Death is Black and White

I wake up to screaming.

Wait....It's just my alarm clock...

I roll over and punch my pillow, cussing groggily and smacking my alarm clock all at once. It takes some time to get to the bathroom, then nine minutes to get my contact lenses in because my eyes refuse to stay open. Once I can finally see, I finish up in the bathroom and head back to my bedroom. I'm supposed to keep quiet but my hands aren't really agreeing with the fact that it's six a.m. and they're supposed to be doing things, let alone doing things quietly. My whole body is that way.

I throw on some clothes and a little makeup; there's no one to impress anymore so I've given up. Without eyeliner, believe it or not, though, I look stoned. So.

It's 6:45 so I have about eight minutes until my ride shows up because she's always late. She's my cousin, a Junior, and tries to be nice but there's always that you're-a-freshman-so-I-can't-really-talk-to-you tension going on.

I grab a poptart, turn on the lights, then plop down at the table and almost scream. My sister is sitting across from me, holding her head and looking down at the table.

"Jesus, Miranda!" I whisper-yell. "You're such a creep!"

Who just sits in the dark all by herself at six in the morning? She just gives me a death glare and I sigh. "Morning sickness?"

She nods. I say, "But isn't it supposed to, like, stop or something? I mean you're seven months along..."

I think they said something about that in health class...or maybe it was in a movie I saw on Hallmark last month?

Miranda just shrugs and puts her forehead down on the table. I eat my poptart in silence until I hear the car horn outside. I stuff the rest of my poptart in my mouth and say goodbye to Miranda. She groans and waves her hand in a gesture telling me to leave.

Adam, one of my best friends, is waiting for me at my locker, like usual. He and his girlfriend-- also my best friend since diapers-- Sam are usually waiting for me because they ride together and get here early. Today, though, Adam stands alone.

"No Sam?" I comment and heft my heavy bag up into my locker, dumping the contents of it to the bottom. "Shit.." I mutter.

"Nahh," Adam says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I think she said something about food poisoning last night when I was talking to her on Facebook."

I scrunch up my face. No Sam? Sounds like a shitty day to me. "Sucks..." I say. Adam's pants are sagging below his ass and I roll my eyes.

"Weird, because Miranda was sick this morning, too. But then again, she's preggers..." I say and wrench a history book out of the locker. "And pull up your pants, dude. You look special."

He sticks out his tongue and pulls them down lower, which only pisses me off. I punch his shoulder and he laughs, pulling his pants up. "You're a loser," I joke.

He gives me a "Who, me?" look and we head up to first period.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's history. But who am I kidding? I can't stand a lot. It's just so boring. My teacher's a dick and all we do is take notes, so it's not like he tries to make it fun. Today, the bell rings and he immidiately starts his speil on the Industrial Revolution. Cool.

I rip a piece of paper out of my notebook, taking this fifty minutes as my opportunity to write a note for Sam.

Sam!
So. I'm in history, and you're not. Screw you ;)! Well, Mr. Brown is douchey as ever, and you're missing a rousing day of history class. And art. And. English. God, Samantha! Why do you have to do this to me? I'm all alone.

My train of thought is interrupted by a tapping sound. I hate it when people tap their pencils. I sigh and get back to my note.

So Mrs. Furgeson was bitchier than usual today in art. I think she said something about her cat throwing up in her shoes? I kinda wanna high five that cat, not gonna lie. She ripped up some kid's project today. Said the girl was doing everything wrong, like her line of center or some shit was off and she used Arabian Red instead of Tuscan Red. I can't stand it when

Tap...tap....tap....

people do that. Ugh, Sammie I'm going to KILL SOMEONE! They're tapping a pencil. Leave it to me to get OCD today when you're not here. Jeez...

Tap tap....tap...tap tap....tap...

All right. Seriously? Who's doing that? I look around for the tapper. Ah-ha! I find her; Jessie Rowe. She's sitting on the left wall, over by the pencil sharpener.

Sweet! I just found the person tapping! It's Jessie Rowe. She's kinda nice, I'll just ask her to stop. And, conveniently, she's right by the pencil sharpener! Bitchin'!

