TURNED

The biting March wind whipped through the concrete canyons of New York City, a stark contrast to the suburban schools Caitlin Paine had always known. Standing before the imposing, cage-like structure of her new public high school, she felt a familiar dread, amplified by the chaotic throng of students and the unsettling presence of armed security.
She just wanted to disappear, to blend in, but anonymity felt impossible. Inside, the noise was deafening, the hallways packed like sardine cans. Then came the metal detectors, the scrutiny, the humiliation of being stopped because of the small cross necklace she wore.
Late to her first class, she found not a quiet room, but a scene of pandemonium ignored by apathetic substitute teacher. Just as despair set in, a kind voice offered a seat. Jonah, with his striking green eyes and gentle demeanor, seemed like a beacon in the storm. Their brief, shy connection in the cafeteria offered a fragile hope. But the walk home shattered it all.