Deadly Secrets

Chapter 21- Amnesia

[Revised] 

Max sat at the back of the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned back in his chair. He rested his head against the wall and remained with his eyes closed, tuning out the yapping from everyone in the class except his two friends—Jeremy and Sebastian.

"Dude, have you heard about what happened?" Jeremy's desk was in front of Max's, but he was currently sitting on his chair back to front. His Finnish heritage had blessed him with natural Sunflower-blond hair, which he had taken to the edge with 'The Mainstream Hipster' haircut. Girls fawned over his ice-blue eyes, along with his lip-, eyebrow-, and ear-piercing—his skate punk attire gave him the green light to behave like a complete miscreant both in and out of school.

"What do you mean? Are you talking about the bus ride?" Sebastian, the mellow one of the trio sat on Max's right, effectively creating a cage around him in the corner of the room. He was the only African-American baseball player on the varsity team, and his skills as the utility player had earned him the respect he deserved. He was more conservative with his attire: he wore a white hoodie with black jeans and Nike sneakers.

But you know what they say: don't judge a book by its cover.

"Yeah, dude. Can I tell him, or would you like the honours, since you're on the team."

"Jesus Christ, do you two ever listen to yourselves? Just tell me what the hell happened already before Skullet gets his panties in a twist." Max huffed, opening an eye to cast a look at Mr. Lawrence.

It doesn't take a genius to understand how Mr. Lawrence had earned that lovely nickname.

The two boys look at each other for a moment, and then Jeremy nodded.

"Robert got his ass beat today," Sebastian said bluntly, clicking his pen while he looked at Max.

Both of Max's eyes flew open and he fractionally turned his head towards Sebastian, "Robert? There are about a thousand fucking Roberts at this school. Give me the details."

"Robert, the pitcher—Uh, how can I describe him without sounding homo... he's going out with that ratchet Samantha."

"Oh yeah, that guy. He talks a lot of shit, but he's actually just a pussy. Who jacked him up?"

"What's her—Jero, she's in your Math class."

Jeremy raised an eyebrow at Sebastian before his face blanked in thought. He then slowly began to nod, "Zara? That dweeb. She's in this class too— sits right over..." He twisted on his chair to localise her, but when he couldn't he turned back to the two boys. "She's not here right now. I don't have to tell you what she looks like, right?"

After the mention of her name, Max almost fell off his chair.

Zara? Are these guys serious?

"Dude, are you sure we're thinking about the same person?" Max had to be sure that he hadn't misheard what they had said. 

Jeremy rolled his eyes and dragged a hand through his hair.

"So I guess I do have to describe her to you—"

"That chick over there, the one with the glasses." Sebastian pointed towards the front of the room. Both guys looked at the same time.

There she was, standing in the doorway, her hair perched on her head in a messy bun, while her glasses were on the verge of falling off her nose. Her oversized hoodie seemed to swallow her petite frame whole while her purple bag resembled a turtle's shell for how packed it was. This can't be her. Yet it was Yet it was her—the only thing that had changed about her attire was the glasses. Either this was a failed attempt to disguise herself, or she was wearing contacts that night.