Hello World Read Free Page B

iciest glare. Then she turns back to her friend and walks past
as if I don’t even exist.
    Just like
everyone else does.
    I shake my
head hopelessly, debating whether to skive off morning registration where I
would have to spend a good fifteen minutes under Kai’s unforgiving gaze or
press on to my first lesson. I will never know the real reason I choose to do
Biology at A-level. Back when I had decided to continue my studies, Alex had
still been alive, so I had given myself credit that I would have some sort of
future, and since I wasn’t allowed to only select the one option of art, I was
forced to select at least two other classes. Those two classes ended up being
Biology and Psychology.
    Yes, I
think I’m crazy too.
    When Alex
had died I had wanted to drop out of sixth form altogether. If Charlie and the
school hadn’t pushed me, I would have been out of here in seconds. I couldn’t
take it, the looks I got in the halls every morning, the whispers and remarks
passed around behind my back that I was never supposed to hear.
    No one in
school really knows what happened; how Alex died, or the events leading up to
it. There have been all sorts of ridiculous rumours; I’d gotten pregnant with
his child and in a spontaneous moment of rage, killed him for it. Or that I’d
gotten involved with some local drug dealers and when I couldn’t pay them back
they had killed him for it.
    None of
the stories were true, but there was one thing everyone knew for certain; I had
been involved. Whether I was simply the cause or the one who had ended it for
him, they didn’t know. I prayed they didn’t believe it was the latter, but
sometimes I wasn’t sure.
    No one in
school knows the real story. Except one. Just one single person.
    My
tormentor.
    My
anonymous texter somehow knows everything, and they won’t let me forget it.
    I finalise
my decision to skip morning registration and continue trudging silently to
Biology and take my seat at the back of the class, far away from everyone else.
I always like to get here early, reducing the risk of having to stand out on
display during the walk of shame every student has to face when arriving late.
    I shrink
as close to the wall as I can, fading as much as possible into the shadows that
the dim classroom provides while I unload my books and pens. My phone buzzes in
the pocket of my jeans and, seeing my teacher hasn’t arrived yet, I pull it out
and grimace at the familiar number.
    I know I
shouldn’t open the foul texts, but they are something I can’t ignore. I press
the accept button and bite my lip
nervously as I read.
    Mr Finnely’s looking mighty fine today, is all it says, but it does enough to make me want to vomit. I
look up just as my science teacher, Mr Finnely, strides into the room, barely
noticing me before sitting down in his swivel chair and focusing on his
computer.
    Mr Finnely
is young, probably in his late twenties with dark hair and blue eyes. Handsome
even.
    If anyone
else were to read the text, they would assume we were just two girls, giggling
over the latest, newest and hottest teacher in school. A bit of harmless fun.
    But I know
the darker side to the message. I understand the sick, twisted joke.
    Certain
I’m not about to throw up, I put my phone away and pull out a tattered old note
book, only about the size of my hand, and write down today’s latest message.
    It seems
silly, writing down everything that causes me so much pain and keeping it so
close to me, but it’s my very own form of justice for what I’ve done. It’s why
I don’t report the text messages or get a new phone.
    I do it so
that if there is ever a possibility that I forget for even a moment, I can read
it and remember. Remember the pain I have caused.
    No one
knows about my notebook, not even my tormentor, and certainly not Charlie. It
is mine, and mine alone. My own private justice.
    I stare
down at the pages, starting to feel numb as I read the words.
    Dirty whore. Stupid little girl.