The following morning, when the light of the day makes everything a little bit less frightening, I see the things more soberly. But I still can't manage to let go of the incident. That boy was not a new pupil and certainly not a drunk student who got lost in the woods. What was he doing there? That question keeps haunting me like a ghost and even when I walk into the dining hall – the moment I normally forget all my other thoughts and enter the hall alert – it keeps gnawing at me.

"Little one!" The voice of Chayenne makes all my thoughts scatter. I supress the reflex to cower and walk on to the table where the food is on. Just act as if you didn't hear her, I tell myself in my mind. Just ignore her. But that's the whole problem with Chayenne, you can't just simply ignore her. So, when she shouts "little one" again, I turn around. Immediately all the conversations die. All the attention is now on me and Chayenne. Panicking I search for something to say to break the oppressive silence, but Chayenne wouldn't be Chayenne if she didn't have already a mean comment ready: "Aren't you a little bit too old to believe in monsters?" Snickering fills the dining hall which makes my heartbeat restlessly.

"What do you mean?" I ask in a low voice.

"Well, you've seen a monster, haven't you?" Chayenne focuses on her group of friends who accompany her at the dinner table. Secretly, I am jealous of that. Chayenne would always have someone who would stand up for her when Chayenne is at a loss for words, but I didn't have anybody like that. I have no one. Nobody would stand up for me in this tedious situation. "I overheard a conversation between the headmistress and the concierge. Auria knocked on the headmistress's door last night, terrified, because she had seen a monster!" The last few words Chayenne speaks with an overexaggerating fear and she looks at me mockingly. The look on her face reminded me of how a boy, who I had seen near the forest border a few weeks ago, had looked when he'd caught a squirrel by his tail: triumphant, with malicious pleasure and without any mercy. The only difference is that the look on the boy's face immediately changed as the squirrel injured him badly and there is nothing I could do, no, what I would dare to do, to hurt Chayenne and give her what she deserves.

"I..." My brain locks itself. Out of all people, it had of course to be Chayenne who had to overhear the conversation between the director and the concierge and put her own spin on the story. "It wasn't a monster."

"What was it then, little Auria?" Chayenne asks in the same voice you use to talk to a toddler. "A ghost?"

Even if I'd known something to say back, my scared, soft voice would've not been able to drown out the loud laughter full of schadenfreude. I feel my cheeks flush. Rapidly, I walk to the table and pour some milk in a glass. Because of my trembling hands, I spill a little. Normally I would make the effort to clean it up, but now I just want to sit down as quickly as possible to hide between the other pupils so I won't be no longer the centre of the attention. Hastily, I grab a sandwich and a slice of cheese. I sit down on the corner of one of the two long dining tables and silently I take the first bite. When I have also drunk a sip of milk, I feel my cheeks burn a little less. Some pupils keep staring at me, others exchange a few words and giggle softly. Uncomfortable, I move back and forth on the wooden chair. I don't know how to save my face.

"So." Claire looks at me expectantly. I can tell from her tone that she isn't coming to make fun of me over the fact that I might still believe in monsters. That makes me a bit calmer.

"So what?" I ask.

"When are you going to celebrate your birthday?"

"Birthday?" Suddenly a light goes on. "Oh yes, birthday." I had totally forgotten. My birthday isn't exactly a day I'd like to remember, but now it is useful for me that I turn a year older tomorrow. Namely, when it's your birthday you are allowed to leave the school grounds and I'm determined to find out who that boy was. The incident of last night makes me restless. Probably, there is just a good, reassuring explanation for the event and once I have this reassurance I can go back to my carefree life, for as far my life can be carefree...

"When is the party?" Claire asks curiously, which causes my thoughts to be pushed to the background. But even in the background they keep gnawing at me, like a tiny wound that stings just a little too much to be able to ignore it.

"There won't be a party?"

"Why not?" Claire plucks one of her blond hairs of her school uniform. "Surely not because no one came last year? You shouldn't care about that!"

