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CHAPTER THREE // SUMMER.
She could sense something was off the moment they stepped foot in the classroom.
She took a seat at the desk between Scott and Stiles, borrowing the McCall boy's textbook when he was almost instantly called to leave class. She had no clue what to make of the words on the pages, but frankly, she didn't care; her eyes couldn't seem to peel from the wall of windows beside them.
Slowly, her heart began to thunder. The same feeling of mania and fear that she had picked up from the deer last night, right beforeit had shattered the windshield of Lydia's car, was lurking outside the windows. Only this time, it felt far greater— more violent.
The girl leaned over, reaching out and tapping Stiles on the shoulder; interrupting the hushed conversation he and Lydia were having about something called a Prada. His head whirled around, surprised she was initiating any sort of communication. He studied her, trying to comprehend the strange expression woven into her features; she wanted to tell him something. He opened his mouth to speak, but a bird was smashing into one of the windows before he could utter a word.
Everyone's gazes darted to the ruckus, observing the blood splatter the poor creature had left in its wake. The teacher, Ms. Blake, even paused her writing on the chalkboard; walking over for closer inspection. Outside was a whole flock of the same birds, hanging ominously in the gray sky, laden with storm clouds.
When the next one hit the window, everyone flinched. And when the one after that did, all hell broke loose.
The ravens were bursting into the classroom, every last one of them, frantically and ferociously; many killing themselves in the process. Glass shattering and screams erupted in the atmosphere. Inky black feathers were flying everywhere, blood on the shards of glass now blanketing the floor.
"GET DOWN!" Ms. Blake shouted in a panic, waving her arms wildly about.
People were scrambling and shrieking, holding textbooks over their heads and sheltering beneath the flimsy desks as the deranged animals began to attack. Their talons and beaks were sharp as knives, and they were latching onto people; cutting them up and ripping their hair out before slamming from wall to wall. There must've been at least two dozen.
Instantly Stiles threw himself on top of Lydia, arms wrapped around her head to protect her; a small streak of blood already decorating his face. Allison had taken cover under a desk. But the nameless girl rose to her feet, standing in the center of the chaos. Her head swiveled around the room with wide eyes, heart hammering against her ribcage.
