Where

CHAPTER 1

Nyah's POV

Her hand shot up, rapidly, trying to get her question in before the lesson ended.

"Yes?"

"Miss, but that doesn't answer why paracetamol takes so long to kill a person."

The teacher exhaled loudly before looking down at the time on her laptop.

"Well, that's your homework. That's the whole class' homework. Find out why it takes paracetamol so long to kill you."

The class moaned and I could guarantee that she was receiving dirty looks.

I didn't have time for that.

I packed up my books and with speed, bolted out of the door, down the corridor.

My phone rang in my pocket so I picked it up.

"Hello? Nyah? Where are you?"

"I'm coming out of biology. I'll meet you in the sixth form common room."

I put my phone back in my pocket. Bodies pushed up against me, causing me to hold my breathe. The horrible stench of teenage boys strangled my olfactory nerves.

It was deadly. The smell was one that can never be described, only experienced yourself.

"No. My parents have stocked up. Because if there's zombies in London, I can guarantee they'll come here next. My aunt legit is trapped in her house and she only lives half an hour from here."

"Give it two weeks and we'll be fine. The media is over dramatising it."

I put in my earphones.

Frankly, if there were zombies that would be fun. Easy to outrun. Whether they were the ones from the walking dead, or jolters, as the news calls the running ones. It's a game. So if they came, it wouldn't change my life. Only stupid people die in an apocalypse.

My eyes settled around the large common room as I scanned for her.

There she was, stood next to the stairs as she spoke to a girl from her class.

"Junia."

She nodded at me and continued her conversation. I pulled out my phone checking the time. 11:03. The bus would be here in 2 minutes meaning that we would be late.

I pushed my way into the conversation.

"...it's crazy. Miss is clearly racist. I asked her for help for around 15 minutes but as soon as Genevieve asks, she's throwing herself at her feet."

"Genevieve only gets that treatment because her mum works in the school. Nepotism at its finest."

I laughed at the exaggeration.

"That's why I said to go to a different teacher," I responded then focused my attention on Junia, "yo, Mayori is gonna get off the bus any second. We need to go."

"Ah okay bye." We said and parted ways.

As usual, we followed the same steps we did everyday by walking through the hall, scanning our lanyards and then leaving the school through the only place sixth form could get in and out.

Mayori.

The only person you could count on to be dressed in a truly rememberable way. I could see her at the bus stop- characterised by her big black sunglasses paired with a leopard print bucket hat and a stylish leather jacket.

She is expensive.

"MAYORI!" I screamed.

"NYAH!" She returned.