Murder at School

Monday: Art club

After surviving a day of Tazmin and Saffron, Brooklyn and I were hoping for a bully-less club. However, once we walked through the door, our hopes were shattered. Sitting on the popular girls table were the two people we both shared a hatred for. I groaned. We just couldn't get a break from them! Instead of walking towards the lion's den, we chose to sit on the other table with Emerald, who welcomed us as opposed to how the other girls there would.
"Hiya," she smiled. "Guessed you'd come, Christmas!" Emerald also came the last few years, and we always sat together. She may hang around Tazmin and Saffron, but she's honestly nothing like them. She's funny and sweet, the complete opposite of the others!
"Yeah," I replied, sitting in the stall next to her and motioning for Brooklyn to take the one on my left. I knew she'd also noticed how the popular girls had started whispering as soon as she'd entered the room, and we'd both tried to shrug it off. Instead of showing her true emotions, she simply took the seat and started chatting with Emerald.
"Alright guys, settle down," Mr Brian hushed us, then proceeded to explain what we were going to do this week. "We're going to have a go at drawing with charcoal and bread. The charcoal is your pencil and the bread is your rubber. Draw anything you want!" He demonstrated it to us before giving out the paper and other tools.
"What are you going to draw, Brooklyn?" I asked, covering my page in dark powder.
"I'm not sure," she answered. "What do you suggest?"
I shrugged. "Whatever you want."
I began sketching out an eye when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Emerald's work: a horse majestically leaping over what I presumed would eventually be a gate. "Oh my gosh; how the hell are you so good at this?"
Emerald looked up, pleased with the complement. "It's not," she said, modestly.
"Yes it is!" I challenged. Brooklyn was glancing at Emerald's work. "Isn't it good, Brooklyn?"
"Yeah!" she gasped. "You can't deny it Emerald."
Emerald launched her hand towards my face, smearing the jet blackness over it; then I retaliated by returning the favour. We continued squabbling over this for around ten minutes when Sir came over and we had to pretend we were being sensible. Ironically, he then complimented Emerald on her work, which caused Brooklyn and I to chuckle-and as soon as he'd left we burst out laughing. Emerald just stared at us, an eyebrow raised, before we continued play-fighting for a bit.
Then something odd happened. She caught sight of Tazmin, who held eye contact, and then shut up like a clam.
"What's wrong?" I questioned, concerned.
"Nothing," she replied, clearly lying; I was going to ask again but I didn't want to push her, so I dropped the subject. Instead, I returned to my artwork, using the bread to rub away at the charcoal for the next few minutes.
At four-thirty, the club ended, and we streamed out of the art room. The sky had clouded over and the wind had picked up. It was very creepy. Tazmin and Saffron turned right, towards the back car park whereas the majority of us turned left towards the side gate, or blue gate as we all call it, which leads to the bus stop and train station. Brooklyn told us she was getting a lift from the front car park and turned off. I offered to come with her half way as I'd left my PE kit in form and the bus wasn't for a while.
We said goodbye and then parted from the group, striding in sync with one another. We didn't talk much until I said I needed to turn off, when Brooklyn called after me. "Thank you for inviting me to Art club. It really was fun!"
"No problem. See you tomorrow at the library, right?"
"Right, see you." Then she turned and walked into the distance. I went to form, which was empty with the lights off. There was a breeze coming through the open window, causing the curtain to flap about, wildly; I shuddered. I retrieved my PE kit after shutting the window and made my way out of the building. As soon as the door had shut behind me, there was a scream. A loud, ear-splitting scream. It was similar to a scream I'd heard once before...late last spring...
And it was Brooklyn's.
I could hear my heart beating as I rushed round towards the car park. But she wasn't there. I saw her mother waiting in the car and ran over. I knocked on the window, once, twice, then she rolled the window down.
"Did you see Brooklyn?"
"No, why?" She said in a rush, concern crossing her expression.
I couldn't answer that. I spun around on my heel and propelled myself back towards the language block by pushing off of the small red car. Where is she? I cried desperately from inside. My feet were pounding the ground as I launched myself forward onto the other, my breathing heavy and short.
I twisted the corner, then the next, to find Brooklyn lying in a pool of blood. Dead. Her uniform was drenched in blood; her lifeless body crumpled in a pile. Around her torso several deep wounds jumped out at me. She'd been stabbed multiple times.
I wanted to scream. I was mad at myself: I should've been there. I should've escorted her to the car-protected her: then she wouldn't be dead. She wouldn't have been murdered. Or at the very least, her killer wouldn't be a secret.
I thought about this. I blamed myself for her death. I should've been there for her. She didn't deserve this sort of demise.
Reluctantly, I fished around in my pocket for my phone, dialled nine-nine-nine, and called for an ambulance.
And the police.