Lena Hart had always believed that the world was larger than what people allowed themselves to see, though she rarely said such things out loud because high school hallways were not kind to girls who spoke about invisible possibilities or secret longings that could not be explained with simple logic. She was seventeen, observant in ways that often left her feeling out of place, and more comfortable listening to the rhythm of rain against classroom windows than participating in conversations about parties she was never invited to. Her days followed a pattern so predictable that she sometimes felt she could map them in her sleep: morning announcements that echoed with artificial cheerfulness, the scratch of pens against paper, the smell of cafeteria food that clung stubbornly to the air, and the constant hum ofÂ
Lena Hart had always believed that the world was larger than what people allowed themselves to see, though she rarely said such things out loud because high school hallways were not kind to girls who spoke about invisible possibilities or secret longings that could not be explained with simple lo...