Flashback (Original)

Chapter 9- Age 13

"What are you doing?" A voice said behind me. I spun around, staring up at the face of the librarian, Nick, who was looking down at my computer with surprise. I covered the screen hastily, blocking my writing from view.

"You can't read that!"

A positively delighted look darted across his face, eyes lighting up with surprise. "Are you writing poetry?"

"You can't read it." I said, quickly exiting out of the window, hiding my writing from view.

"That's awesome! Great way to spend your study hall." He said enthusiastically. "Especially when you're surrounded by these knuckleheads."  I nod hesitantly, a small smile resting on my face at his use of the word knuckleheads. But I couldn't deny that was what the rest of the class was. Full of loud chatter and the sound of the videos they were YouTubing, they were constantly insulting each other and shoving their friends around. Even when trying to focus on the homework we had been assigned, they mocked each other for failing to understand the problems. I didn't know how they managed with all the energy they had; I was tired just being near them.

Being the only girl in the class, I was pretty much ignored by everybody, the theories on who was going to have a chance with the hottest girl easily more interesting than the lone figure standing in the corner of the library. And since I had already finished the homework, the only productive thing left to do was write. Of course, I could always break the rules and play video games or mess around on tumblr, but I would be noticed after a few seconds and I didn't want to lose any points to my grade. Even though my friends were pretty rebellious, constantly getting detention and sassing the teachers, I was the nerd of the group.

"Always worried about your grade." Candice had used to sigh, staring at my grade-book with distaste. "You'll never get a boyfriend with such good grades. Guys don't want a girl smarter than them." I would laugh, rolling my eyes at her. Who cared if there were guys who didn't like me? I would be going places, and that's all that mattered. Candice never agreed with me. 

That was all in the past. It didn't matter anymore. She wasn't coming back. She hadn't come back up from Whiteriver cliff three months ago, and she wouldn't come back now.

"Rena?" I blinked, startled out of my thoughts.

"What?"

"You OK? You kind of spaced out for a second." Nick looked at me worriedly, grey eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine." I said hastily. He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously for a moment, and I pasted my best innocent expression onto my face. It usually worked with teachers. Make them think you don't know what you're talking about and they would believe anything. (AN: Don't actually try this. It doesn't usually work.) He nodded slowly, seeming to believe my facade.

"Good. Anyways, nice job staying on task." I forced a smile, waiting until he had left to drop my happy expression.

"Yeah." I said quietly. "Great job." I turned back to my writing, but it wasn't the same any more. I didn't feel the longing to write as I had before we had talked. I debated for a moment before moving my mouse, clicking out of the window and shutting down the computer. I didn't want to write any more.

To tell the truth, I hadn't wanted to write ever since Candice had left. Whenever I tried all I could think about was the moment before she plummeted off the cliff, hair whipping into the air as she fell, her scream cut off by the dull sound of her body hitting the water... 

The silence needed for my writing was driving me insane. Unless I was focused on something, she was all I could think about. All I could focus on was the harsh words we had exchanged, her insistence that it was my fault we got caught. It was a constant pounding in my head, the thought that maybe it was my fault she had fallen. Not that I would tell this to anybody. They wouldn't listen, or they would try to reassure me that it wasn't my fault. I didn't want their false assurances, the sympathetic glances and the worried stares from people I didn't know. I wanted someone to listen to me, to hear what I was saying without denying it. People didn't seem to be able to do that. But it was all I wanted, and it was what I couldn't get.

I stared at my hands, my cheerful mood gone. I was surrounded by the chatter of the crazy boys, but I had never felt so alone.  As I glanced around the library, my gaze flitted across the computer screen, and I thought.

Maybe writing what I was feeling would help. Maybe if I wrote it, somebody would listen. Maybe...

I pressed my thumb against the power button, watching the loading bar move slowly across the screen and the computer powered back up. I pulled up Microsoft Word, my fingers resting on the keyboard indecisively. How should I start? There wasn't much to say. I decided to start from the beginning.

My name is Rena Scott Williams, and a few months ago my best friend died...