Unwritten Pages

Friday. The last Friday before school ended.

The last Friday I would spend as a high schooler.

The last Friday...

I sit in English class and stare blankly at the board. The test is damn easy. I'm finished. I wonder why we have to do this. Exams are already done—and we've already know which Universities or Colleges we're going to.

Ms. Marr had warned the class that this test would count. I don't believe her. But it seems that some people have taken it seriously...like Desiree Lilian.

Desiree sits beside me in this class. When I we had come in the classroom at different times, I had heard excited buzzing our way. No doubt that they're talking about us.

I wonder if they think that Liane's article had split us.

Absurd. I just contracted that stupid theory she made during my speech in the cemetery. I had kind of hoped that she looked stupid now, much to my cruelty. Unfortunately, it didn't make her look stupid. In fact, my speech might have made myself seem stupid.

Andrew Campbell, the former druggie.

At least I had the guts to stand up for Desiree. Though I doubt she cares now. She hasn't even talked to me this whole class.

Involuntarily, I look at Desiree. She's focusing on her work. Her head and bent low and she's writing like mad. She doesn't even look at me.

She's probably still mad at you. For the Liane thing, I think to myself. Stupid Liane.

Finally, class ends. Ms. Marr collects the last few papers from some students as she dismisses us. Desiree is one of the first people out of the room. She thrusts her papers at Ms. Marr and hurries out the room, shoving some people away in process.

It feels like everyone is looking at me at that point. Like they're expecting me to say something witty or explain Desiree's behaviour, or confirm that we're completely over.

I swallow. I pretend that no one's looking at me and I stroll out of the room as calmly as I can. Thankfully, no one tries to stop me.

I head to the library. It's a spare period. Without Desiree to talk to, I don't know what to do. Tomas, Peter and Con aren't in any of my classes. And we don't have spares together either.

I don't want to sit around in the hallway, I literally have nothing to do. I reach the library and enter it, hoping that Desiree's here and that I can explain to her.

What is there to explain? A voice inside my head asks me wickedly.

A lot, I think back.

I scan the library for Desiree. I see her, with a book open in her hands. I sigh, maybe this is a good time to talk to her—unlike in English class when everyone was staring at us.

I start to head towards her until I notice someone sitting beside her.

Drew Sorauren.

I bunch my fist up in frustration. What does he want with Desiree? Can't he leave her alone? Can't he leave us alone?

He has one arm around her while the other is on the screen of his phone.

The sight of them makes me angry. I don't want to start a fight here, so I turn away before I can run up to him and punch him.

No violence, I scold myself, that's not the person you are, Andrew.

I don't know what to do, now that I'm here. I thought about talking to Desiree, but I'm sure the sight of her with Drew will set me off if I look at them for another second. I'm not being a coward—I just don't want to fight here. And I know I shouldn't sink to Drew's level.

I can't immerse myself in a book world like Desiree. I just can't do that. So I just sit down in front of an unoccupied computer and log in. It takes a few minutes.

When it's finally done logging in, I don't know what to do. I don't want to go on socializing sites right now. I absentmindedly click the internet button. The school homepage appears.

My fingers pause on the keyboard. After a moment's of hesitation, I open up Google.

I don't know if I should type the words. But I do anyways. Winterlyn Evaline Lawly.

I remember when Winter was here. Back in eleventh grade or so. We searched up our names and came up with odd results. Especially with Winter. Her name wasn't common, it came with very few results which were all off.

For my name, there were tons of people named Andrew Campbell. There were pages and pages. Arianna and Desiree's name came up with a normal amount—not too much and not too less.

Instead of the weird results we had come up with in eleventh grade, Winter's name comes up with many results. And they're not random.

I see pictures of Winter's face plastered all over the internet. So her suicide hasn't gone unnoticed... Most suicides go unnoticed. Maybe it's because Winter's suicide was so...odd. She had so much to live for. And she didn't have depression.

I click the first result, which leads me to her Facebook page. I don't know why they haven't taken it down yet—she's dead. But her page is open to public now—instead of completely private.

All over her wall it says 'RIP Winterlyn!'. Most of these people I don't even know. Most of these people—I don't even think they go to our school. Most of these people, I don't even think lives in this country—or even this continent. There are all types of languages on her page.

The sight of this makes me angry. They don't know her. And by the way they're posting—I assume most of these were sarcasm. Sarcasm for a dead person. Some people have so less respect.

Just for the heck of it, I log onto Winter's Facebook account. I know her email and password. I just hope that Facebook hasn't locked it. Fortunately, they haven't.

She has over a few hundred thousand notifications. I don't check them because I know it's all those random people who post on her wall.

I type in her status: You're all full of lies and false truths.

Without even thinking it over, I post it. I feel a sense of satisfaction as I see it appear. I don't know what Winter would say about this, though. It's one of her favourite quotes.

Almost immediately, there are posts on the status.

I don't know who the hell it is. So I assume it's someone who doesn't even go to this school. This comment reads: HOLY SHITT! YOUR ALIVE MAN!! :) CALL ME?? PLZZ?

