Psychotic Kids

Chapter 4: Commotion

Chapter 4: The Commotion

Isla

I stepped into the classroom cautiously. The teacher looked up from his notebook, where he was doing rollcall. "Oh," He said, smiling a big, fake grin at me, "Welcome, Isla. Class, this is Isla. It's her first day here."

"Hi," I mutter. Looking around the class, I can already tell the type of people in here. There's a girl in the back putting on mascara, looking at the ceiling with her mouth hanging open awkwardly. There's a kid on his laptop near the centre, typing slowly, trying not to make any noise. At the front of the class, a skinny girl with blue, round glasses is standing beside the teacher giving me a weird look.

"Would you like to come tell the class a bit about you?" He asks me, his superficial smile still plastered on his wrinkly, old face. I shrug, making my way to the front of the class. I give the girl with glasses a glare on my way past her.

"My name is Isla," I begin, clearing my throat that feels really tight for some reason, "I just moved here with my family. We moved next to some kid who also goes here. My family actually adopted me, which is pretty cool,"

I hear some kids snicker and suddenly feel enraged, "and if any bitches want to mess with me, I swear on my life, I will end them." I turn to the teacher and give him a fake smile before picking my backpack up and leaving the classroom, flipping off everyone inside it.

Stepping into the corridor, I'm surprised to see Peter's still there.

"Peter- "I start.

I watch in shock as he chucks his friend into a row of lockers along the wall and begins punching him in the stomach and face repetitively. My shock slowly turns into amusement and I rush over towards him.

I hold Peter back and look into his friend's eyes, "What did you do?" I ask quietly. He gives me a confident smile, wincing in pain, "I said he was blushing about you." I pause for a moment, half hoping he was joking and half hoping he wasn't, before punching him square in the face and watching his limp body fall to the cold, tiled floor.

"Woah!" Peter exclaims. I turn to him, a weak half-smile on my face,

"If you're fighting someone, I'm fighting someone." Looking up, I see him staring at me, trying to figure me out, "We should probably go, before- "

"Stop right there!" A loud, booming voice echoes through the hallway towards us. We spin around to see a tall, strong man in a checkerboard shirt and grey pants storming towards us. I give Peter a look, hoping he understands what I mean.

Thankfully, he does.

We bolt around the corner and race towards the door. As we make it outside, I look back, still running as fast as I can. He's still running after us, refusing to give up. "This way!" I shout at Peter, turning to the staff carpark.

Swerving through the somewhat affordable cars, I squat behind a silver one, pulling him down with me. "Who is that?" I whisper to Peter. Peter hushes me quickly. I listen closely and footsteps get closer and closer. Soon, the man is right in front of the car. I cover my mouth to muffle my breathing, as does Peter.

I can see his feet under the car, stepping closer to us. It seems that we can't get away this time, when suddenly he sighs and turns back towards the school.

Standing up, I grab Peter's hand and run out of the parking lot and down the closest street. Slowly, we slow our pace until we're merely walking down the middle of the road. After we catch our breaths, Peter explains, "That's Mr Colorwork. He teaches maths in year ten."

I nod, "So... what are we meant to do now?" He shrugs, looking up at the sun, glinting through the tall, tangling trees on the side of the road. I stop walking and in return, he does too, "I can't get in trouble for this! My dad already did this to me..." I tuck my hair behind my ear, revealing the scar he gave me, "I can't even think of what he'll do now."

He sits down on the road, gesturing me to sit beside him. When I do, he whispers, "I hate your dad." I smile weakly, feeling the lump in my throat grow bigger, "I hate him too." He looks deep in thought for a moment, "Look..." He starts, "This is gonna sound... insane, but..."

A car come barrelling down the road and him and I jump up, scrambling to either sides of the road, out of its way. As we make our way back to the middle and start walking down the centre again, I say, "Psychopaths recognise other psychopaths."

"You're a psychopath?" He scoffs, "Not likely. You're perfect." I don't know if I should be blushing or punching him in the arm, but I just continue, "I killed my dog by throwing it off our balcony because I wanted people to feel bad for me." I say bluntly.

"Jesus! You are insane!" He exclaims.

"So are you." I remind him. He smiles, shrugging.

"So, what are we gonna do about your dad then?"

"Foster dad," I correct him, "and I don't know. How'd you kill your mum?"

"Maybe."

I've wanted him gone for a long, long time. He treated his other kid poorly, too. And he punched his wife on occasion. I wanted him dead, but I didn't want to run off alone. I couldn't pull it off, I thought. But now I had Peter, and he got away with it. No witnesses and it's easy.

Excitedly, he gives me a smile, "Then let's do it then. Is he home?" I nod, "Then let's go."

As we walk down the street approaching our houses, I don't feel afraid. I know I can do it. I know I can do it, if he does it with me.