"We called her Jinx.

No one really knew where the name came from, but we all knew that she wasn't Jenni Serang. Her name was Jinx, and that's what we called her.

While we didn't know the true origins, we knew why we called her Jinx today. She was bad luck. Touching her equated to having a black cat cross your path. Any team she joined lost every game she played in. Any class she was in, the average grade dropped.

And she smelled. Her dingy sweatshirts and ripped jeans always carried the potent scent of cigarettes. It's not like we didn't smoke, but at least we had the decency to wash our clothes.

She wasn't a looker either. Jinx had this long, knotted, black hair that she always tried to hide under a black slouch hat and a pony tail. But we knew.

She didn't wear makeup, so we could plainly see the red acne popping up all over her paled face. Her lips hardly had color. Her eyebrows were unkempt, and always crept into unibrow territory.

Her eyes themselves were washed out blue, pale and unsightly. The dark bags hanging under them did nothing but accentuate the uncanny wateriness of her eyes.

And, on the few occasions we actually saw her body, we were appalled.

In fact, the locker room is where this started.

It was me, Sara Evens, and Kelsey Ronc. We giggled and pointed when Jinx took off her hoodie to reveal a stained white T-shirt. Her arms were skinny, and covered in red slashes.

"Aww," Sara cooed. "Look at the little emo baby. Gonna go home to slit your wrists?"

Jinx sighed and took off her shirt. Her ribs pointed out. I counted all of them. One was bent in an unnatural way. More scars clung to her bony hips and sunken in stomach.

"Jesus!" Kelsey cried. "I didn't know it was Halloween. I'm seeing fucking skeletons."

Jinx unbuttoned her ripped jeans and slipped them off her twig legs. More scars. I could faintly see words carved into her thighs.

"Forgetting things?" I asked innocently. "Are those reminders on your thighs, or suicide notes?"

She grabbed gym shorts and a school-issued tank top. She changed, threw her items into her red locker, and walked out, not even looking at us.

We laughed.

Sara sauntered over to the locker and grabbed a bobby pin from her hair. "Watch this." With a few wrist flicks and a furrowed pair of brows, Jinx's locker door swung open. She grinned. "Let's steal her shit."

Kelsey and I laughed, agreeing to the plot. We each took a smoke-drenched item of clothing and locked it in a previously empty locker. And then we closed hers and walked out to basketball practice.

When the team came back in, we found Jinx rummaging through her backpack, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I walked over and put an arm over her. She flinched, but I held tight. "Looking for something?"

She sniffled.

"Why don't you check the reminders on your thigh?"

We all laughed as I shoved her to the floor. "Good luck finding your smelly shit."

Jinx grabbed her backpack and ran outside in her gym clothes.

We were all vaguely horrified and amazed when she came into school the next day in those same gym shorts and school-issued tank top. I glanced out the window to be sure, and - yes - it was, in fact, snowing.

Everyone knew she didn't take the bus. God only knows where she lives, or how far she has to walk, but we know she was banished from the buses years ago. She'd walked to school in the freezing cold. In shorts and a tank top.

Kelsey had hooked up with the guys' basketball team to fill her school locker. Sure enough, when she opened it, Jinx was instantly covered in water and soggy socks and notes.

Kelsey's boyfriend, Max, had taken donations of gym socks from each of his teammates. Then, he put them in a small bucket of water, which he precariously placed inside her locker to be spilled whenever his victim opened it.

The notes were from the girls' team. We mostly wrote the standard "Go kill yourself" and "No one cares about you."

Jinx shuddered and reached into her stinking, soaked locker to take out a waterlogged math book.

"We're only trying to mask the smell of cigarettes," someone called. We all laughed.

People threw papers and gum and trash at Jinx as she trudged to class. Her wet shoes squeaked on the floor.

We all stayed away from Jinx and, in return, she stayed away from us. No one even knew where she hid during lunch. We just knew she wasn't there, and it was fine. She didn't have friends anyways.

