After two months, school in Silver Pines isn’t the absolute worst thing in the world. I mean, yes, the first day was a social disaster, but since then it’s been mostly normal.
The climb has been slow. A few awkward lunches. Sitting near the Peaks in class without actually talking to them. Figuring out where they hang out in the hallways and pretending I belong there.
It’s only in math class that my confidence starts to crack. Even though I look the part—glasses and all—every time I open my spiral, the numbers do the Cha Cha Slide, blurring across the page and I break out in a cold sweat. Time is running out. I’ve got to get into the Peaks by the end of the term before the Coders realize I’m a fraud.
At lunch, I zigzag between tables, stopping to say hi to people I’ve met over the past two months. Emily, one of the Sketches, waves me over. “Darcie, come look at this mural we’re working on for the social studies hallway. Whatcha think?”
I lean in and study her screen. It’s a huge timeline of American history, scenes flowing into each other like one big story. “Whoa, this is amazing!” I say. “I love how you blended everything. It makes me actually want to learn it.”
“That’s exactly what we were going for,” she says, grinning. “Thanks. I knew you’d get it.”
“You bet,” I wave and keep walking, already glancing toward the Peaks’ table, wishing one of them would notice me. Joining their group would be like putting on a suit of armor.
I casually take the long way around the cafeteria and pass Amelia’s table. We’re wearing the same sweater today. Okay, maybe they’re not identical, but they’re both…red-ish. I plant my best smile on my face. “Oh, hi Amelia. Cute sweater. Looks almost like mine.”
She lifts her chin and turns her back.
“Right. “Okay, well, see ya.” I pivot, but just as I step away from the Peaks’ table, something makes me freeze mid-stride. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Two girls from the Peaks abruptly stop talking.
“Did you hear something?” one asks the other, her face scrunching up like she just smelled moose poop. She turns her back on me and continues the conversation with her friend.
I should walk away—I know I should—but I have to know. “Did you say something about the Shadow Man?” I ask. "Because I’m really curious about him.”
The table goes still. Even the girl halfway through a bite stops chewing. Heads turn. Everyone is watching.
“It’s just…could you repeat what you said?” I shift uneasily.
One of them smiles, the fake kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Only losers think the Shadow Man is real,” she says a little too fast. “Are you a loser?”
Suddenly, my tray feels like it's loaded with bricks. I swallow down my embarrassment and make a beeline for the Coder table.
Stuart is halfway through his pimento cheese sandwich when I slump down into the seat next to him. “Care to explain what that was all about?” he asks, taking another bite. Loud laughter bursts from the Peak table; they’re all looking at me.
“Just forget it.” I push the mashed potatoes around on my tray. “I thought they were talking to me. Apparently, I was mistaken.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll never understand your attraction to the Peaks. They’re snobs.”
After lunch, Stuart and I head to civics class. It’s my favorite part of the day because Ms. Kendrick has a way of drawing us in. As we enter, she’s writing on the board.
Where should we draw the line between respecting individual rights and following society’s norms?
That question pretty much sums up my entire life.
Capping her marker, she sits on the edge of her desk. Her lime-green suit and colorful head wrap complement her caramel-colored skin. She’s the coolest teacher ever.
“Today we’ll brainstorm local situations where individual rights and social norms might clash. Following that, each table will take a topic and argue both sides.”
Stuart raises a hand. “What about a homeowner who paints their house bright pink and disrupts the appearance of the neighborhood?”
Ms. Kendrick nods. “Excellent real-world example. Who else?”
Ginger stands. “The school's restrictive dress code. It doesn’t allow for individuality.” That earns applause. I can’t argue with that.
By the end of class, the board is full of ideas. Ms. Kendrick assigns each table one topic, then hands out chart paper and markers. The room buzzes with debate and laughter, and we groan when she signals time’s up.
“Before you go,” she says, “complete an exit ticket—what’s your big takeaway? Then, choose a partner for a research project. Be thinking of a local issue where society and at least one individual are at odds.”
