C.R.E.W

Chapter 12 ~ Seriously?

    I was walking down the hall and Noelle plopped herself into the conversation I was having with with myself.

"Hey Prixx!" She said all bubbly.

I didn't have the energy to talk to her, or anyone at the moment. 'Miss Bratty Barbie' ruined it for me. Her all pink outfits were rotting through my brain. Her very words ripping through my skin and tearing apart at everything I've ever been proud of.

"Hellooo?" Noelle said in a singsongy voice.

I took a deep breath and burst, "What?! What could you possibly want?!"

She backed up, "Okay, geez. Who did what to you?"

I fixated my backpack sleeve, "I'm not exactly the teacher's favorite, am I?"

"No, I wouldn't say so?" She was confused but invested in my upcoming story.

"So, 'Miss Mayhem'-" I got cut off by the look of a teacher.

I looked over and she started doing that motion with her index finger, it indicated she wanted me to come over to her and have a 'little chat.' Luckily, this teacher was none other than Mrs. Brock.

"I'll talk to you later." I told Noelle as I walked in front of her to Mrs. Brock who turned back into the hallway, awaiting my presence.

We walked into her room and it was all bright and bubbly, as usual. She sat down in her moveable chair and I sat down in mine.

She interlocked her fingers and asked, "are you aware of the rumors that are spreading about you?"

"I already answered this, yes, none of them are true. Well, some might be, depending on which ones we are talking about." I second guessed.

"No, the new ones." She emphasized.

"There are new ones?!" I sighed in surprise.

"Yes, I take it you haven't heard of them?" She looked up at me from her binder clip filled with various papers.

"Nope." I rested my head on my palm.

"'Prixley Ereya Morgan, killer, kidnapper, and not to be trusted,'" she read. She looked at me, her eyes wide, "Prixley, they think you killed her."

"I know." I pressed the bottoms of my palms against my forehead, "I didn't do any of it, though. I don't know what's happening in her life. I'm not responsible-"

"I know," she stopped me and placed her hands on mine as she looked me in the eye, "I believe you."

I looked at her and gently smiled, she's the only person at school that hasn't believed any of these lies.

"However, this other rumor, slash, phenomenon, has me guessing." She maintained eye contact but looked away once I blinked. She then changed the conversation.

"I saw those glass shards come out of your locker," she looked down at her hands laying on top of each other, "the shards, they were sharp and pointy to the touch. I can only imagine how much it must have affected the rumors about you."

I kept my mouth shut and made it stay covered by my interlocked fingers. I shook my head from side to side and couldn't fathom how twisted everyone's minds were. It would be no problem to add this incident into their list of reasons to hate and spread more rumors about me.

She looked at me with her weary eyes, "Prixley..."

I stood up and slammed my fist onto the smooth, glossy, wooden table, "It's just, I didn't do anything!" I shouted, tears escaping my eyes.

She tried calling my name again to calm me down.

"What kind of student am I? What kind of kid am I?! What kind of daughter?" I started to cry and my voice was getting overthrown by the saliva filling my mouth.

"You're a..." her voice got instantly interrupted by mine.

"No! I am not going around with the word, 'murderer' as my title." I argued.

"Maybe, we can work this out?" Her voice was a whisper compared to mine, "prove that you're not a murderer."

"How?! The only way that would be possible is if Mrs. Schultz comes in here right now, all in one piece, and admits it wasn't me. Admits that I'm innocent." My body was angry, my nose was stuffy, my eyes were watering from both anger and despair. I was only thirteen, barely a teenager, and I already had the title of 'murderer' under my name.

"Prixley, I want to help..." she was still so calm about it, as if I was going to change my attitude in the snap of a finger.

"No!" I shouted, "I'm going to figure this out my way." With that, I turned the knob on the door and slammed it shut as I walked out.

I stormed through the hallway, wiping my tears, sniffling.

"Hey, if it isn't the bruised murderer herself." A kid by the name of 'Tray' crossed his arms and walked up to me.

I tried walking past them and into the right side hallway entrance that seemed to be shrinking, it narrowed down, mocking my presence. It seemed to be wobbling in place, the pale yellow floor tile and the thin blue line around the doorframe taunted me, mocked me as if I haven't had enough. His gang of friends blocked the entryway, I tried to push through them but they shoved me back. I was taller than most of them, their heads barely meeting my shoulder, but I didn't have to look down to see their cold, devious glares and smirks spreading across every one of their faces. It was like a ripple effect, all of their faces, all of their mouths, they all moved in the same direction but at different times, all perfectly lined up with one another.

"Come on guys, this isn't funny." Right when I said that, a kid splashed his chocolate milk all over me. It was spoiled. The chunky pieces of chocolate milk stuck to my green shirt, trolled down my black shorts, and onto my bare leg. I could feel the texture of it, scrubbing, scraping, spewing, down my leg. I had the urge to punch each and every one of them. I held in that urge for as long as I could, and turned the anger into words.

"Don't you guys have somewhere else to be?! Like, holding up fours and taking pictures with your one-week girlfriends?!" I shouted.

They just laughed, most choosing to ignore my remark.

"Right," I turned to the leader of the boys, the one kid standing behind me, "you couldn't pull any chicks with those buzz cuts. They just thought you looked too much like Sid from Toy Story and acted like an idiot with that blonde hair and face that turns red when it gets angry." I stared at him, ignoring the chocolate milk still stroking my leg.

He furrowed his invisibly blonde eyebrows and made a menacing frown only an eight year old would make. He cracked his chubby knuckles and tilted his head from side to side, "Let's get this started, Morgan."

"That's the face I like to see." I rose an eyebrow with a smile. His pale face became a bright red, "Tray-mato." I taunted.

"Tray-mato...?" He pulled back his fingers and his face became even redder.

"You have to say it with confidence, Tray-mato." I looked him up and down, his bright red face only proving my point.

"Get her." Were his last words...before the bell rang and teachers came filing out of their classrooms.

"Afraid of a few teachers 'mato? That my friend, bleh, never mind, that my enemy is the sweet, sweet sound of revenge." I left with that remark and made my way towards the hall. It was when I moved my leg that I realized chocolate milk was still running down my bare skin. It had gotten to the point where it soaked into my sock. I headed out for the hallway and was a footstep away when a kid blocked me.

"Alright, move out of the way, kid." I swatted.

He made the same face as Tray had just moments ago but instantly swung his little arm right at my nose, my newly fixed nose. I instantly grabbed it and looked at my fingers. I swiped under my nose and my fingers came out red. I shoved him out of the way and ran down the hall, holding my nose in place.