I feel a lump in my throat. I wish I could banish all the memories from my sixteenth birthday out of my mind. I tried so hard to organize a party that my classmates would like too: loud music, potato chips and cola... I had even borrowed a horror movie from the library that I would never dare to watch in my life. I was willing to accept the nightmares, but no one showed up except Claire. I know Claire came to my party just out of pity and that only made me feel worse. Hilbert had said to me afterwards that he would've loved to come, but that he had an important soccer game at the same time. He wasn't very popular either and I saw with my own eyes how much effort he put into finally being approved by his classmates. I understand more than anyone else that he didn't want to risk that for the birthday party of the most unpopular girl of the whole school. I myself never tried that hard to fit in. There is no point in acting like I'm someone else. I would've been surrounded by 'friends' who didn't actually care about me and it didn't matter how many people would've been around me, I still would've been alone. Alone. I shudder. What an unpleasant word it is.

"So, are you going to organize something after all?" Claire looks at me hopefully.

I shake my head. "No, sorry."

Michelle nudged her. "Claire, when is your party anyway?"

"I'm not going to tell you yet. The invitations are almost ready." Claire looks at her best friend with a secretive gaze. Claire loves surprises, both surprising others and be surprised. While she and Michelle start chattering, I think of tomorrow. The fact that I'm allowed to go to town on my own without the risk of coming across Chayenne or one of her friends, is certainly the highlight of the week.

I look up from my plate when a group of boys enters the dining hall. They are the soccer players. Or as Claire likes to call them: The sucker players. Two years ago, Claire had a relationship with Tom, the main striker – whatever that means; I'm not really into soccer – of the soccer team. When she got into a fight with Jairo, the keeper, she'd expected Tom to pick her side but he didn't. He wanted to stay neutral. I guess I would've done the same, but Claire got furious and broke up with him. Ever since, she's calling them the sucker players.

The only thing that actually sucks according to me is the fact that the soccer players have enviable privileges. Unlike the rest of us, they're allowed to go to town when they have a training and they eagerly take advantage of that right, because they wouldn't be able to convince me that one training lasts five hours. When I was around eight years old, I tried so hard to reach a level in sports, high enough to get those privileges myself. Unfortunately, I am the biggest sucker player that exists and my hope of getting more freedom vanished into thin air, just like my hope always gets smashed to pieces.

All the chatter slowly fades away for a moment and everyone follows every single movement of the boys closely. They are always late and I have no idea how they manage to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast and brush their teeth within fifteen minutes. Hilbert smiles awkwardly at me as he approaches the table with the sandwiches. I smile back and then I focus on my breakfast again, and on my plan for tomorrow. Should I look for that boy in the woods? Or should I go to the florist and hope that the old lady is there again? She always tells me the newest rumours of the neighbourhood. I could ask her if there are any new people who moved to Hilltown lately, but then I risk she's not resting on the bench when I get there. That also happens with some regularity and that's on Friday evenings. I actually have no idea whether she follows the regular routine, which consists of a short walk through the woods, look at some show windows in the town and then catch her breath on the bench in front of the florist to return home afterwards, on Tuesday evenings too. I don't want to take that risk. Tomorrow I will go for a walk in the woods, hoping to bump into the mysterious boy. I'm aware that my plan doesn't have much chance of success, but it's worth a try.

Mrs. Milligan enters the dining room. "Breakfast hour is over! Clean everything up and leave it properly."

The hall fills with the sounds of wooden chairs scraping over the stone floor. Hastily I grab my plate and my glass and put them with the other dirty plates, cups and cutlery. In the large crowd I walk towards the exit of the dining room while my eyes dart in all directions. As much as I would like to, my attempts to get myself outside safely with the large group of pupils almost always failed. Chayenne or one of her friends always managed to find me to quickly throw a mean comment at me or to give me a push, causing me to bump into the people in front of me, who'd look back angrily and shout that I had to watch where I walk.

I jump almost a meter into the air when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Immediately I know that I won't escape Chayenne this time either. "Don't startle, little one." She gives me a false smile. "It's just me. You weren't afraid the monster had gotten you, were you?"

Hilde and Gabriella stand behind her and are laughing. They both have their teeth whitened. Chayenne and her friends walk past me and Gabriella clearly can't resist bumping into me before they leave the dining hall.

I hear people laughing all around me. With shaking knees, I leave the dining hall and I quicken my pace. Goosebumps spread just as fast across my arms as the awfully feeling in my stomach that tells me I'm being watched. And that feeling is not because of the many pupils staring at me.