Stuart signs us up while I finish my exit ticket. As we head into the hallway, I grab his arm. “Oh my gosh! I just thought of the best topic!”
His face tightens. “That sentence rarely ends well.”
“The Shadow Man.”
He stares at me over the rims of his purple glasses. “You mean the Silver Pines hermit?”
“It’s perfect,” I say. “A guy living alone in the woods. He’s different, so he’s labeled dangerous. That’s like, the whole society-versus-the-individual thing.” I chew on my thumbnail as the idea clicks into place. “Ms. Kendrick’s gonna love it.”
Stuart runs a hand through his hair. “Or she’ll think we’ve completely lost track of reality.”
“Or,” I whisper, “she might be impressed.”
By the time I’m home, dumping my backpack onto my bedroom floor and opening my laptop, I’m giddy with curiosity. My fingers hover over the keyboard like I’m afraid the wrong words will send me down a rabbit trail and ruin everything. It takes a few tries before I get a hit—a newspaper article from twelve years ago.
LOCAL TEEN VANISHES
I click without thinking. The article is about an eighteen-year-old kid who disappeared. He left a note for his adoptive parents, thanking them for their love and support, but saying he needed to find his roots. Whatever that meant. The case went cold within months.
The Shadow Man isn’t specifically mentioned in the article, but it happened right before the rumors first started, so it could be him. I press print, then move on to property records, old forums, and pictures. Nothing seems relevant until one catches my eye. It’s the cabin. The one where Dad told me about the Shadow Man.
FOREST SQUATTER EVICTED
Off to the side, there’s a woman hiding in the shadows. Is she the squatter, or someone else?
My phone buzzes. It’s Stuart FaceTiming me. “Okay,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Surprisingly, there’s a lot more here than I expected.”
I pump my fist. “Told you.” My grin is wide. “You’re saying that you think he’s real too, right?”
“I’m saying that there’s something here, and we need to be prepared for what we might find.”
He pauses. “And…unless there's an issue on Ms. Kendrick’s part, it looks like the Shadow Man is our topic.”
When the call ends, I stare at the printed article and the photograph. Who are you, Mister Shadow Man, and what in the world happened to you?
The civics classroom is like Grand Central Station when we walk through the door the following day. Someone mentions the pink house scenario for our topic, and Stuart shakes his head.
“Nope.” He holds up his hands like he’s stopping traffic. “In fact, the topic we’ve chosen is going to blow your socks off.”
Ms. Kendrick stands at the front of the classroom, and the noise dies down quickly. “I’m thrilled to see that many of you are embracing this assignment with such enthusiasm. I can’t wait to hear the topics you’ve chosen to research. Who wants to go first?”
When it’s our turn to announce our topic, I’m suddenly nervous. Which is ridiculous. I clear my throat. “Our topic…is the Shadow Man.” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I totally blank out on my explanation.
The room goes still, silence stretching out. It’s almost painful. That’s when it really hits me. The Shadow Man isn’t just folklore. He’s a ‘don’t say it out loud’ kind of story. Which means this project is even bigger than I thought. We may have just stepped on a land mine.
Stuart steps in beside me, all calm and logical. “Based on our preliminary research, we're thinking that the Shadow Man may just be a misunderstood person. Not some monster.”
From the back, hesitant whispers spill over into full-blown chatter. Someone calls out, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? He could come after you, you know.”
My mind finally clears and I remember what I wanted to say. “So we decided to focus our project on how fear, gossip, and being left out can turn someone into the person everyone’s afraid of.”
People look away, rubbing at the goosebumps on their arms. Some glance at the cluster of Peaks standing against the wall, arms folded—the Shadow Man is their mascot, somehow, although I can’t quite figure why. The guy with the horse’s teeth begins to laugh, and nervous giggles ripple through the room.
But you know what? It's actually a good thing because the Shadow Man project is my way in to the Peaks. They just don’t know it yet.