Dark Hope by Monica McGurk

reaching out as if to touch me, but then he dropped his hand, as if he thought better of it.
    “It must be hard running with all that hair in your face,” he said softly.
    I refused to answer him, but couldn’t stop my hands from sneaking up to wrap my hair safely round my neck.
    He stood there awkwardly, waiting for me for what seemed like forever. Finally, he sighed.
    “I guess I’ll see you around,” he said, turning away.
    I stood in the little puddle of light, watching him run away until he was just a little speck of white, gliding away in the dark. As I turned toward my house, I noticed something under my shoe.
    A feather. It shone dark as coal under the glow of the streetlight.
    I picked it up, surprised I hadn’t noticed it stuck to my shoe before. I twirled it around in my fingers. It spanned the length of my hand and was stiffer than I imagined a feather should be. Andthe odor it gave off was odd: like sulfur, or the smell of electricity building up before a storm.
    You shouldn’t touch it. It’s not clean
.
    Shrugging at the nagging voice in my head, I threw the feather into the gutter and went in to nurse my wounds along with my hurt pride.

four
    M ichael didn’t show up for school on Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. By the time Thursday rolled around, I was in a seriously bad mood and more than a little hurt. He’d disappeared without even telling me. I had a weird case of road rash around my wrist—apparently from my fall during the bird swarm—that wouldn’t seem to heal. Everywhere I turned, that boy, Lucas, seemed to be, leering at me with a crazy look in his eyes. And meanwhile, my afternoons had turned into sheer torture: now that I was forced to ride the bus again, Bus Boy had decided to single me out for special attention.
    But none of that was why I was so upset. I was lonely. It was one thing to be the odd girl out in Alabama, where I’d always been left to my own devices. It was entirely another thing here, now that I’d gotten used to Michael being constantly at my side. I was painfully aware of the empty desk right next to mine in virtually every class. And the girls who’d been so slighted by Michael’s refusal tobe smitten now jeered at me and talked behind my back, which made me feel even more alone.
    I slid into my Contemporary Issues class, thinking of all the ways I was going to blow Michael off when he finally dared to show his face.
    “Okay, class, today we are going to start working on your research papers. As a reminder, this will comprise fifty percent of your grade. Remember”—Mr. Bennett paced around our desks, enjoying one of the few precious moments of rapt attention he would get—“this will be about a current issue that is challenging our society, your views on it, and your recommendations for addressing it. And, to introduce some ‘real world’ dynamics, you must work in pairs or small groups.”
    The room broke into the chaos of sliding chairs and people shouting across the room to claim a partner. Mr. Bennett struggled to regain his command of the class amid the squeals of delight and fist bumping.
    “Your first task,” he bellowed over the cacophony as he walked through the aisles. “Your first task is to review this list of suggested topics and choose one. By the end of this period, you and your partner must submit your choice and outline a preliminary set of research questions.”
    I tuned out the rest of his instructions as he dealt the worksheets out. My classmates fell upon the lists, laughing, happy for the excuse to chat the hour away. It only made me feel Michael’s absence more acutely, which made me angry all over again.
    Around the room, people were paired off, heads together. I looked around, hoping to see a friendly face, anyone who was also looking for a partner.
    Just one other person remained. Tabitha.
    Tabitha was intimidating. She had all the trappings of a goth: shockingly spiked hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, piercings all over her ears