The bell’s echo lingered in Eri’s ears long after it faded. She paused at the doorway, tails fanning nervously behind her, ears twitching at every distant sound: the scrape of shoes on tile, the faint whisper of voices, the sm of a locker somewhere down the hall.

  Her stomach twisted, every instinct screaming to run back to the safety of the office, to the car, to her quiet bedroom where she could curl into herself and breathe freely. But she didn’t.

  She stepped forward, carefully, tail by tail, each one moving with painstaking awareness of space. Her uniform, though custom-made for her tails, still made her feel exposed. The hallways seemed brighter now, every fluorescent light gring at her ears perched atop her head, every reflective surface threatening to broadcast her form.

  First period was math. Eri had memorized the room number from the schedule, but that didn’t ease her nerves. Each step closer made her stomach churn. The closer she got, the more she noticed subtle shifts in students’ behavior: whispered comments, stolen gnces, the occasional pointing finger — always retreating quickly as if they weren’t sure they’d seen correctly.

  She froze just outside the doorway, taking a shallow breath, then pushed in.

  Immediately, heads turned. Not a polite gnce, but full-on stares, and some even audibly gasped. Her ears twitched back, tails curling inward, almost instinctively trying to make herself smaller, though there was nowhere to hide ten tails.

  “Good morning,” she said softly, voice barely above the hum of murmurs.

  The teacher, a middle-aged man with gsses perched low on his nose, blinked, adjusting them as if to check her again. “Uh… good morning,” he said cautiously. “You must be the new transfer student.”

  Eri nodded, walking carefully to her assigned seat, taking extra care not to drag a tail across anyone’s desk. Every movement was deliberate, almost painfully slow. She felt every pair of eyes on her back, every whisper threading through the room.

  The lesson started, numbers and equations floating past, but Eri’s mind was only half on the lesson. She could feel the pull of the stares, the hum of curiosity and confusion surrounding her. She scribbled notes furiously, hoping the act of concentrating would keep her from panicking.

  When the bell finally rang, she didn’t linger. She left the cssroom immediately, slipping into the hallway and pressing herself against the wall to avoid the crowd. Her tails brushed against the lockers, dragging softly along the floor, but she didn’t care — the priority was distance, invisibility, escape.

  Spanish came next.

  By the time she reached the second cssroom, a small knot of students had gathered outside, drawn like moths to the movement of her tails as she walked past. Some whispered, some pointed, but none dared follow. Her ears flicked nervously at every sound.

  Inside the Spanish cssroom, the teacher barely masked her surprise, but quickly recovered. “Ah, yes, new student,” she said briskly, showing Eri to her seat.

  The lesson began, and this time, Eri focused hard, repeating the words under her breath. Habr, comer, vivir. The sound of her own voice — though soft — grounded her slightly. But she couldn’t ignore the stares, the way her cssmates’ eyes flicked repeatedly to the ears atop her head, to the tails coiled around the chair legs. Some tried to look away quickly; others stared with unmasked fascination.

  By the end of the css, Eri had memorized the exit route like a secret path, leaving quickly before anyone could crowd the hallway. Her heart pounded with each step. Every set of lockers, every teacher in the corridor, every whisper carried the weight of scrutiny.

  Business css was next.

  It was quieter, almost mercifully so, but the moment she entered, even the teacher paused mid-sentence. The students, already aware of her, now craned necks and whispered loudly enough that she could hear fragments: “What is that?” “I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Do you think she’s…?”

  Eri’s ears twitched down in instinctive shame. She clutched her notebook tighter, tails curling slightly inward like a shield. The lesson began, graphs and projections filling the board, but she had to force herself to take notes, to sit still while the room buzzed around her.

  When the bell rang, she bolted. There was no lingering, no casual movement. She fled the room with a practiced urgency, ears fttening, tails whipping slightly in her rush. The hall was emptier than usual — she had beaten most of the students, just as she had pnned — but the few lingering eyes were still enough to keep her heart hammering.

  Finally, fourth period: history.

  By now, she had mapped her route, memorized where to duck, and how to avoid prolonged eye contact. But the moment she entered the room, a few gasps escaped. A couple of students even leaned back, whispering frantically. Her ears twitched sideways in irritation at their inability to contain curiosity, and her tails twitched nervously behind her.

  The history teacher, a younger woman, cleared her throat and gestured toward Eri. “Welcome,” she said, voice even but with a flicker of awe. “We’re gd to have you.”

  Eri offered the faintest nod, trying to remain invisible despite the impossible attention.

  The lesson commenced, revolutions and treaties flicking across the board, but Eri’s mind was only partially on history. Half of it was scanning the room, half of it was calcuting escape strategies.

  When the bell rang for the st time of her school day, she moved quickly, tails brushing the floor lightly as she hustled into the hall. She barely gnced back — not because she wanted to be rude, but because it would draw attention.

  As she reached the stairwell to return to the office — the one pce she could safely be herself — she could feel the pull of exhaustion weighing on her. Every css had been a trial. Every step, a challenge. Every tail, a target for attention. Every ear, a mark of difference.

  But she had made it.

  Back in the office, the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the ck of stares made her knees almost buckle. She sank into the chair, ears drooping slightly, tails spyed around her like a protective barrier. Mira sat across the room silently, observing, offering presence without words.

  Eri took a deep breath. “I made it through,” she said softly. “All four csses… and I didn’t… I didn’t break.”

  Mira gave a small smile. “That’s good.”

  Eri’s ears flicked, and her tails curled just a little around the base of the chair. She wanted to rex completely, but couldn’t quite. Her body still buzzed with tension. Her mind still repyed every gnce, every whisper, every moment of eyes on her.

  Mom’s voice echoed from the doorway. “How are you feeling?”

  Eri hesitated, then shrugged. “…Overwhelmed. But okay.”

  “That’s… understandable,” Mom said, offering her own comforting presence. “You did really well.”

  Eri’s tail brushed against the chair leg, trembling slightly. She wanted to curl up entirely, hide within the warmth of herself, but she didn’t. Not yet. Not here.

  "The halls basically empty,” Mira said quietly, gncing at the clock. “We get to go home soon.”

  Eri’s heart sank. Each movement, even if it's quickly through a hallway was horrifying to think about even if there were few people.

  Her ears flicked anxiously. Her tails stiffened.

  The principal had warned that entering as a new student wouldn't be easier, but now the reality pressed down on her: hallways filled with students, whispers curling through the air like smoke she couldn’t escape.

  She stood slowly, tails brushing the office floor, and moved toward the door, each step deliberate, but at least now she got to go home.

  AnnouncementThere will be no chapy today because of the Superbowl sorry