BL4M3 M3.

Chapter 2

After a minute, the booth cracks on the tiles again, and continues. I wait for a few seconds before I can gather enough courage to look upwards. I remembered Mr. Langford's rules from this morning. Even though I know I can't keep it, I still have to give him a little bit of respect by trying. He didn't say not to look behind him. I bet he was probably referring to an eye contact.

It's a leather jacket that shines black rubber. It's paired with faded whitish-blue jeans that reach his heavy dark booth, looking like a G.I Joe. Especially with that hair of his that always seems to be longer than mine, no matter how hard I try. For a split second, I am lost in his glossy hair that is packaged in a low ponytail. I wonder how he was able to maintain it in prison —I mean juvie. Of course, long hair serves as a covering. It is covering his dubious act. It has always made him look smart, handsome, and sympathetic. His broad shoulders move at a linear pace as his steps. He looks taller, of course, he's taller. He is no longer the eleven-year-old child that I knew when I first met him, ( if I ever did.) I look at him till he is out of sight. Immediately, the hall is now a mess of a rush hour, with everyone murmuring and gasping as if they have just seen a ghost. But the truth is, everyone had just seen a ghost maker.

"Damn," Zack mutters as he turns to face me. I shrink as I've just been caught by a scary monster. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "You okay?" Zack asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just need to get to class," I say instantly and scoot to the restroom. As soon as I get inside the stall, I start to breathe heavily. I place my palm on my chest and feel the crucial condition of my heart. It is unable to settle.

I need help.

I look at the mirror in front of me, and I see the reflection of the spooked eleven-year-old me who had just watched her friend's life drained out of her. Tears seeping through her eyes. I close my eyes tightly and imagine my mom telling me everything is fine. I still don't understand what she meant by that, because everything is so messed up. I wipe my tears and sum up all the courage I can muster, before getting to class.

Never has Professor Sheldon been absent from a lecture. He takes the entirety of his twenty minutes very seriously, so seriously that he is willing to risk his health to give us a couple of sentences. My body is starting to perspire as a result of everyone's non-stop blabbing about who just entered the school. Their creaking sound makes the air feel heavy. Suddenly everyone hushes. The sudden silence of everyone makes me curious. When I raise my head, I see Professor Sheldon standing in front of the classroom. A black briefcase that seems to be heavy is held in his left hand, while his right hand holds a handful of books. He puts down the briefcase and the books on the front desk as he scrutinizes us with his four eyes. His glasses fall to his pointy nose, and his eyes bulge through them. Everyone maintains a suitable posture for Professor Sheldon's eyes which are scanning at us like a CCTV camera.

"Ahem," he clears his throat after a few seconds, probably not able to pinpoint any fault on us.

"Good morning, Professor."  I can recognize Zack's voice anywhere.

"Good Morning to you too," Professor replies.

Everyone starts to greet him after he responds warmly.

"Which of the books are we not done with?" He asks as he picks up the books from the desk.

"HIDDEN PICTURE," someone says.

Professor Sheldon makes a sound in the back of his throat as he shuffles the books, probably because that person is wrong. There are about six books with interesting covers. I stretch out my head to get a glimpse of the names, but I was only able to capture the word The devil... It was written in red and blue. I understand why the professor finds it difficult to remember our last read when he reads about four books in a time interval of forty-eight hours. I guess that is why I tolerate him, because of his love for books. He finally picks one out of the others. He raises the book and it happens to be my first mystery favorite. A good girl's guide to murder. I know it's not common for a mystery novel to be added to a school syllabus, but after the school riot about what they could gain from it, the school had no choice but to add it. Sometimes, I wonder if there's any lesson learned from mystery novels other than biting fingernails.