Authors: Aimee Whitmee
“I don’t what to do anymore interviews or charities unless
I
want to do then. They’re pointless anyway, I’m an author mum, not some singer or actress. If they want to know about me then they’ll look me up on Wiki.”
“These
pointless
interviews and charities are what sell the books! I do them for
you
!” Her face is red and tight with anger.
“People buy my book because they want to read it not because they see me on some flipping TV show!”
I get up off the sofa and stand to face her.
“I think that’s enough.” Dad’s calm voice comes from behind me.
Mum looks at him before leaving the room and going up the stairs.
“She’s starting to really piss me off! Dad, why can’t she just accept that I don’t want all that?” I grit my teeth and rip the mask off my face, grimacing as the tape rips off my skin.
“Don’t swear McKenzie.” He doesn’t use my full name as a way to tell me off, he always uses my full name because he says it’s the name I was given and I should be called by it. He doesn’t say anything when other people call me different but I’ve never heard him call me by Kenzie, Kenz or Zee.
Lately I’ve found myself favouring my full name to any of my nicknames.
“I’m a writer dad, I’m supposed to be creative with my words.” I give him a weak smile.
“She didn’t swear did she? McKenzie there’s no bloody need to.” Roger appears in the doorway next to dad. I scowl at him and he grins at me before elbowing dad gesturing back towards the kitchen.
I scoop up my wedges before walking back into the front hall and taking the stairs two at a time to get to my room.
Finally deciding
to go for that run, I tug off the wig and chuck it onto the dresser along with the mask before changing.
I peel off the jeans before hopping into a pair of my favourite jeans; they’re ripped all over and
baggy
allowing blood to my toes and back!
I shrug out the top with no consideration for the material and pull on a tank top before putting an off the shoulder jumper over the top of that. On the front is a speech bubble and written inside is: If you choke a Smurf what colour does it turn?
Me and my sick sense of humour.
I yank the wig cap off my head when I realise I’m still wearing it and my hair tumbles out in a mess of brown semi curly hair.
Multitasking, I finger comb my hair as I shove my bare feet into my boots before yanking a jacket out the wardrobe and grabbing all the essentials.
I’m halfway down the stairs when my stomach starts grumbling reminding me that I haven’t eaten at all today.
Muttering to myself, I chuck my stuff onto the kitchen table before going about making a sandwich. I can eat it on the move that way, who cares if my stomach starts to hurt?
Laying it down on a piece of kitchen towel, I turn to put the cheese back into the fridge and get a coke off the bottom shelf before shrugging into my jacket and pulling my hood up.
Turning, I go to grab my sandwich only to find an empty counter, I search the kitchen in case I put it somewhere else; I look in the bin in case I chucked it away by mistake. I look and it’s not in the fridge.
I’m pretty sure we don’t have a mouse
I think tapping my fingers on the counter.
“The dog ate my sandwich again!” I shout just to irritate mum.
“We don’t have a dog!” I take note of the irritation in her voice and roll my eyes.
Didn’t you know you gave birth to one?
Rogers got the hood of dad’s car up and half my sandwich in his hand.
Pig…dog works too.
“Roger that’s
my
sandwich!” Dad chuckles at my whining but stops when he sees me glaring at him.
“Would it really kill you to leave my food alone?” I sigh and even find myself pouting but can you really blame me? That’s my sandwich and I want to
leave
this sanity draining house.
“Yes because I haven’t eaten all day and you just left it lying around so…” He shrugs like its simple and I’m just stupid.
“I haven’t eaten all day either! I turned my back for a second! For you to have gotten the sandwich you must have morphed into flipping Thomas Crown!
And
it had my name written on it as well!”
Dad chuckles obviously finding it all very amusing while Roger scoffs.
“It did not!”
I grin, “Read the salad cream!”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a shit!”
“Here! Have my coke as well since you like stealing my food so much!” I toss it to him and he catches it easily and without hesitating pulls the ring up.
Coke sprays him over the face and the front of his t-shirt before he can react.
He looks at me slowly and I grin at him.
Dropping the can of coke he runs round the car in my direction. I stumble backwards with a yelp before making a sprint through the house. I pick up the keys to the backdoor on my way down the hall.
He’s right behind me calling every name in the book although a lot of them seem to have the ‘s’ word in them.
I burst into the kitchen, startling mum before going straight for
the back door.
Gravity kicks in as I run down our sloped garden and only chance a look back when I almost crash into the gate at the bottom. The sight of him getting
grilled by mum is enough to brighten my crummy day.
***
By the time I get to the park, my legs feel as if they’re about to give out on me and my chest fights to drag air into my lungs. I shouldn’t be here; I should’ve taken the walk that goes through the woods instead of coming all the way here, and what for? To sit on a bench and watch people like some crazy stalker.
