Roofers.

42. Welcome to hell.

Scarlett POV.

The look of shock had become the most common expression of the day. It was as if every vulture in the forsaken school had already rationalised and accepted my death and now here I was again, toiling in their backyards like a prepubescent monstrosity of a person.

They weren't overtly staring at me, it's not like they were all standing robotically in a line as their minds tried to conjure up any sort of reason as to why I was still here, walking through their hallways as if nothing had happened just days before. No, instead they opted for short, awkward, lingering glances. Their eyes would shoot passed their locker doors and over their books and across the hall as if the distance made their ogling any slicker. And instead of the nagging itch I used to feel under their scrutiny, I found it comical, the way their jaws fell open, the way their eyes grew wide, filling with terror as the prey became the predator. I was like a distant memory turned nightmare, brought into reality to haunt them. Perhaps to them, I was a ghost, or a zombie — roaming around in search of innocence. They pretended as if their whispers would go unnoticed, as if I couldn't hear them questioning my mental state, and for the sake of my mother I pretended I couldn't hear a thing either.

I wasn't gonna let that shit bother me. So I walked like I really had been resurrected, with my head held high and a selfish, undead grin slapped onto my smug face. My head confidently bopping to the music playing through my earphones.

I couldn't help it - I was happy. 'Cause as much as the vulture would treat me like actual dog shit, I was the turd who'd have their shining star in my bed tonight. Me. Not Jenna. Not any of the mean girl wannabe's. Not even fucking Orlando Williams. Me. Maybe it didn't look like it to them, but I'd already won. And man, was I ecstatic.

For all I knew, I could have grown wings and flew straight into the sun at that very moment. I could be a musician or the rockstar smashing a guitar onto the stage like it was nothing.

I made my way to my locker doors, pulling out my books for the day and shoving them into my backpack. I pulled my earphones out, letting Pharrell's voice fall into a quiet buzz, and shoved them into my pockets.

"Guess who's back, back again." Candy sang, mimicking a deep voice as she leaned on the locker beside me. She waved her arms in the air like a rapper, unbothered that everyone could see her with me. I grinned stupidly at her dance moves as she moved into the running man. She bit her lips, feigning concentration before she broke into a fit of laughter.

"You'll never change will you?" I chuckled.

Candy stopped laughing and doing whatever she was doing with her arms to scoop me into a hug. She squeezed me harder than usual and I squeezed back. Like always, she smelt of marshmallows and gummy worms. Like always she was still grinning like a drunk and dancing like one too, and despite the shit show my life had become — I missed her like nobody's business.

"I missed you." She told me as she slowly released me.

She pulled her curly hair from her face, clipping it behind her ear. Again, like always, she always came to school looking like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. Dante was treating her right, and I was glad to see it.

"I missed you too, Candy," I told her honestly. "But you know you can't do this anymore, right?"

"Do what?" She asked me.

"What you're doing right now." I rolled my eyes at her. "Ever heard of social suicide. This. This right here is it"

"I don't get it." Candy squinted her eyes at me.

"Hugging me like this is gonna ruin your social life because they all know I'm a roofer now."

"A roofer and a reverse are two very different things, A. And B, you're my best friend" She shrugged unbothered.