We Were Liars | ONC 2020 ✔

Bottom Of The Lake

FOUR HOURS BEFORE

My mother said she would pick me up from the library at three in the afternoon, and it was already three-thirty.

Sometimes, I worried for her. Ever since my father started spending more hours at his mistress' bedside than in our house, she'd begun to drown her sorrows in her job, taking on more hours and plunging herself up to her neck in overtime. It was unlikely that she'd forget about me, but it was common for her to be late.

Occasionally, I took the bus, but my mother knew I couldn't stand the noisy morons laughing and flinging their bags across the aisle. It was too far to walk back home, especially with my limited physical capabilities. I hoped she was at work, and not on the couch drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle; that was a rare occurence, but it still happened.

The library closed at four. I still had half an hour.

I did some quick mental arithmetic, quickly jotting my answers down in neat columns. My maths homework looked like it always did: absolutely brilliant. Often, a naive idiot or two offered me some form of bribe in exchange for my work. I always pretended to lend it to them, then instantly reported it to our Algebra teacher. Some still hadn't learned their lesson yet.

In the library, I felt safe. Avery Lang and Nat Evans couldn't harm me in my book-filled sanctuary. Even if they tried, the librarian knew me well. She was terrifying when she was angry, and she would most certainly get angry at them if they attempted to start a fight in her pride and joy.

I turned a page of my book, filling the next sheet with carefully calculated sums. I had a lot of homework, as always, but I usually breezed through it all. Today was no exception. It was ridiculously easy, despite what everyone insisted. Then again, I was a genius. They were not.

Time ticked by, and before I knew it, the librarian was tapping me on the back and kindly informing me that the library was closing. I returned her gesture with a nod and a few words of gratitude, gathering up my bag and heading outside. My plan was to wait in front of the library until my mother came.

That idea was soon abolished by the visual of the rain sloughing down in sheets of dreary drizzle, soaking the pavement and road in its watery malice. Drips of water sprayed up from the ground and splashed at my face. It was pouring cats and dogs, and I would definitely not remain dry if I opted to wait outside. I stared down at my bag, filled to the brim with heavy books---and at my shoes, polish perfect and laces new. The puddles---they would ruin them terribly!

"Canterbury!" I heard. The shout echoed from the parking lot, loud even with the backdrop of rain like shattering glass. I squinted through the droplets splattering my glasses. Was that Ette?

"Canterbury!" I managed to make out vibrant blue locks and a waving hand. It was Ette! And he was standing next to his car! He was offering me a ride home! Although I called Ette a moron more often than I called him a hero, in that moment, he was my saviour.

Just as I was about to jog over with a prayer that my shoes wouldn't get too damaged, something clocked me in the back of my head. Startled, I tripped over my own feet and dropped to my knees, the puddles pooling on the pavement soaking my slacks---I cringed at the thought of where that murky-looking water had been, but the throbbing ache on my scalp fortunately occupied most of my thoughts.

"Canterbury!" Ette's voice was a scream, cracking at the edges and almost girlish. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure slip out from the library and run up behind me, something in their hands. Before I could even blink, they raised the object over their head and swung it down. Once, twice, three times.

I heard a sickening crack and felt blood matting my hair, right before I embarrassingly blacked out.

☆☆☆