D R O P D E A D {Completed} (UNDER RECONSTRUCTION -- 2018)

(i) 'One more thing I forgot to tell you! You've sold your soul.'

'One more thing I forgot to tell you! You've sold your soul.'

Everyone's shoes squeaked against this stupid lino floor, like nurses' trainers or worse, crocs. It was one of those sounds that never quite faded into the background for me, always constantly grating on my nerves. And there was the smell, too, of the rubber, and whatever they were cooking for lunch as you trudged perpetually on, towards the canteen. Sometimes they'd do fish, and the smell would stay for weeks – clinging the curtains, the nets in the PE halls, the blinds, your skin. Special treat, my hole.

People always say they hate school. I didn't hate school the institution. I was more indifferent to it, than anything else. But the building was my own little slice of Hell in the middle of Wexford.

"Andrea! Hey, Andrea, hang on a minute!"

I stopped, giving a small sigh, and stepped one pace to my right, out of the lane of traffic. I barely had time to rub the circles underneath my eyes, staring at my ghosted-out reflection in the window of a classroom door, before turning to smile at the girl who had addressed me. "Oh. Carly. Hi."

The bespectacled, ponytailed girl gave me a winning grin in return. "Hi, Andi. Um, do you think I could have a quick look at your science homework? I have grade 8 piano this weekend, I'm shitting it. Practice ran away with me and stuff, but she'll kill me if I turn up without the stupid lab notebook thing filled in again –"

"Yeah, 'course, hangon." I swung my schoolbag around to my front, and flipped through the tightly packed papers until I came across my battered science hardback. It was slightly curved from the pressure of being stuffed in there with everything else. "Here we go. That's that. It's page forty-seven, maybe."

"Ah, thanks, Andrea!" She beamed, tucking it away into her own, considerably smaller schoolbag, and scurrying off. I felt a little pang of guilt, but kept on walking. Those answers were so obviously half assed, they'd definitely get the both of us into trouble. But whatever. I pushed the thought of detentions and punishment exercises into the back of my mind when I came to my locker, instead focusing on pulling out the books I needed for Irish. Finding them, I banged the door shut, a little smack in a chorus of other grating sounds, and shuffled on to room 23 without any further interruptions.

You could say that I was that forgettable one in the back of the classroom – Jesus, even the teacher skims over me when looking for an answer. I'm not clever. Or thick (although a case could be made for it. I just struggle along, lately). I don't wear outrageous clothes or listen to scary music, I haven't dated through half the boys in my year. All in all, I'm completely unremarkable. I mean, I'm not completely pathetic, I do have friends and do things, but I'm normal enough. The type of normal that gets 120 identical 'you're so nice!'s on the back cover of her yearbook.

I usually pay little attention throughout the course of the school day – there's notes to be made, books to forget, homework to screw up – and that particular day was no exception. Nothing really made an impression, and by the time I was mooching home, I'd learned nothing – roll on, Mocks!

Keys, keys – hell, what have I done with them now? Keys – brilliant, he was going to have a field day with this.

Instead of sticking a key in the funny blue door of my little house and jiggling, as was usually done, I stopped a few steps shy and pressed my phone to my ear. After a moment or two, my uncle answered.

"Hello. I'm guessing you're calling about the keys you left stuck in the back door, again."

"You could have texted to let me know they were there. Like a responsible adult."