Veronica's Back

Chapter 1

September 1st, 1999

Dear Diary,

I walked into Eastwood High with my head up, wearing a navy blue blazer, despite my previous association with blue blazers, and stepped into my empty classroom. I looked around and made sure everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. I adjusted small trinkets on my desk, and then wrote Ms. Sawyer on the whiteboard in block letters of different sizes and colours. It's a bit childish, but when has that ever hurt anyone?

I looked outside my window and saw students gathering in the courtyard, as they usually do on the first day of school. I took one last look around the room, feeling satisfied. It was going to be a good day. I stood beside the door waiting for my homeroom students with a grin plastered on my face. I remember hoping my teachers were enthusiastic about teaching when I was in high school, but none of them were. Basically, I'm trying to be the teacher I never had.

I greeted students as they filtered into my classroom, hoping they say something back, or at least smile, instead of just ignoring me. A few of them did, but most just look past me. Regardless of that, my smile didn't falter. Everyone looked a bit nervous, which makes sense, they're all in a brand new school. I'm happy to be here and I hope that eventually these kids will be excited too. The final bell rang and I walked inside my classroom, as did all the other teachers in the hall. I shut the door behind me, and looked at the humans I was partially responsible for for the next ten months. I walked to the center of the classroom and delivered the speech that I always improvise because planning ahead just isn't my strong suit.

"Hi, there! I'm Ms. Sawyer, your homeroom teacher this year. I also teach you English. Before I go any further, I should take attendance or I'll forget about it later." I said as I walked to my desk at the back of the room, grabbing the attendance folder. Heading back to the front of the classroom, I opened the folder and began calling out names.

"Abrams, Carter?"

"Here."

"Allbee, Isaac?"

"Here."

"Bachner, Sofia?"

"Barcia, Julian?"

"Byles, Eva?"

"Chandler, Sarah?" I winced internally. I will never forget that surname.

"Carrozza, Harleigh?"

After finishing the roll call, I gave my class a tour of my room, while they stared off into space with a deadpan face. I'm used to it at this point, very few students show true excitement on the first day of school. I was having fun, though. It's always fun, meeting new students. I finished showing off my organization skills just in time for the end of class. I handed out everyone's schedule and wished them good luck.

"If you need help finding your class, don't hesitate to ask a teacher or an older student. Trust me, they won't kill you." That is unless you ask anyone related to me or... him. I put a smile on my face as my next class came in, triple checking the room number. Freshmen, so innocent.

The lunch bell rang and I reminded my last class where the cafeteria is before they leave because I know half of them are going to get lost. When my class emptied, I left, locking the door behind me, and headed downstairs to the teachers' lounge. As I walked down the stairs, I heard voices raised so high I could hear them clearly through the cafeteria doors. I hoped the lunch monitors inside could deal with it, and kept walking. I really didn't feel like dealing with teenage drama, if other teachers can deal with it, I was not about to get involved.

I pushed open the door to the teachers' lounge and walked to the coffee machine. One of the older teachers approached me.

"Did you hear what happened in the cafeteria?" She asked, taking her lunch out from her bag.

"No, not really. What happened?" I asked. How big of a deal is this? The teacher shook her head.

"Three freshmen were picking on a junior." She said.

"Picking on? What do you mean? How bad was it? Who was it?" I asked, curious as to what freshman had the nerve to bully someone older on their first day.

"Three girls. All named Sofia, all spelled differently." My eyes widened. Not this again.

"Ha, that's ironic," I said, trying to act casual. There's a reason I left Ohio, and it certainly wasn't to tell a whole other town how I killed two people at 17. Maybe they're not even that bad, maybe they're just your average bullies. Maybe I'm overreacting. Or maybe I'm not.