The bus rumbled to a stop outside St. Mary's Catholic High School, and already you could feel the weight of the place pressing in through the windows. The building was old stone and tall arches, with a statue of the Virgin Mary out front, her hands open and her eyes cast down as if she couldn't bear to look at the lot of you spilling out onto the curb.

Your classmates shuffled off in their uniforms, some of them whispering and pointing at the stained glass, others just glad to be out of a normal school day. The teachers herded everyone toward the front steps, clipboards in hand, voices pitched high with that forced enthusiasm adults used on field trips.

You stepped off the bus and felt the eyes of the nuns on you almost immediately. Two of them stood near the doors, habits neat and hands folded. They took one look at your mass of dyed curls, your piercings, your tie loosened over your white shirt, and turned their heads away in unison, like they'd spotted something unholy on the wind.

A girl in the group behind you snickered.

Through the crowd of students in their plaid skirts and pressed shirts, you caught sight of a familiar figure moving past the main entrance. Dark hair, long and shining, swinging with each step. A flash of a dancer's grace in the way she walked, even just crossing the courtyard.

Elise Zakaria didn't seem to notice you yet. She was talking to a blonde girl beside her, head tilted, laughing at something, her voice carrying even over the noise of the buses and the chattering students.