Stalls ✔️

F O U R T E E N

1 4:

Groaning wasn't an option when my alarm blared out on Thursday morning. My voice was still rather hoarse, but tragically I felt a thousand times better.

The bus arrived after a few elongated minutes, which was a relief. The sun cascaded through the trees, casting blinding shadows on the damp tarmac. I motioned for Wren to sit her bag aside, and she gave me a weak smile. We held hands discreetly under the bulk of my coat, and shared headphones.

On arrival to school, it came apparent to me why no one had mentioned anything about it. If Wren didn't know anything about Rain and I's shared kiss before, she sure as hell did now.

It was as if school had turned its head against me, whispering and spitting our names: Alana and Rain. Every lesson, every hour, I was poked in the back at least once. The fire within me crackled; their words were thick toxic, oozing from their lips in a hazardous manner.

Whatever it was about, and whoever our uneducated source was, I was more than determined to find out. And the consequences would be booming.

🌿     🌿     🌿

When the bell blared out to signify lunch time, I hurried to the toilet stalls. I had chugged a large can of Lucozade to boost my overall energy, and it was beginning to feel as though my bladder would explode like an enormous water balloon. My throat felt so much better, though. I finally felt as though I could speak without my words cutting my throat.

Sliding open the door, I sat. After the usual procedure, I tugged at the flush button. Come on, come on, I thought agitatedly. That's when I noticed the messages written in tiny, tidy writing:

"Alana James is a bisexual slut"
"Alana and R-"

The rest was unreadable; it was generously masked in thick, black marker. No words formed at my lips. I teared open my zip, fumbling for my own black marker and scribbling out the rest of the vile messages.

Finally, I sighed, and pulled open the door. My eyes laid on a fumbling Hunter. She was in the food line, attempting to balance a pot of cheesy pasta and Capri Sun in one hand.

We hadn't hung out for a while. Nevertheless, when our eyes met, a smile crept to her lips. Her eyeliner curled upwards perfectly, resembling a cute kitten.

"Hai!" She greeted more fondly than I remember her being. "Will you put this in my bag for me?" She juggled the Capri Sun into my hands.

"Sure." I agreed, spinning her around. I pinched her zip between my thumb, and my index finger.

"Hey Park, it's the bisexual bitch!"

The words stung the back of my neck. Spinning on my heel, I was faced with the greasy emo girl, Kerys.

Her lips plastered into an ugly smirk, the lips that uttered the deceitful insult. Her oily, straggly brown hair swiped idiotically over her forehead, her natural ginger hair scraping at the roots. She wore a faded black band hoodie, and eyeliner painted thick on her upper eyelid, below her crayon eyebrows. They were higher than Britain's average life expectancy.

Behind her stood her boyfriend, 'Park' (who was in my year groups, rather than hers), with a mop of midnight black fringe covering his electric blue eyes and blemished forehead. Despite his scrawny hands placed awkwardly on her waist, he wasn't paying much attention to her.

Perhaps her vile mouth embarrassed him, I began to ponder.

"E-excuse me." I stammered, my hands clamming beside me.