TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter does mention suicide/homicide along with brief mental illness issues. Reader's discretion is advised.

• • • •

Question 2: Have you ever had homicidal tendencies?

a) Yes.

b) No.

Circling letter B with my pencil five times until the lead almost snapped, I sighed and moved down the line of absurd questions.

Question 3: Have you ever had suicidal tendencies?

a) Yes.

b) No.

My Shrek-themed mechanical pencil gravitated towards the letter A, but I stopped myself and chose B.

Next question:

Question 4: Do you know any friends or family members who had or have homicidal or suicidal tendencies?

a) Yes.

b) No.

"Why do we have to complete this damn evaluation?" Faith Quinn shouted from across the room. She waved her paper in the air. "I don't have a mental health problem!"

"Not everything is about you, Faith," Sofía Caballero argued from the desk behind mine. "So, shut the hell up!"

"You shut the hell up, bit—"

The sound of Ms. Boyd's hand slamming on her desk made me jump. "Faith, Sofía . . . that's enough!" she snapped. "Please be quiet before I call Principal Shaw and have him assign you both after-school detention."

We all stared at her in shock. Getting on Ms. Boyd's bad side rarely happened, but when it did, you knew your day was ruined and it wasn't good.

"Sorry for the interruption, Ms. B," Faith and Sofía apologized, their voices quivering.

"Um . . . excuse me, Ms., but Suicide Prevention and Awareness Month is in September. Why are we doing this in February?" asked a student three desks ahead of mine.

"Well . . . because our superintendent cares more for athletic programs than the mental stability of students," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "So that's why we're a little late getting to the topic of suicide and mental health."

The entire class fell silent. Everyone was too stunned to speak.

"Okay, enough chitchat. Continue filling out your evals please," Ms. Boyd instructed, and sat down at her desk. She began shuffling through paperwork.

Flipping over the evaluation, I backpedaled to the first official question.

Question 1: In the past day(s), have you felt isolated or anxious?

a) Yes.

b) No.

I glanced down at the milky-white paper Ms. Boyd slapped on my desk no less than ten minutes ago, wanting to rip it to shreds. Instead, I exhaled deeply and circled 'No.'

While coloring in the rest of the white ovals at warp speed, I pause when I'm met with the final question:

Question 8: Do you know anyone close to you who has ever committed suicide? ( Or wanted to ).

a) Yes.

b) No.

YES.

"Okay, time's up. Please hand in your evals." Ms. Boyd stood and began circling the room.

I scribbled my name and today's date down at the bottom of the last page. With shaky hands, I handed Ms. Boyd my paper as she passed by my desk.

"So next week, we'll be reading and discussing–" The bell signaling the end of fourth period interrupted her. "Alright, have an excellent rest of your day and a safe but fun weekend," Ms. Boyd announced as students began filing out of the classroom.

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor, mixed with laughter and gossip from students, filled my ears.

"Well, wasn't that . . . something?" Cassie commented on our way out the door into the hallway.

"Tell me 'bout me it," I agreed. "If I wanted to go through all that, I would've had a quick phone sesh with Dr. Patricia."

"Primarily, question eight. Much too personal, if you ask me," she responded. "Anyway, we'd better hurry, or we'll be late for chem lab, and you know how our teacher will feel 'bout that, mi amor, especially with you." Cassie nudged me in the elbow.

I know. I know. "Je sais. Je sais. I just have to get my chem stuff from my locker. You go on ahead without me."

"M'kay, I'll see ya in there. Don't. Be. Late, or your ass is G.R.A.S.S." She sang and proceeded to skip off down the hallway backwards.

"Whatever, bitch. You're a weirdo!" I called out.

"But ya love me!"

I shook my head and hurried to my locker. Sliding to the dusty and dirty floor, I spun the combination lock and pulled it down. The lock wouldn't open. Spinning the lock again, in case I didn't get the number right the first time, I pulled down harder, practically yanking on the lock. Still, it wouldn't budge.

"Fuck!" I cried and grabbed a fistful of hair after kicking the blue metal door with the tip of my shoe.

"Somebody in a pickle?"

I spun around to find Graham Shaw standing behind me with a smile on his face. I never knew how brown his eyes were until now, like two pools of melted dark chocolate with little flecks of gold, along with long lashes too . . . goddamn.

"Sorry . . . what?"

"Could you use a hand?" Graham rephrased, gesturing toward my locker door.

"Sure. Thank you." I let go of my hair and moved out of the way, so Graham could wrestle with the combination lock. "Now I won't have to go find the janitor or some random teacher."

My eyes slowly traveled from the back of his head to his broad shoulders, to his back, and to his ass.

What the hell are you doing, you weirdo?

"The problem was, you didn't yank down hard enough the first time, so it got stuck," Graham explained, looking at me. "Sometimes these suckers stick, but it's all fixed; you're welcome." He winked and handed me the combination lock.

