*****

Three stories of an imposing brick building towered over Natalie as she stood outside the entrance like a nervous tick. The purple flag of the city-state waved in front of Natalie. She did not wave back. It returned so many memories of her teenage years never being in high school. Back in New Jersey, everyone in Natalie’s circle held the highest expectations of her never gaining any responsibility whatsoever, a mentality that had been internalized for her twenty-something years. So if she were ever to enter a new environment holding a legitimate job title and hourly wage, innocent questions from young people like, “Excuse me, are you a janitor?” would become the most jarring questions in her life.

“I… am being called that now, yes,” she said. “What’s up?”

“We had a bit of an accident in the art room.”

Natalie followed the student up to the threshold of Room 127A. The student was standing back a viscous red liquid oozed under the door. Natalie turned on her fight-or-flight and she threw the door open, but her nerves were suddenly calmed after seeing it was only paint. But then her nerves woke up again when she saw it covering half the floor. She was impatiently waiting for something else bad to happen but was surprised to see that was all for now.

“Nothing to worry about, my lovelies,” the teacher said to the class, “Accidents happen.” She gestured the janitor to come in then turned back to the students. “You’re all still tense, huh?”

“What the heck happened here?” Natalie exclaimed to herself.

The teacher had to look twice to make sure she was seeing right. “Natalie?” she grew excited.

“Morgan?”

“Hey hey! It’s awesome to see you here! Is this your first day?”

“I—yeah—”

“Yep, I could tell from the stress all over your face. I was actually gonna lead the lovelies in a little mindful respiration; you’re welcome to join us! Just breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Sffffffff ……… Hfffffff ……….” The whole class followed along.

Natalie lost composure of herself at around the second cycle and burst laughing. “How did this happen?”

“Would you believe it? I was writing some due dates on the board, my elbow knocked into the paint rack, and everything just fell and,” plbt, “splattered everywhere. Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

The writing on the board was smudged, and the rack to the left of it looked like it had trudged through decades of rough-and-tumble. Natalie released a pained sigh but then realized this may have been one of the only friends she was going to make in Plainwood. They both started to snicker and chuckle with one another. Nat grabbed a rag, wet it, and started rubbing the floor. She was self-conscious when it came to people watching her, though, given her previous experiences in town, so she rubbed and washed slowly and unsurely.

The bell had rung, and the paint cleaned off just enough that the only people who would notice it would think it was part of the room’s décor. Once everyone left, Morgan offered, “Hey, you wanna stop by the teachers’ lounge for lunch and hang?”

Lots of thoughts could have been running through her mind, like I wouldn’t want to intrude on everyone and How does this happen all the time and you still let it happen? and I’m a janitor, do I even get the teachers’ lounge? but the only thing that came out in her stress was, “You’re inviting me?”

“Yeah yeah! I’ll introduce you to the posse!” she playfully nudged Natalie, who gave an uncertain smirk. Morgan excitedly dragged her by the wrist upstairs. “C’mon!”

*****

“—and then Alyssa says, ‘Ha! More like Día de las Mierdas!’ ” Eileen Pritchett was sitting in the faculty lounge, her smile staying open as she waited for anyone at her table to laugh. She frowned, “See, it was the way she said it that really made it fu—” Out of the corner of her eye, Eileen saw Natalie walk in the lounge with Morgan and that same uncertain smirk, “—ck.” She straightened in her chair and turned to fully face her. “Hey hey, Natalie. Nice to see you,” she eyed her up and down, “working here.”

“Hi,” she said with a meager wave. “Eye-leen, right?”

“Ay-leen.”

Eileen could have corrected Natalie for any of the cultural faux pas she just made. In fact, if there was any culture critic, it would be the one whose sole aim was to find the bad inside everyone. Plainwooders don’t wave as a greeting, thanks to their great sensitivity to manual gestures. Plainwooders also don’t say “hello,” “hi,” or even a single “hey” due to their close, tightknit values of community and informality. A proper Plainwooder would greet someone with a friendly “Hey hey!” and a single head nod; Natalie had essentially said “Salutations” and then flipped Eileen the bird. That kind of offense boiled in Eileen but had quickly steeped flat. Something made Eileen not want to scare off Natalie with too much culture shock. All she did was take out her notebook and write some observations.

