"All's fair in love and war."

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I could care less for Miss Emming's boring lessons. For a teacher, she dressed like a prostitute; her huge breasts spilled out of her top, begging for attention, and her waist dips into her hips like a cavity.

I turned to face him, his eyebrows were wrinkled in concentration. His fingers wrapped around his biro, waltzed quickly across the paper as he took notes.

He preferred real breasts and modest curves like mine to over exaggerated features. His favourite celebrities are short brunettes like me, although I had to curl my hair to match their wavy hair patterns. And he didn't appreciate loud mouths.

Sandra always stole the seat next to him. Her eyes were dubious and strained in hatred and jealousy. Her annoyingly high pitched voice used to knot my veins in furry and drum on my brain, meanwhile; everyone ignorantly crowned her with the title 'Cute'. I never saw it. Not in her narrow gaze constantly glaring at me, her arched eyebrows, and perverted hands frequently holding his thigh. Most definitely not with the way her lips were always curving into swear words at the sight of me.

But he spent more time with the bitch than with anyone else. They were like a dog and its flee, practically inseparable. All she needed to do was put on her shy girl make up and scare away any potential friends, then claim she's misunderstood and bullied. His gentle heart could never leave anyone like that alone. If I'm the cinderella of my poor story, then is Sandra an evil witch or the ugly step sister?

Miss Emmings called for everyone to get into pairs and a flock of students flew over to me, as naturally. He was the only one, while everyone shined their smiles and greeted me every morning, he never faced me the same way he did Sandra.

I turned to ask him to work with me, my tongue got caught between my teeth when I saw them together. Her lips folded into a grin when her eyes rolled my way, it barely took a second before she was back to admiring him.

The classmates who surrounded me all formed their own pairs. Like a comedian with a sour crowd, I stood there, searching the room for leftover students, evading the eye contact of anyone who bothered to look up. My heart tightened at the realisation that I had no one.

"Is everything okay?" Miss Emming's face forced its way into my personal space, her breath heated the air, carrying a ginger fragrance which was thrown into my nose, sunk into my throat and then aggravated my stomach, every time she spoke. "Don't you have a partner?" Her voice was like melted metal, smooth and almost elegant.

I stepped back discreetly, and shook my head to avoid exposing my mouth to the ginger warmth.

I quickly realised it, if I didn't have a partner I had three options: work alone, work with the teacher, or join a pair. I forced my mouth to form a question, "Can I join Sandra's group?" I hate breathing in other people's breath, especially when they've eaten, or brushed their teeth. The smell with the heat clogs my throat, before sinking into my stomach like stones.

"In that case I'm giving your group extra time since you have more members." She sent me off with the worksheet.

The dissatisfaction in Sandra's face was as amazing as watching a firework show. I stood on his right, my heart rose faster and larger when his elbow nearly touched my arm. He cooked with chemicals as if it was as simple as making breakfast.

The dotted table had carvings and drawings on all sides.

Lost in the moment, I rest in my arm, supported by the table. The bitch caught me off guard when she reached for a jar and knocked over a tube of transparent liquid onto my arm. I wasn't sure what it was but I knew it itched and smelled like burned rubber. I glared at her, straining my eyes as much as I could and hoped it would drill into her skull somehow.

"You need to rinse that off." He advised while digging in his pocket for tissues which he then gave to me. He examined how far the liquid had traveled up my sleeve. My eyes instantly fell from anger to sorrow at the sight of his worried expression.

"I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean it, honestly," Her voice went higher and sounded faker with every note.

Although I wanted to strangle her there and then I held it in. It's what she wanted, for him to see me fly over.

He was about to lead me to the sink before she started wailing dramatically. When he tried to calm her down she pushed him away, blaming herself. Her fake crying drew the teacher towards us. He explained what happened and before the teacher could even ask me if I was okay, she dominated the conversation with her apologising.

I don't know how she summoned those tears so quickly, but it worked. Most of the class started reassuring her as they rubbed her back. I left the room, found a sink, rinsed my sleeve and squeezed the vile liquid out repeatedly.

At that point I'd do anything to get rid of her. I searched online for inspiration. The teacher wouldn't care if I took a while to return to class, if she noticed that I was missing.

After traveling from link to link, I discovered the carcass of a chat room, the most recent post was eight years ago. From there, I traveled through another link which brought me to 'Happiness Delivery Service'.

The pale bathroom lights flickered, leaving me in darkness long enough for my heartbeat to accelerate and reach full speed. The pounding in my chest echoed through my ears, and pulsated under my skin, like a drill. The door on the far left creaked as it opened, I turned quickly to look, but there was no one there. I stored my phone back in my bra - where the teachers couldn't look, and left before my heart could reach a full stop, keeping my eyes forward.

I met her at the top of the staircase on my way back to class. Her phone in her hand, she leaned on the hand railing, glaring down at me as I made my way up. Her dark hair fell on her face like a black cloak. Everytime her lips parted, her braces seemed like they would jump out and pin me to the wall like a butterfly. "Are you okay?" She asked. I didn't want to deal with her, and I should have just walked straight past. "You can borrow my PE.kit if you need something to wear, although I'm not sure if we're the same size. Or I could speak to the teacher for you, maybe there's a spare blazer around the school somewhere. "  Her illusionary concern wrapped my nerves around her finger, and she just kept twirling until there was nothing left.

"Stop acting like you care." As if orchestrated by the devil, my hand went up and smacked her phone out of her hand. It fell through the gap, and with a soft, barely audible crack, landed three floors down at the bottom. When I looked over and saw the broken fragments, like bones, a part of me wanted to climb into a well and never come out. I didn't mean it, but the apology dug into my throat, refusing to surface, "you should have minded your own business."

I faced her for the first time and her face had puffed into tears. My stomach tightened in embarrassment and shame; however, my mind seemed to be in a different time zone and unable to connect my words to my feelings "Its just a phone, get over it," after all I hadn't committed mass genocide, it really was just a phone. Why did I have to feel bad, she did worst?

Suddenly, I felt pressure near my shoulders, pushing me back down the stairs. Her figure grew further away. Sandra's hand stretched out to me, she really pushed me. A soft breeze cradled my back, it was like floating on cotton, until my head collided with staircase number one. The thudd was deep, it jolted around my ear drum and scattered my brain into confusion. Each angle of a step pressed into my spine. The gush of warmth followed by pain overtook any icy feeling I should have felt from the cold floor. A strange numbness spread from my lower back. Drowsiness sat on my eyelids, soft and heavy. The world became a blur.

 I swear I saw her grin when she stood over my body.