Page 21 of Switching Graves

“It’s not as scary as it looks,” the driver pipes up, her eyes surveying me from the rearview mirror again.

“Do I look that bad?” I breathe out a humorless laugh, focusing all my attention on adjusting the V-neck shirt Poppy picked out for me to wear.

We pass the neatly manicured trees a little too quickly and pull up to the tall, black gates. She slows to a stop beside a pavedbooth, where a burly man sits with his arms crossed over his chest.

“G’morning, Hank. I’ve got a first-year with me,” the driver greets cheerfully, nodding her head back in my direction. She rolls down the back window and Hank’s glossy eyes roll over toward me.

“Well . . . what’s your name?” he asks impatiently after a few moments, as if I should have already known to give it to him.

I lean against the door, sticking my head slightly out the window as I clear my throat. “So-uh. P-Penelope Ellery, sir,” I stumble, mentally kicking myself for already getting this wrong. When I hold the license Poppy had fabricated for me, Hank takes it carefully.

He turns toward the laptop sitting before him, tapping away at the keyboard before he glances back at us and nods his head, holding the license back out for me to take. The gates slowly open, and I fall back into my seat in relief.

“You’ve got twenty minutes, Rose,” he warns the driver just before she takes off.

Rolling up her window, Rose’s head swivels around as she accelerates forward, taking in the pure beauty of Ravenshurst University. I can’t blame her. The grounds are immaculate. Every bush is manicured to perfection and every lush blade of grass must be cut to the same height. Flowers bloom in gardens skirting the fast-approaching buildings, which shine brightly in the afternoon sun despite their obvious age.

Yet, even with all the beauty surrounding me, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

It’stooperfect.

“They don’t like the townspeople lingering on Ravenshurst property,” Rose explains absentmindedly as we crawl toward a newer-looking building.

There’s a small group of people huddled on the sidewalk outside. I can finally make out the sign above the double-doors that reads ‘Admissions.’ Since the dates for Poppy’s Costa Rica trip didn’t line up perfectly with the start of Welcome Week, I had to email them and request a later admittance. Apparently, this is the last group of stragglers to arrive before classes begin next week.

“Why not?” I ask her.

Rose pulls her car against the curb and slides the gear shift into park. “Just some silly old superstitions. It’s ridiculous if you ask me.”

Waving at another driver on their way out, she grabs the steering wheel and turns fully in her seat. “This is our stop. You ready?”

With a deep inhale through my nose, I scoop up the heavy backpack I used as a carry on and finally face the buzzing crowd. Rose swings her door open, allowing a cool blast of wind to sweep through the vehicle when a young woman walks up to my door and opens it for me before I get the chance to pull the lever.

“You must be Penelope,” she greets with a wide smile, and I hesitate in my seat. “You’re our last newcomer of the day. I’m Vanessa. I’ll be showing you the ropes today,” she explains, stepping back to make more room for me to exit the vehicle.

Her long, thick blonde hair swings behind her in the breeze, occasionally whipping against pale arms and shoulders.

Rose stands behind her, eyeing me carefully, as if this isn’t how students usually react on their first day. Scooting out of my seat, I straighten and hold my hand out for Vanessa.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I manage to say, and she eagerly grabs my hand in hers to shake, unaffected by my hesitation.

Once the awkward introduction passes, her smile is back in full effect. Rose passes over the small suitcase I had in the trunk and Vanessa steps back a bit so I can pay my tab.

“So, you’re a sophomore?” Vanessa asks as we fall into step beside one another.

I hear Rose’s car door slam shut behind us and resist the urge to run back and insist she take me with her. The rest of the group meanders ahead into the building, and I realize that each of the first-years have been assigned and paired off with their own Vanessa.

Nodding, I adjust the strap on my shoulder. “I wasn’t quite ready to leave home last year,” I admit, making my best attempt to sound sheepish, just like Poppy told me to do. We decided that telling them Poppy had zero intention of ever attending sounded worse than pretending to be a little homesick, and admitting I’m actually a junior is out of the question.

“It’s a lot more common than you think,” she soothes, her expression softening. “But you’ll love it here. It’s not like anywhere else.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Stepping into the cool building, we’re told to leave our luggage in the lobby for someone to take to our dorms while we grab our paperwork and tour the campus. I try to keep my backpack, too nervous to leave everything I own and trust some strangers not to rummage through it. Vanessa snickers at my hesitation and assures me it’s safe before she takes it from my shoulders, promising me that I’ll thank her when I see how large the campus really is to walk.

Once we’re free of our things, the group is led down a long hallway lined with old photos of the school’s campus as it transformed over the years and random artifacts they collected along the way.

Vanessa doesn’t bother to even glance at any of the old memorabilia, her eyes fixed on me instead.

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