It's 'you're' not 'your',I think with irritation. This person is ridiculously stupid. It annoys me when people get that wrong. And especially when they use emoticons. I hate emoticons.

Soon after that, more comments appear. And there are likes filing in. If Winter's watching this from the Pearly Gates, there's no doubt that she's amused.

Before, when Winter posts statuses, barely anyone sees it—or comments on it. The downside of being unnoticed.

I log out of her account and go back to Google. Without thinking I type 'Andrew Campbell' in. The first few results aren't me. But then after that, my results stream in. I see the pictures of me all over the internet. I squirm a bit as I think about what girls out do to that picture... Especially girls like Liane...

Throughout the whole spare, I just search. It's funny how something so serious can make someone a celebrity.

When the spare is over, I eat my lunch quickly and get back to the computer. There's so many amusing things about us. I barely think about Desiree and Drew.

I come across a crazy girl's conversation about me. They're people I don't know. I've never imagined things like this can happen. This only happens to crazy hot celebrities. Not me.

AMYFOREVA: Oh my GOSH! U no that super hot guy, Andrew Campbell?

LIA: ...who?

AMYFOREVA: U don't no him?? OMG!!! WTF?!? He's like—UBER hot!

LIA: U mean dah DEAD GURLS BF??

AMYFOREVA: Hes the ALIVE GURLS BF!! But hes the DEAD GURLS BFF!! GET UR FACTS STRAIGHT!

LIA: OOHH! Hes HOTTTT!!!

AMYFOREVA: IKR??!?

LIA: SO HOTT! DAMN! I WISH HE WUZ MINEE YO! DAH SMEXI BEEAST!

AMYFOREVA: NO WAY! HES MY BF!

LIA: HEY! WHO SED HE WUZ UR BF? EFF YOU GURL! HES DAMN MINE!

AMYFOREVA: HECK NO! LIKE SERIOUSLY GURL! Andrew Campbell.... YUM, so dreamy....

LIA: GURL, HES DATING SOMEONE!

AMYFOREVA: WHO CARES? WATS HER FACE?!?

LIA: Desiree Lilian....OR SUMTHING!!

AMYFOREVA: SCREW HER!! HES EFFING MINE! IMMA GO ON A JOURNEY 2 FIND HIM NOW!!

LIA: GURL...CHILL, he lives in CANADA. WITH THE MOOSE.

AMYFOREVA: AND THAT MAKES HIM MORE UBER HOT!!

LIA: OK...

AMYFOREVA: SO HOTT MAN!!! DAMMITT! NOW I HAVE 2 BUY PLANE TICKETS FROM USA 2 CANADA! HOPE THEYRE CHEAP!!

Very disturbed, I back away from the computer screen. I guess I know how celebrities feel now—with all those crazy fan girls streaming in everywhere. I shudder as I think of AMYFOREVA (whoever the heck that it) creep up by the window and snapping pictures.

I shudder again, which cause the person beside me to look at me.

So now I know that a bunch of girls are searching for me. I wonder if they named my address on the news. I wonder if there are already girls in this city searching for me. I know that they named my high school on the news. So far, there are no crazy fan girls...

I look back at the conversation. It's clear that those girls (assuming they were girls and not some men pretending to be women) are stupid. Well...not stupid stupid. But just...dumb. They haven't used proper grammar, they abbreviated word, they overused exclamation marks and question marks. They didn't use apostrophes.

I exit from the conversation of the two insane girls and log off from the computer. I've spend so much time looking at these already. It's crazy. It's almost Math class. I decide that I should arrive early than late and I leave the library.

I make my way to class and find that it's nearly empty—except for a few people who have nothing better to do than wait in class even though the school year is almost done.

I don't have anything to do, so I take out a scrap piece of paper and just doodle.

I hate art, yes, but sometimes, I need to let my creative side out. I just think that creative classes are dumb—that's all. I don't think that creativity itself is dumb.

Before I know it, more people come into the classroom. Mr. Woodly comes in and collects the Math assignment from everyone. I see Desiree from the corner of my eyes. She's reading a book—like usual. I feel like I'm back in tenth grade, when I just watched her from afar like a stalker.

I turn my eyes away from her—I'll get her to understand me later... But will she accept it? I remember my kiss with Liane. The thought of it makes me shudder with disgust.

Mr. Woodly then tells us our assignment will be given back on Monday after he does some crazy homework marking. Then, because it's Friday and the second last week of school, he gives us free time.

Desiree looks gratified and she cracks open her book and is soon sucked in her book world and oblivious to her surroundings. I always envy that quality...to just be sucked into a book—become so immersed in the story that you feel like it's part of your universe until someone distracts you.

I remember what Desiree tells me all the time: It's like a whole new world that you're being introduced in. I love it when it's fantasy, because the world actually in a whole new world. And I feel like I'm seeing the world for the first time. I feel like there's so much action and crime fighting...and whatever in my life. That is—until someone interrupts me and I'm taken back into this world. Where I'm sitting in school and absorbing information like a zombie or something.

