Squidward Is a F*ucking Mindreader

2. The Rumours Begin

*Becca's POV*

The day I want to begin this story on was sort of where it all started. I awoke in my cottage at seven thirty. There wasn't any cereal but the nearest cottage was the one belonging to Cindy Gatersfield and everyone knew she and her roomate Sarah Lionsgate argued over which cereal they should buy and so never ended up buying any cereal at all. The arguments between them were bout everything and anything really, and had been going on since year seven, when they first came up to main school. Or rather Cindy came up from the primary and Sarah was new to Red Post. They had started arguing about their lastnames and how they were too similar and now they argue all the time about practically everything.

I shuddered thinking of having to go over there for cereal. They werent exactly quiet and once, when I made the mistake of going over there, they made me get involved. Never again.

I pulled the bread bin open and grabbed a thin slice of sourdough bread. I didn't have white bread. It was always either sourdough or brown. I never had white bread when living at home and I guess that carried over because I never bought white bread now. I had nothing against white bread really, my parents just prefered brown. It was healthier and less processed or whatever.

My toaster was nicely sitting next to the fridge in my kitchen. the cottages were only one story and small, due to my school not being that rich. It was nice, but it wasn't amazing. I laughed to myself about pretty much nothing. I just wanted to laugh.

Living alone is like that sometimes. you just laugh because you feel like it. Or cry because you feel like it.

My laugh was interrupted rather rudely by the toaster and i plucked the hot toast our the toaster with some tongs dedicated to that cause. I pulled a plate out of a cupboard and opened my fridge for some butter.

Now I don't know about anyone else but I prefer Salted butter on my toast. Obviously I can eat unsalted but it just isnt the same. A large box sat in the middle of my tiny fridge. I looked around the room. Then i realised that was useless. A person wasn't just going to appear all like "That's a gift from the sun God, Ra" That'd be a tiny bit weird.

I pulled the box out of the fridge and opened it tentatively. I mean, what if it was a bomb? I closed my eyes and braced myself for death. But nothing happened. I opend one eye and then the other. The box had a smaller box inside. "Oh for Fuck's sake I have to do the whole near death thing again? No, uh uh I'm just gonna open it" I said to no one in particular. The smaller box was amongst some black tissue paper. What kind of murderer wraps their bomb in tissue paper? They must be new to this whole murder thing. I thought to myself. I took the smaller box out and that was when I saw the card. It fluttered to the floor and sat, face down, next to my foot. They left a fucking note. I put the box down on the counter and picked up the note. It read

"A gift from us, Mr. Steely and Ms.Fletcher."

Why on earth were they sending me gifts? This didn't disprove my bomb theory. Heck, maybe they were trying to kill me. Which would be a real shame because I really liked Ms Fletcher. I placed the note back on the counter and returned to the second box. I opened it to find a black circle. Upon further inspection I decided it was a black forest cake covered in black whipped cream. Yum. Unless it's poisoned. Said a tiny voice in the back of my mind.

I cut myself a large-ish slice and grabbed a fork. I took a piece from the top corner. That way I could try the cake, middle icing and whipped cream all at once. The perfect bite for tasting poison. After chewing and swallowing, then waiting a few minutes I decided it was not poisoned. And it was actually pretty good. I put the rest of the cake back in the fridge and took a quick shower.

The whole cake deal was going to make me late to school and it was only the second Monday back. I had already sent in my survey so I didn't bother buying one at the shop closest to my cottage but I did buy the latest Which Ffard. The cover story was about some boy who broke the hearts of almost 200 students at our school. Not particularly interesting. I read the horoscopes and "Which Ships are Sailing" on my way across the field. I like to stay on top of who's with who. Being a social butterfly may not be appealing but I still need to know things. Mainly so I know which honeymoon stage couples I need to avoid more than usual. I avoid pretty much everyone like the bubonic plague.

I passed the orchard and as usual, frowned deeply at the gardener. He frowned back. It was sort of our ritual. He would frown at me and I would frown back. He was pretty much the only person I liked. Other than Ms.Fletcher. Ms.Fletcher and I were almost friends in the sense that I could tolerate her more than other people and I was the only student she didn't hate with a burning passion. It was a great relationship that I worked extra hard to maintain.

I avoided the usual lamp-post without looking up from my newspaper. But I still hit it. That never happened. I looked up. It turned out I hadn't hit the lamp-post although what I had hit was almost as boring.

Jackie "Legs" Pickokitch

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." She exclaimed in her usual nails on a chalkboard sounding voice. It was scratchy and high pitched like a record that was playing "Mine Diamonds" by Mcapp Steve faster and higher pitched that usual. In other words, terrible.

"We're looking, J" screeched her posse of banshees. They all looked up to her like she was God and they were sheep or something. It was a whole Regina George situation.

"If you are referring to your hair, Jackie, then yes, I agree. A cat definitely dragged it somewhere. Probably through a pile of wax flakes based on the waxy texture and flakes near your roots. Was it for fun, or did they use your sweat to make shit scented candles for your pets?" I said, pointing at the group of girls gathered around her. They all gasped and Jackie kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes into the back of her head like she was searching for a brain. She'd need to look harder than that if she hoped to actually find one.

"Listen, Brata, I know you wish you looked like me so let's stop beating up the bush and adskirt why I'm best-towing my presents so generoudily on such a undeserving people." She said. I laughed.

"What's so funny, Brata?" She said, with a fed up look sweeping her features. I looked up into her eyes because she towered a solid foot above my small 5" 2 figure.

"Where do I start? Well, firstly, is 'Brata' really the best you can do? Secondly, It's 'Beating around the bush and address why I'm bestowing my presence so generously on such an undeserving person.'" I emphasised each mistake. She frowned down at me. I smiled sweetly.

"Whatever Brata, anyways, I wanted to say, we all agreed on which word you fit under." I frowned. I knew what they were going to say. Even I had listed myself as Psycho. What I didn't get is why they were telling me. I already knew. I didn't need reminding.

"Look, Jackie. I already know so can I please go to class? I have Tutor and I really want to get there early so I can bag a seat at the back." I came up with some lame excuse and shoved through the gaggle of geese that called themselves Jackie's friends. But it didn't matter how quickly I walked because Jackie's loud screeching voice echoed across the field.

Psycopath