“So, you’re a teacher?” Natalie asked, leaning on the table. She always hated sitting down, it felt like a sign of comfort and familiarity to her surroundings.

Eileen pulled her head up from the table and took a sip from her orange juice. “Yes, as fate would have it, I teach ninth-grade spirits.”

“ ‘Teach’.” Patrick Wells quipped, hooking his index fingers.

“You’re one to talk, you just play videos the whole period,” Eileen retorted.

“No, I play videos the whole period and have a PhD.”

Natalie chuckled. She thought back to Eileen and put a finger by her cheek. “Ninth-grade spirits, Eileen?”

“Yep,” Eileen stretched backwards in her chair. “History of Hallowe’en, how to deal with encounters, all that jazz. Very self-directed, I don’t like pushing one set of beliefs on students who are just learning the stuff. I never wanna be the one responsible if the kiddos develop an irrational fear of stupid myths like my house or the ever-so-popular left hand.”

“What do you do then?”

“Sit back, observe, and make sure no one goes down each other’s throats. It’s like I’m not even there.”

Natalie turned to Patrick Wells sitting next to her, staring into his pale blue eyes. She hiccupped and cleared her throat. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Patrick.” He smirked. Following his philosophy, he aimed to be amiable while staying as unintrusive as possible.

Morgan and Eileen had no such philosophy. “So where are you from, Nat?” Morgan said. “Tell us all about it!”

Being put on the spot by a teacher is never fun, and it was especially frazzling for Natalie that Morgan already knew where she was from and had made quite a big deal out of it. All eyes turned toward her, waiting for a response, and a spark lit up inside her. She shoved her arms in her pockets, pouted, and muttered to herself, “J’habitais en enfer et je détestais ma putain de vie.”

Patrick’s eyes widened as he jerked back an inch. Natalie’s face rinsed read, her head sinking into her shoulders.

“D-did you understand that?” she strained.

“No, but it sounded like you had a lot to unload there.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just had a very stressful few months. You spend twenty-something years in a cramped city in New Jersey every day, and one day you’re just dropped somewhere else on your own and expected to fend for yourself.” She sighed. “I’m actually really glad I got to know Morgan. I don’t think I would have had the courage to push myself and meet new people this quickly.”

“I gotchu!” Morgan cheered.

Patrick straightened in his chair. He snapped his gloved fingers, transitioning into slick finger guns. “Good to hear. It’s none of my business, but I definitely recommend meeting some people outside of our group too. Plainwooders are a little eccentric, but above all, we do love being with people.”

Easier said than done, sir. “I don’t know,” Natalie said, “I’d prefer to be with this group. I sort of made a bad first impression with other people here. I don’t think Kyle likes me.”

“Aw, Kyle is the most adorable hothead little monkey I’ve ever met!” Morgan said.

The rest of the table groaned at Morgan. “That’s easy for the conformist to say,” Eileen mumbled.

“Kyle hates everyone,” Patrick returned to Natalie, voice flattening. “He’s just one bad experience everyone’s gonna have at some point. Matt Kennett can attest.” He grinned towards Natalie and chuckled. “I also don’t recommend making friends with Matt Kennett until you know him a bit more. He’s a great guy, he can just be a handful.”

Eileen snapped, “Let her form her own opinions, jerknut!”

“No, he seemed nice…” Natalie said. “Oh, Eileen, what that he was saying about his ‘spiel’ and ‘omens,’ by the way?”

Eileen sighed. “Nothing you need to worry about.” She paused and squinted. “Let me rephrase that: nothing you need to be an expert about. Plainwood’s had a bit of a history with spirits and demons, especially after the whole Marion Marley incident, and everyone in town was like ‘More protection, less possession!’ and crap propaganda like that. All because, ooooh! a house has a statue on it! Take it from me, the worst omen that building brings is a single redheaded lesbian in her thirties,” giving the most depressing smirk ever seen. “Listen, if anyone warns you about the left hand, you can ignore them. It’s just an old made-up legend to draw people in, like drop bears and fried butter. You never have to worry about lefties, there are plenty other things to worry about.”

Natalie sank into her chair, sliding onto the floor like a roll of slime. “Cool,” she said with the enthusiasm of a sidewalk. “I was really worried about that, thanks for reassuring me.” She completely slid onto the floor and picked herself up, physically and emotionally. “Well! It was great getting to know all of you. I should probably head back to work before I’m caught here.”