A Week

Chapter 2: Monday, 7 Days

Monday, 7 Days

I sat on my bed shivering, Mum and Dad were probably still at work. I was thinking of reporting this to the ICT teachers, so they find out who sent it and charge them with blackmail or something.

I mean, aren't teachers always telling you that you can talk to them about anything and that they'll do their best to help?

But something told me that they wouldn't find anything. I mean it wasn't that scary, seriously, Grace has ~7~ days. Not that scary. Right? Because it totally wasn't implying that I wasn't going to be alive in a week.

Ugh, Grace stop it, you're scaring yourself. For all I knew it was some random who got the wrong number and was trying to creep out one of their friends. Who also was conveniently named Grace. I rolled my eyes, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen.

I tried to avoid the little kids toys everywhere, my little sister, Layla, had probably had a play date with her ChildCare buddies. The little devils better not have come into my room. The last time that happened I was grounded for a month; it's a long backward-twisting story.

I hopped through the potential mine field towards the fridge. Only breaking five toys, which is probably record somewhere.

I sweeped away the toys that were piled up next to the fridge blocking it from opening, and reached for the first thing in the fridge I could grab without actually looking.

My hand pulled out holding one of those creepy monkey-with-symbols-that-you-wind-up things. I screamed and dropped it, it started banging its symbols, so I stepped on it. Make that six toys.

The second thing I could reach was a container of jam. That could work. Jam and toast was good. Jam and toast didn't send you creepy death texts. Jam and toast was normal. Just to make sure it wasn't apricot jam (allergies) I looked at the back of the container,

Ingredients:

Pulverised water/case 2, Strawberry remains, calcium dioxide, acid something or other, lalalalalalalalalalala so on.

Then at the very bottom of the container, printed on the sticker, it said:

Grace has ~7~ days.

The jam container was next seen smashed all over the floor with its red and gooey insides spread on every single thing in a two metre radius. It appears that jam wasn't as good as I thought. Next, Nutella will be telling me I'm going to die.

I ran upstairs, going two by two. There was one thing I was sure of now; this was going to be a long night. In fact, that might not necessarily be a bad thing. I need all the time I can get if I was going to die next Monday.