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༉˚*ೃ ᵒ². 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄?
𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍 detention after school next to Carol, who sneered at her with every chance she got and had the remnants of a light bruise on her cheekbone. Instead of staring at the girl's stupid face, Carrie had resorted to obnoxiously chewing gum as she watched through half-lidded eyes at the teacher who was writing instructions up on the blackboard. It was a stupidly pointless exercise, detention. Carrie spent hours in it every week—but never had it calmed her down, or stop her from behaving the way she did. Be called the abandoned daughter, act like the abandoned daughter. Between chews of the bubblegum, Carrie tasted the hot, metallic tang of blood in her mouth, from where she'd carelessly bitten her cheek.
"Paying attention, Carrie White?" asked Carol from the table beside her, and Carrie thought Carol must be in love with her at this point because the girl just never stopped looking at her.
Carrie picked at some of the chipped black polish on her bitten nails. "I don't know, Carol, do you ever shut your bitch mouth?" She did not give the girl the privilege of looking upon her face, and instead stared straight ahead. The angry huff that came out of Carol's mouth was enough to give Carrie a rush of satisfaction.
"Alright, girls," said Mrs Munro, tapping at the blackboard with her manicured fingernails. Just the drawl of her voice made Carrie want to slam her own head against her desk—though the lady was perfectly nice enough. Carrie snapped her bubblegum impatiently as Carol glared at her. "Now, although I think this exercise is quite pointless—I'm sure you're both sorry for what you did—Principal Marsden insisted you both sit in on this detention and the tasks he assigned." Carol gave Carrie a smirk at that. They all knew Carol would get off with only a single detention, a slap on the wrist, like always, because God forbid Carol Perkins was unjustly punished by the school for something that was out of her control and her family stopped putting money in the principal's pockets. God forbid Carol Perkins ever actually got what she deserved.
"Not really," said Carrie, her tone bored and uninterested. She'd had a thousand detentions—smoking in the halls, not handing in assignments, caught with alcohol in her water bottle, physical aggression (towards those who were cruel to her)—so much so that she knew just about every inch of this room, could memorise it from the order of the books on the walls to the divots in the ceiling, to the scratches and signatures scrawled into the very desk she was sitting at. Her own name had been carved with the sharp end of a pencil a few times in here too, 'Carrie Annsley'; 'CARRIE'; 'Cars'—though the last one was when her mother had still been around and she'd exploded a beaker in Science after her friend had convinced her to turn the heat on the burner up all the way. It was by far the oldest signature of hers, the most faded. Almost worn away by time.