It sounds amazing—by the way Desiree had put it. But... I knew that all people were different. I couldn't get sucked into a book like Desiree can. It just doesn't...interest me.

I realize that I'm staring at Desiree and I quickly look away. Then I feel a bit angry wit myself—why had I looked away? Surely there's nothing wrong with staring at your ex-girlfriend...

The thought of the staring part makes me feel like that stalker AMYFOREVA. I involuntarily check the door for a crazy girl. Fortunately, there's no one. Hopefully, AMYFOREVA is just joking about taking a flight to Canada and coming to see me. She can't be that crazy. I've heard Winter and Arianna talk about celebrities before like that...

Winter...

I can't believe she's truly gone. Still. I must be brain dead. I sigh and take out my paper of doodles. There's no actual pictures here except for random dark splotches. I don't have a huge creative side, so I guess random splotches is what it looks like when my 'creativity' is released.

I draw for a few more minutes. Then I start to get bored and take out another piece of paper. The one that Arianna drew for us.

The drawing of the four of us walking together.

I stare at the sketch. I can imagine this as a real scene. It's so vivid, really. All the strokes that Arianna drew—it looks so real.

I stare down at the page. Desiree and I are holding hands. We look like the perfect couple. We've lost that. Arianna is being her playful self and sticking a piece of paper on my back while Winter is laughing joyfully.

Winter's gone. Arianna's changed since she found out that Winter is gone. And now, Desiree and I are split.

This drawing is a mirror of the past. A flickering flame, slowly dying. Old memories.

I can see this scene clearly in my head, where we're just walking down the street—the four of us. With no worries about death and mortality.

Winter's mortality.

Who knew Winter could die? Who knew winter could die? Who knew that someone could extinguish that flame of life that she carried?

The thought depresses me.

While the rest of the class is buzzing about their future after high school, Desiree and I are the silent ones. She's immersed in her universe—she's escaping her life at this moment. While I'm looking at old memories. Desiree's eyes are taking in false memories while my eyes are taking in true memories.

Real memories hurt. Especially ones that relate to the dead.

I stare at the page, taking in every delicate stroke of Arianna's pen. The curve of Desiree's smile, a loose strand of Arianna's hair, the outline of our faces—it's incredible.

Funny how everything in this picture use to exist but it no longer here. I wish that Desiree and I never had that stupid fight over the phone. I wish that Liane never came over and I never kissed her.

I just keep thinking about this—just regretting all the words I yelled over the phone at Desiree. Every stupid, hurtful word.

I realize I have been thinking for over an hour when Mr. Woodly dismisses us. Students exit the room, still chattering about whatever they were talking about in the first place. I start to leave the class with all my classmates.

Someone pushes me as if they're in a hurry to get away. I'm about to say something to them about calming down when I realize that it's Desiree. She doesn't look at me at all. She just shoves past me and runs off. I know it won't do any good to chase her. She'd refuse to listen to me.

I sigh as I head to the art class. Maybe Arianna can talk some sense into her—if Desiree even wants to talk to anyone else who isn't Drew Sorauren.

Drew Sorauren—he's the problem for the whole mess Desiree and I are in. At least now—that I've quenched the rumour, not many people are talking about her anymore.

When I make it to the art room, most people are already there—Mr. Woodly must have dismissed us a little later than usual.

Ms. Loreen is here today. Hopefully, she'll realize that school's almost over and that we don't need to do art anymore. But unfortunately, I see stacks of papers on her desk that look like work sheets.

Arianna's here. So is Desiree, but Desiree isn't talking to anymore. She's reading a book. I slide in my chair beside her, she doesn't look up.

I'm about to ask Arianna what she wanted to give to me when I realize that she's also reading. But instead of a novel, like Desiree, Arianna has something in her hands that looks like a notebook. It's a nice notebook, really.

It's a light shade of green with a pink ribbon popping up on the cover. It's quite thick. There's something written on the front of the book in cursive, but I can't really see what it says from here.

“Arianna,” I say. Class hasn't started yet.

Arianna looks up, seeming as if she's startled. “Oh, Andrew.”

“What's in your hands?” I'm curious.

“This?” She closes the book. “I'm giving it to you.”

I frown as she hands me the book. “What is it?”

Arianna gives some sort of sad smile. “A notebook. A journal. A diary. A secret.”

“Your diary?” I guess. Arianna gives a short laugh as she pushes the book in my hands.

“You'll see,” she says.

“So this is what you wanted to give me?” I ask. I don't look at the book yet.

She nods and opens her binder. “You have to return it by the end of the summer. To authority. Not to me,” she says nonchalantly.

I'm confused. “What do you mean?”

Arianna doesn't answer, and by then, Ms. Loreen is starting her lesson. I don't know why the woman would continue teaching when the school year is almost done.

“Today, we'll continue on shading...”

Shading—joy. That's my least favourite activity in art class. I groan inwardly. I don't want to shade, so I look at the book and examine the words on the cover.



The book almost drops from my hands. This is Winter's journal. From this year. I've seen her carry it around.

And this book...was in the hands of Arianna Golding the whole time.