If someone from school sees me…
Turning, I pull my hood up over my head, I can sneak away now and the damage can be avoided and forgotten. Biting my lip, I look over my shoulder at the wall that run’s along the side of the school separating the school grounds from the public park.
Gina’s sitting on it with Katy and a guy whose name escapes me. But isn’t usually far from them two. He turns his head and I get a better look at his face, the name sliding into my head like a puzzel piece.
Francis:
Katy’s boyfriend.
My eyes jump Gina’s face quickly before turning to walk away. My foot falters but I force my feet to move. My brain only just reacting to what I just saw.
My left hand goes to right wrist. The wrist she broke by shoving me down the stairs after she gave me
that
look.
I feel her eyes boring into my back even though I’m out of sight. But I force myself to not look back.
The weekend’s ended too quickly. I’ve barley blinked and it’s been and gone. Then again, I did sleep most of it, t
rying to catch up with what I’d lost the last week. When I’m not slaving through the school day, I’m at home doing the homework that’s been shoved down my throat, when I’m not spending three hours doing homework to catch up on what I’ve not done in the lesson, I’m writing, and when I’m not doing any of the above, I’m eating, drinking and doing all the stuff you tend to have to do to stay alive. The drains of being a teenager doing her GCSE’s and writing the sequel to the book she’s got published.
At least I didn’t have to walk to school today; getting a lift with dad may mean I don’t have to walk, but it does mean I have to amuse myself for the next hour.
With it being halfway through September, the temperature’s slowly declining making the school halls in the morning, chilly. I wouldn’t be so bad if the school put its bleeping central heating on, even though it pushes out warm stale air.
Miss Sears walks past me, frowning as she sees me leaning against the wall with my boot up behind me. She can’t really say anything; after all she is only the secretary to the deputy head. That doesn’t make her a teacher, therefore she can’t tell
moi
what to do.
She disappears round the corner, most likely heading to the staff room on the other side of school.
My eyes drift to her office next to the deputy head’s. If I remember correctly, I heard her complaining about her office getting too cold for her to stand, and then something about an electric heater.
My eyes and ears are always open, listening to the conversations of others and watching their body language. You could call it research for my book, helps me when I have to write about people
’s reactions or just when I writing about general conversation. That and sometimes there really isn’t anything better to do. Sometimes I like to think of myself as the fly on the wall, except I’m more like a bee; something science can never explain.
Stepping forward, I look down to where my foot was on the wall. The tread of my boot’s clearly painted on the wall with the wet mud left from last night’s downpour. I’m tempted to write
‘McKenzie was here’
in black marker but stop myself, that’s asking for punishment and I don’t think I can pencil that into my
busy
schedule.
The door opens with ease and I take in the perfectly organised office. I didn’t really expect anything else because whenever I see Miss Sears, I instantly think OCD. She always looks, without a better word for it,
perfect.
Her clothes are always very smart and without creases, she never has a hair out of place but also when I see her carrying papers, they’re stacked neatly and cradled in her hands so they stay that way. Not to mention that one time I got a glimpse into her bag, perfectly organised. Everything obviously had a place and it was there.
I spot the reason I came in here in the first place sitting at the side of her desk, perfectly lined up with the cable
stuck
to the floor with sticky tape to keep it from moving until it ascends into the plug socket.
There’s nothing wrong with being OCD, just means you like thing a certain way. Poppy’s OCD and I’ve learned to swallow her perfectionistic ways because it’s just the way she is.
Crouching down, I hold my hands up near the hot metal of the electric heater, savouring the warmth that clings to my skin. I’m about to stand up and leave when the phone rings.
The temptations too much and without a second thought, pick up the corded phone from its cable.
A woman says hello on the other end and I listen to them repeat themselves three times before speaking.
“Why are you calling me? You’re not one of my customers, who sent you to me?” I say with the best raspy voice I can manage without a dry throat.
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse you? Excuse me! Why are you phoning me?”
The doors cracked open slightly from where I left it open and I hear the sound of Miss Sears heels on the hard floor of the hallway. Placing the phone softly onto the desk, I stumble across the room until I’m behind the door, the best hiding place the office can give me.
She waltzes into the room sending the door flying and bouncing painfully off my nose. With her back to the door, I take the small chance I have and duck out from behind the door before legging it out the room and down the hall. My boots sound louder than usual on the hard floor but I know she hasn’t seen me because she hasn’t called m
y name. Just seeing my back, she’ll know it’s me. I think I’m the only girl who goes around wearing a hoodie with skull and cross bones on the back. Apart from the Goths that like to break the rules, except the difference between mine and theirs, my skull is smiling. I’ll have to change into the blazer I stuffed into my bag this morning, but not until a teacher says so. Because I’m McKenzie Prince, I’m always pushing my luck.
