoling her by patting her knee. No one else was in the room with them, but I heard Emma’s grandma in the kitchen and another voice I didn’t recognize.

What’s going on? Where’s Emma? Why wasn’t she in school today? I blurted out all at once.

The police officer looked up at me. And who are you?

I’m Emma’s best friend, that’s who! I yelled. By this point, I wasn’t in control of my emotions. I’d already had a bad day, and it rapidly worsened with every heartbeat that thudded in my ears. I needed answers. I needed Emma.

Good, I’m glad you’re here. We’ll be needing to talk to you, Miss . . . ?

V. It’s V, okay? Now will somebody please tell me what’s going on? I demanded, tears forming in my eyes.

Emma’s been taken, a man in a suit said. He walked across the room toward me and extended his right hand. Detective Lomeli, homicide. I didn’t shake his hand. He lowered his arm and scanned my face. We need to ask you a few questions, V. When was the last time you saw Emma?

Taken? Homicide? What the—? I stopped and forced myself to breathe. I gulped air. We picked up our schedules at school yesterday, then hung out for a while. She texted me this morning, before school, to ask what I was wearing today. We made plans to wear our matching concert shirts and . . . um . . . that’s all. That’s the last time I heard from her. She hasn’t answered her phone since. Today was the first day of school and . . . I couldn’t continue.

The reality of his words sank in. Taken. Homicide. Taken. Homicide.

I couldn’t make my mind accept it. A thousand questions swirled in my head, yet I couldn’t make my mouth move. I couldn’t speak. I was in the middle of a nightmare. But I was wide awake.

"V, honey, come