I opened the door, gathering my chemistry textbook and folder. "Hey, thank you again for your" —I began saying, but saw Graham was nowhere in sight— "help."

Securing the door with the lock, I stood up and scurried down the vacant hallway, making my way to lab room 666.

Mr. Fisher was writing something on the whiteboard; his back was turned. Hoping to slip in without being scolded for extra tardiness, I stepped silently into the room and past his desk. I slid into the only available seat, but before I could get too comfortable, he spun around, his eyes fixed dead on me.

"Nice try, Miss Wilson, but you'll have to be sneakier than that." He checked my name off the attendance sheet with an amused grin. "I see all."

I swore a multitude of curse words under my breath.

Mr. Fisher, being the senior chemistry teacher, was also the driver's ed instructor, and let's just say the driver's test we seniors had to complete as sophomores—mine didn't go as planned—in fact, Mr. Fisher didn't exactly care for me as one of his students after that.

Instantly, my eyes caught sight of Graham in the second row, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Somehow, sensing my gaze, he turned and flashed me a smirk.

"Mr. Shaw, if you're done checking out Miss Wilson, I'd like to start class sometime this century," Mr. Fisher announced, his eyebrows furrowed.

Graham whipped his head around and saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you." Mr. Fisher turned to continue writing on the whiteboard in his usual sloppy cursive. "Now our question of the day: 'Why is the study of carbon compounds important'?"

I'm never going to be a chemist in my life, so why do I need to learn about carbon compounds?

I pursed my lips together and clicked my mechanical pencil over and over again until all the lead popped out.

"Here. For you."

A girl in front of me twisted around in her seat and dropped a slip of ripped notebook paper onto my desk.

"Um . . . thank you." I unfolded the piece of paper and rolled my eyes at the scribbled words written in neon blue gel pen.

Bitch, make your move, or I will.
Graham has the hots for you, chica.
- C. L.

Down at the bottom, she wrote:

( you know I swing both ways ). ;)

I crumpled the note in my hands and refrained from throwing it at Cassie. She could have Graham Shaw; I didn't want him. I didn't.

Everyone knows high school boys are total shits.

"Who can answer the question of the day for us?" Mr. Fisher caped the dry-erase marker in his hand and faced the class. His eyes landed dead on me, and my heart plummeted to my sneakers. "Care to take a crack at the question, Andrea?"

Fuck you, Mr. Prick. Fuck you.

I shifted in my seat. "Um . . . the–" my throat closed up. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead.

"Carbon is the main element in organic compounds, so it's essential to life on Earth. Without carbon, life couldn't exist," Graham spoke, cutting me off.

Mr. Fisher blinked in surprise. "Wow! Someone's been reading ahead. Excellent response. Well done!"

"I'm a bit of a chemistry nerd," Graham added nonchalantly.

"God, he's sexy and smart. My literal dream guy," commented a girl with bubblegum-pink hair across from me to another girl sitting in front of her.

"I know, Meghan. Graham's so hot. Shit, it should be illegal. If I wasn't dating Dustin, I'd jump his bones right now." giggled the girl in front of Meghan.

"Jesus Christ, Tatum" –Meghan playfully swatted her friend's hand– "you're naughty, naughty. Shame on you."

The sound of Mr. Fisher's throat clearing filled the room. "Um . . . Miss Cox, Miss Waterloo, is there something you'd enjoy sharing with the entire class?"

"No, sir." Meghan and Tatum shook their heads.

"Good, and before I forget" –Mr. Fisher leaned casually against the whiteboard and peered at us over his gray wire-rimmed glasses– "if everyone would take out their assignment from last night. Now, question seven was a little tricky; did anyone have trouble with it? Anyone?"

No one spoke. The sound of someone's pen dropping to the floor echoed throughout the room.

"Alright. Pass your papers up to the front of the class. I expect perfection from everyone since y'all wanted to be so talkative." Mr. Fisher stepped away from the board and snatched the papers from each student in the front row. "That was sarcasm for anyone who didn't comprehend."

I rolled my eyes and forced myself not to stab myself repeatedly with my DreamWorks-themed ballpoint pen.

Hearing a small ding from my basketball shorts ( thank you, Cassie ), I retrieved my phone and was met with a new message:

Think you could snap your fingers to get us free from this hellhole?
- Unknown.

Blinking three times, I crafted a quick response.

Who are you, & how do you know about my powers? Because this isn't funny.
- Andrea.

one second  . . . two seconds  . . . three seconds . . . four—

Oh, Andrea, I'll reveal myself soon. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm only having some fun.
- Unknown.

When Mr. Fisher launched into a lecture about quadratic formulas and definitions, I turned off my phone and glanced around the room, hoping to catch this fool in the act, but no luck with everyone secretly on their phones.

Who the hell is this son of a bitch, and why are they playing with me? What's their angle?

The home screen on my phone lit up, so I flipped it over only to see nothing but a winking face emoji awaiting me. I scrunched up my nose in distaste.

;)
- Unknown.