I finally stop running when I come to the building that houses my form tutor. I’m one of the lucky ones that register in the art studio. I may have gotten lucky with the room, I just can’t say the same for the teacher. Miss Jacy is the full time art teacher, but she doesn’t get in till after registration leaving us poor saps to get greeted every morning by Miss Brake; the stand in teacher that looks like she’s been smacked in the mouth with a baseball bat.
Bored already, I make my away inside till I’m standing in front of the door marked
‘art studio’
Written in fine black pen underneath is,
‘enter at your own risk.’
Smiling, I don’t think and open the door.
As soon as I opened the door, I regretted it and now I know why.
The door didn’t squeak like it usually does, so they’re completely oblivious to they’re audience as they continue to…
snog.
Shuddering, I reach for the handle, knowing this is something I don’t need to get caught up in, but then he grabs her butt and I can’t stop the snort, laugh that comes out of me. This is the most awkward situation I have ever been in and I make a point to be in them!
Miss Brake and Mr Alden break away from each other, expressions turning horrified when they see me. Mr Alden’s the first one to catch his composure.
“Kenzie can you come in and shut the door please.”
Nodding, I ease the door shut behind me before clearing my throat. “It’s McKenzie, not Kenzie.”
He only nods although I don’t think he even heard what I said. Eyes locked with Miss Brake’s.
“Can we pretend this never happened? I didn’t see anything because you guys weren’t doing anything sorta thing?” I say speeding things up, because clearly this is where this conversation is going to end up.
The relief on both their faces is e
vident and I nod. “Cool…I’m going to uh, go…any place other than this room.” Turning, I speed walk out the room and down the hall straight to the girl’s loo before they can say another word.
As soon as I know I’m alone, I sit up on one of the sinks staring at the floor. My hand reaches for my phone,
I need to tell someone.
But as I stare at the screen, I don’t know who to text. I know I won’t get a reply from Poppy, she hasn’t responded to any of my emails or text for the last month. The entire time she’s been in New York.
My eyes land on a familiar name and contact picture. Maybe…
Me: u r nvr goin 2 believe me
Jimmy: try me ;)
Me: I just wlkd in on my teachers xxx
I wait for a reply but just when I think I’m not going to get one, my phone makes the sound of a gun going off.
Jimmy: just 2 make things clear u mean snoggin?
Me: yep.>.<
Jimmy: Oh ma damnitg2gbutwetxtlatr?
Taking a second to decipher his text, I quickly send him my reply before stuffing my pocket.
Now what?
Coming round, he hands a sheet to every student. With me being at the very back in the very corner, I’m last. Stepping forward, he slides a sheet on my desk. His BO assaults my senses without mercy and I bluntly cover my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my shirt making him frown.
“Everything alright Kenzie?” His gorgonzola cheese resembling breathe brings a lump to my throat. Never have I met someone who has such a highly fermenting odour. It’s sickening.
“McKenzie and no, just feeling a little queasy.” I say swallowing thickly.
“Don’t throw up in my classroom.” Glowering at his back, I wish I’d stuck a bigger pin in his chair. I wish the smell would go with him but it stays in the air like natural pollution. Then again nothing about him is
natural.
“Complete the sheet and then we’ll move on.” His towering form moves toward the desk before lowering onto the chair. He jumps up with a very
bad
word slipping from his lips. His whole body starts twitching,
the
sign that he’s losing
it
.
Giggles and sniggering erupts around the room but quieten when his gaze reaches them. When he looks at me and sees my triumphant grin, he glares before gesturing to the door.
“Get out my classroom.”
His voice booms so loud I have no doubt the people next door heard him.
I spend the rest of the afternoon dodging teachers and listening to music, anything other than going to the head’s office and class. I don’t even consider going home, knowing what’s waiting for me there.
I want to text Jimmy, but he’s probably in class and he’s always been the one to work hard. I wish I was like him.
Mum doesn’t speak to me when I get home, or the next morning as I’m getting ready to go to school. I find myself hurrying dad up so we can leave. If I thought things were strained with mum before, it’s nothing compared to what it’s like now.
I had friends until they skedaddled off and left me; Leaving me my family, and even that’s breaking beneath my feet.
Dad and I part our separate ways, while he makes his way to the building where the staff room is, I head straight for the main building. I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t notice the piece of paper stuck on the door until its right underneath my nose. I stare at it before stepping inside and yanking it off the window to get a better look. Looking around, I spot them
everywhere.
Cutting down a hallway, I find them posted all over the walls, doors and even spot a few stuck to the ceiling. My eyes are drawn to the picture that takes up most of the posters space. Miss Brake and Mr Alden in the same state I walked in on them in. I read the note at the bottom again.
‘Try walking in on these two.’
Whoever wrote the note purposely wrote it like my
handwriting. I’m being framed!