Because of all this, no one really noticed when Jinx disappeared. I mean, why would we?"

Officer Banks stared at the girl in front of him after her story was over. She was shaking ever so slightly. Her dark hands twisted uncomfortably in her lap. Ginger Salone was the name connected to the girl's ebony face. Long dreadlocks fell in front of her brown eyes.

As Banks stared at her, Ginger looked away. "We didn't mean for this to happen. It was just fun. They were pranks."

Banks shifted in his seat, looking at the files through his half-moon glasses. "Miss Salone," he spoke smoothly. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I..." The girl shrugged.

Banks said nothing. He just slid the files across the table to Ginger.

Her shaking hands opened the folder. Ginger's brown eyes widened and she covered her mouth. She winced and looked away, sobbing.

Banks looked at the first photo. A girl lay in the snow, crimson blood and yellow piss staining the purity. Her skin was blue and purple and clung to her frail bones. She was severely malnurished. The clothes she wore were anything but winter - a pair of shorts and a tank top bearing the emblem of the local high school. There was a note clutched in her bony hand.

"Miss Salone, do you know who this woman is?"

"I'm gonna be sick," Ginger whimpered.

"Who is this, Ginger?"

She shook her head.

"Who. Is. This."

"It's Jinx!" Ginger finally cried.

Banks nodded. "Her name was Jennifer Serang. We found her body yesterday, in the woods twenty miles South of here. The snow hid her body. We assume this recent warm spell brought it up." Banks paused, looking at her face for any signs. "Tests say she's been dead for nearly two months."

"Oh my god...," she whispered, willing herself to look at the gruesome photo. "She's dead..."

"Do you know how she died?" Banks pressed.

Ginger shook her head, looking away again. Banks watched her nails dig into her palms.

"Hypothermia. She was attempting to runaway, and froze to death." Banks again looked to the photo. "Do you see the note in her hand?"

Ginger nodded.

"We have a copy of it here, and we'd like you to read it aloud. Can you do that?"

She said nothing, so Banks dug through the papers to find it. The note was scrawled out in neat, loopy handwriting. He slid it to Ginger.

The paper wobbled in her shaking hands as she read.

This wasn't a suicide. If you're reading this and I'm dead, I want you to know that it was an accident. Sort of.

My intent wasn't to die, but I probably didn't fight death. And I know I didn't take the proper precautions to avoid death. So maybe it was suicide? I don't know.

I first want to address my smell, since that was a hot topic at school. I never smoked, okay? Mom does. And I know I should wash my clothes, but we don't have running water anymore.

Not that it matters, because students stole my clothes anyways. I just didn't have the energy to go looking for them.

"Oh my god," Ginger stopped. "Th-That was me. I hid her clothes, I-I... I never meant for- we didn't-"

"Continue reading," Banks said.

She nodded and looked down again.

Back to the topic of my not-suicide. I was running away. From everything. Mom was always too busy drinking to notice me anyways, so she won't miss me. And the whole school hates me. I'm "Jinx" to them. They wanted me gone.

And I know that running away gives them what they want, and I "Need to resist," but I can't. They're better people when I'm not around anyways.

There were three that loved to torment me more than any. Sara Evens, Kelsey Ronc, and Ginger Salone.

Ginger choked at the sight of her name. "I-I didn't- she-"

"You're almost finished, Miss Salone," Banks said quietly.

To those three, and everyone who did things to me: it's okay. I'm not angry. I'm not anything. I'm dead. It's fine. I'm fine.

Please just don't put "Jinx" on my grave. Cremate me. And don't have some fancy funeral. No one will show up anyways.

Best wishes,
Jennifer Serang

Banks looked at Ginger as she reread the note over and over again. "I..."

He waited for her to finish, but no more words came out of her tight throat. "You're not being convicted of anything, Miss Salone, but it was her wish to have you and the other two read her note."

Ginger nodded, unable to speak.

"Miss Salone, you must know by now: your pranks weren't funny."