WATCHED

I know more than anyone else at this school.

I see more things than them. I see things that nobody else notices. They don't know anything about it.

I see them watching me. I know they're there. They watch me in the halls, in the classroom, in the cafeteria. They follow me home and watch me on the bus and in my room. They watch me eat dinner with my dad. Every day at seven PM, they watch me feed my cat.

One of them is always following me. There's enough of them in this school that a different one can watch me every day of every week. And they don't know I know they're watching.

I can't prove it and I can't tell anyone, but I know they're watching me.

I was in the cafeteria for lunch yesterday and I could hear all of them talking over each other, at every table around me fighting for dominance. I heard them talking and then the ones at the table next to mine started whispering. They were whispering about me, I'm sure of it. Making a note to add to their plan.

They aren't just watching me. They're taking notes. Writing it down. They have a plan to do something to me.

But they don't know I know that. So when they attack, I'm going to be ready.

My dad has a hunting closet in the basement. He doesn't know I know how to get inside. I know where he keeps the key.

He has guns and knives and ammunition. He has a blade sharpener. He taught me how to fire a gun last year on the hunting trip. So when they come, I'm going to defend myself.

I hid a knife in my backpack this morning. Even if they come after me in school, I'll be ready.

They've been watching me more closely lately. They still don't know I know. They whisper behind my back all day long and when I get home, I write down everything I remember.

Nobody knows about the knife in my backpack. I feel safer today. If they try to hurt me I can fight back.

Everyone in my math class is quiet. It's the first class of the day and we're all too tired to talk. Or they are. I wouldn't want to talk to them. I have to make sure they don't know that I know. It's still dark outside and it looks like rain.

My second period study hall is always quiet too. The classroom is small and there's only five of us. I try to understand my math homework but I can feel them watching me. Making notes of everything I do. It's too distracting to work with and I can never shut them out.

They really never stop watching.

I go to English class. The two boys I usually sit with aren't here today. I do the whole assignment on my own and don't bother sending it to them. I don't even know their names.

The English classroom is cold. It's raining today, every huge drop splattering against the windows and then dripping down. The sky outside is gray with clouds, the sun nowhere in sight. I wish I could go home and sleep. I don't understand anything Shakespeare is writing about.

The cafeteria is always louder than the day before. Everyone talks and tries to be louder than each other, their volume growing over and over again. I keep hearing them say my name. Working on their plan. The knife feels like so much less protection here.

The knife feels useless after lunch. I need more protection.

I have psychology at twelve fifteen. I didn't want to take it, but my dad said I needed the college credits. Everything the teacher talks about is a tool they can use to analyze me. Their pens all scratching on their note paper, adding to their plan.

I used to wonder if it wasn't just me. If they all watched each other. I used to wonder, but then I learned, and now I know. I know everything.

The knife isn't enough protection. I can hear them whispering in history class.

They're going to do it soon. I'm going to be ready. I need to be ready. I'm not going to die.

I put a gun in my backpack when I get home. In between the psychology binder and the English folder. I hide extra ammo behind my copy of Macbeth. I put the knife next to my ham sandwich.

I can't sleep.

They're going to do it today. I know it as soon as my alarm goes off. My chest feels so tight I can barely breathe. If I don't go to school they'll come to my house and get me there.

I make sure the gun is still in my backpack before I leave. I don't eat breakfast. I can't pay attention in class.

They call my name on the speakers right when lunch begins. I hear it so clearly. They call my name and tell me to come to the guidance office. I wonder if it's about my grades.

I go into the guidance office and there are people in there. The counselor. And people who used to be my friends. People I stopped talking to after they started watching me.

I hold my backpack in front of me.

"Your friends are telling me they're worried about you," the counselor says, pushing her glasses up her nose. She's watching me too. I start to unzip my bag, in case they're trying to catch me off guard.

"Jackson said you haven't been yourself lately," the counselor says. Her words blend together in my mind. All of them are staring at me. Jackson reaches into his pockets. He must have a knife or pepper spray or something to stun me so the others can make their move.

They're all staring at me. They're ready to act.

I pull out the gun. It's already loaded. They aren't going to hurt me. Pull the trigger. Someone screams. Their faces blur together and all I can tell apart are their eyes, watching me, watching every move I make. I pull the trigger and pull the trigger and I hear the door opening.

More watchers are coming. They're going to try and keep the plan going. I keep shooting. I won't die. I won't die. Not today. Someone is trying to stop me. They're working with the watchers. They're going to kill me too.

My vision gets a little clearer and I start to run, still holding the gun. Someone comes on the speakers and yells. Every time I find a door, it's locked. Every time I find a door, I can feel them watching me through it.

I turn a corner and someone tackles me. They got out and they came after me. I can't hold onto the gun. They're stronger than me. I don't have the knife. I don't have the knife and they took the gun. I can't stop them. Holding me down.

There's more than one of them. I can't move no matter how much I try to fight them off. I won't let them kill me. If I have to die, I'm going to be the one to do it.

They aren't holding my head down. The floor is cold and hard and if I keep banging my head on it, maybe they'll let me go. Or maybe I'll die before they can finish killing me.

It hurts more every time I do it, but I keep going. I won't let them kill me. I won't let the watchers win. I won't let them win. I won't let them win. I won't.