Miranda

I once knew a girl in middle and high school who was quite peculiar. I'm not saying every kid was normal during this period of their developing lives, but this girl was definitely strange.

    She looked just like any other student, with tan skin and long brown hair. Her eyes were light green and they shimmered in the fluorescent classroom lighting. She wore a different dress every day; I wasn't sure if she even owned one pair of pants. Regardless, she didn't look as bad as her personality suggested.

    For whatever reason, she was very quiet and preferred to sit alone. I didn't question this, as I went through this in elementary school. By middle school, I had formed many new friendships. One thing I noticed about this girl, though, was that she always carried a notebook with her. She never carried any other books around, only this black spiral notebook. Nobody knew what she kept in it.

    Then one day, I caught her eye as I turned the corridor. She quickly slammed her notebook shut and covered the bottom half of her face with it, keeping her eyes focused on me, observing my every move. This was my first encounter with her. I was scared, to be honest. I didn't know why she was acting so suspicious, but I decided to disregard the situation and continued walking to class.   

 As soon as I sat down, something in the room felt wrong. The air felt heavy and I felt as if something tragic was going to happen. I pulled down the sleeves of my jacket and glanced around the room. And then I saw her. I was so confused; why the hell was she in my class? What does she want? Who even is she?!

    To my delight, the teacher addressed the girl by her name and politely asked her to leave. The girl's name was Miranda.

    After school on the day before spring break, a boy confronted me and told me how he felt. I was shocked. I had nothing to lose, so I eagerly accepted his feelings. He held my hand as he walked me to my bus, and hugged me before I departed. "Have a nice break," he said, smiling.

    Then all of a sudden, he began to choke, and blood dribbled from his mouth and got on my jacket. "What the hell?!" I yelled. I grabbed his shoulders and stared, astonished, at his face, as he silently pleaded for help. I couldn't handle looking at him anymore and I was frozen in shock, so I let him fall to the ground.

    The person behind him was exposed, holding a bloody pocket knife and that damn black spiral notebook. Miranda. I screamed, and students looked over at me, wondering what the commotion was about. Miranda stuffed the pocket knife in her notebook, keeping her eyes on me, and then she walked away, covering a blood stain on her dress with her notebook.

    That night I texted my best friend, Bridget, about the incident. I couldn't sleep, so we carried quite an extensive conversation...

Bridget: No way... So the day you get a boyfriend, this Miranda chick goes and stabs him with a pocket knife??? How the fuck did she even manage to do that?

Me: I don't know, but I still feel sick. I got blood on my jacket. I ran it through the laundry twice but it's still stained.

Bridget: We need to tell someone about this. If you want, I can do it for you.

Me: Alright... Yeah, I'm going to stay home for the next couple days. Are you sure you can do this without me? I mean, I was a firsthand witness...

Bridget: It'll be okay. I'll show the police our text messages and the photos posted on the Internet. I'm sure the cops have heard about the story by now, anyway. News spreads fast.