- "November." The lady's voice is speculative, and she pushes the papers back toward me. "Put your last name on it too, dearie," she says.
I shake my head. "I haven't got one," I tell her. The papers slide back across the desk, and I can feel the eyes of students passing me in the halls boring into my back.
"What do you mean by that?" she scoffs, and I can tell she's getting impatient with me. To be honest, I'm just as fed up with her – what's so hard to understand here?
"I mean, I do not have a last name." I spoke each work clearly and slowly as if speaking to a child, and she frowns.
"Get to class, girl," she snaps, and dismisses me with a wave of her hand.
I don't reply, but instead swing my backpack over my shoulder and grab a schedule. I can tell she's watching me walk away disapprovingly, and as soon as I'm out of her sight, I breathe out in relief. I stuff my books in my locker, then head to my first class – English, room 206.
This is going to be a long day.
- The day had gone by horribly.
I walked into class and the teacher told me to introduce myself, so I walked up in front of the room. But when all the eyes turned to meet mine, I felt my self getting sick, and spent the whole time standing there and saying "Um" until the teacher snapped at me to say my name.
"November," I told her.
"November what?"
"Just November."
The only person that was even relatively nice to me was a boy named James Cairn. He was in three of my classes, and made an effort to talk to me during them. He was nice, and by the end of English, I was laughing at a joke he'd just told. And, to be honest, he wasn't bad-looking either, with his chocolate hair that brushed his brows and big, innocent blue eyes. I found myself yearning to be around him, unable to step away.
But now I'm alone. James ran off with some of his friends, and I've finished my homework. The only person still here is a small, ratty-looking girl, with huge glasses that keep slipping down her nose. She push them up with her finger repetitively, and I watch her, my eyes following her every move. Someone comes up to her and she stands, stepping away to expose the person's face.
James. He's grinning at her like it's Christmas morning, and she's smiling back. I can see his lips moving, forming syllables, and she shrugs. He scowls and says something else, then begins to walk away.
It all happens so fast.
One second, the girl is standing there, a desperate expression on her face, then next? She's laying on the ground, dead, with a hole through her heart.
