Chapter Eight

More like a mini-chapter, ending was rushed...

Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I was scared. Maybe I liked Eric just enough to want to talk to him. Even though he was a creepy guy who somehow knew my name and had led me to a deserted old park with no one else around. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea... My hands were starting to shake as he pointed to a tree stump. “Sit, sit,” he said, leaning against a tree. I slowly sat on the pine wood and stared into the ground. “Story please!” he said, smirking. I rolled my eyes. “As I said, there is no story.” shaking his head, he started pacing. “Start with your childhood. Where you lived, games you played, siblings perhaps...” he stopped talking, awaiting my response. “I've lived here all my life,” I began slowly, as not to let out too much information. “Games? I liked soccer. I played that a lot with my Dad. Guess that all changed,” I said slowly. Eric nodded, as if wanting me to say more. “My parents split up.” I said blankly. “I was seven. James �" my brother... He died. You know that already. Apparently that's my 'depressing back story'?” Eric stared at me for a while. I felt nauseous, like I was going to explode. I was about to stand up when Eric walked towards me. “Everyone goes through rough times, Jess,” he began, “but that shouldn't effect you for the rest of your life.” I swallowed as he got closer, only now I noticed how deep his eyes were. Piercing, even. I stood up, flustered, but he grabbed my shoulders. “It's okay, Jess. You're frightened,” I pushed his hands off me. “Maybe that's because some creepy guy brought be into a forest,” I replied, before running off away from the creep that led me there.

“By using the Pythagoras theorem, I want you to finish exercises thirteen to fifteen as homework.” Miss Opal tapped the white board with her marker as she stared at me. “Would someone care to demonstrate how we answer question eleven?” She walked over and dropped the marker on my desk. I stood up angrily and marched to the white board. “Which, uh, question?” I asked, not so confident as I was before. “Eleven.” she said bluntly. I felt a chill roll down my spine. “Stupid,” I heard someone mutter. A few giggles. I could barely hold it in much longer. “Miss Opal, since you're the 'teacher', why don't you 'teach' us?” I said, and slammed the marker on her desk. The class was silent. Miss Opal was in rage when our principle walked in. “Why, Miss Opal, a bit too much on the cheeks today?” Mrs Patterson, the principle, raised an eyebrow at Miss Opal. She twitched and began to speak. “No no, Miss Opal, sit down. I was just reminding everyone that school finishes half an hour early today.” She smiled at the class and then back at me, before whispering, “Forty nine,” just before she left the room. Still in a fluster, Miss Opal tried her best to ignore my smirk as I wrote the answer clearly on the board.