I subtly pick up my pencil and edge towards the sharpener. Jessie's staring into nothing and still tapping her pencil, though it's not as loud as it was a moment ago. I tap on her shoulder and she looks up at me, a little startled.

"Hi Jessie," I say softly. "Can you please stop tapping your pencil? Sorry, it's like a pet peeve of mine or whatever." I smile.

Jessie smiles back and stops tapping. "Oh, sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it! My bad!"

"No problem, I'm just a little OCD," I say jokingly and "sharpen" my pencil. Once I'm back to my seat I get back to my note.

Jeez, Sam, why do people have to be so nice? It makes me feel so much worse about myself. I'm kinda glad Jessie didn't give me crap, though, cuz that would have ruined my entire day. Ha. Sorta. And by sorta I mean I'd be pissed for like 10 minutes then get distracted.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

JESUS! I look back at Jessie, but she doesn't notice me. And...she's not tapping her pencil anymore. I look around the room, but no one's doing anything.

WHAT THE FUCK? I'm going insane. It's official. Someone's tapping again. It sounds like it's coming from Jeremy Mill's desk, but he's asleep. So. In fact, NO ONE is doing anything. It's frickin' annoying (Although, I'm kinda glad it's no one because I'd probably end up being called the pencil-nazi for the rest of my life). I don't know what I'm going to

BANG.

I look up from my note in alarm, but Mr. Brown is still talking about coal mining and steam powered engines. Tyler Bucci is staring at Chelsea Portman's boobs. Chelsea is texting under her desk while Rachel Eisel is actually taking notes for the class. Darren Iram is drawing on his desk, and Damien Vulcetic is staring at the clock. And here I am, gripping the sides of my desk like we're being bombed.

I chill out a little and try to get back to my note, but right as I pick up my pencil:

BANG.

I look up again, and still, the class is paying no attention. Is this all in my head? I think I saw something about this on Oprah once...

BANG.

I groan and a few kids around me look over, then go back to what they were doing. Why am I the only one hearing this? I look over at the window, because now it really sounds like someone is slamming against it or something.

There is no one at the window. Maybe I'm sleep deprived... It's raining outside. I see a woman leaving the building, holding an umbrella in one hand and the hand of a little girl in the other. As they walk by our window the little girl hesitates and looks in. I swear she's looking right at me, and I get chills up my spine. I've never seen a child that young give anyone a look like that. Maybe her mother isn't giving her what she wants. Maybe she just needs a nap. Maybe.

I look away and grab my pencil, but my note has disappeared. I look around me to see if it fell on the floor, or maybe someone is messing with me and took it? I spend the next five minutes searching for it, trying to be subtle so the teacher doesn't get on my ass for being disruptive, but it's nowhere to be found. I sink back in my chair and wonder who took it. I can't go around accusing people of stealing it because that's just weird.

The bell rings and I carry on with my day until I see Adam. I tell him about my note and the tapping and the little girl at lunch.

"Think she was part of the daycare center for that burn-out class?" He asks with a mouthful of pizza. "Maybe she's one of those freaky mean kids who throws chairs if she doesn't get the right color play-dough."

I shake my head and stab my macaroni salad with my fork. It doesn't taste that bad, but there's always going to be that cafeteria food stereotype that makes me hesitate.

"I mean, maybe it was Jessie's pencil that gave me a migraine so I went all loopy and shit so I started imagining things? That happens, right?" I suggest.

He shrugs and we throw out our trash. I can't concentrate in math class, which doesn't do me any favors because I suck at math. Luckily, I Adam sits across the room so I can't destract him with my nonsense, and he takes really good notes. I close my eyes and rub my temples, which is supposed to help but doesn't. The teacher tells us to open our books to some page that I could care less about; I'm too tired to care. My head hurts too much to care. I'm too skeeved out to care.

I go to open the old book, and there's a little piece of paper sticking out of the top. I open it to that page and pull out the paper. It's ripped and there's dirt on it. Some of it has water stains on it so I can't tell what it says, but it's got about half of a page of words on it. I lay it flat on the desk and scan it for legible words.

I'm all alone.

Said the girl was doing everything wrong, like her

going to KILL SOMEONE

Everything else is ripped out, blurry from water, or covered in dirt. But I don't need to see any more to remember that I wrote this before. That I wrote this today.