They didn’t want me there; they were pissed.
Things got bad, like really, really bad.
So I ran home, and I locked the door, and I put my hands over my ears.
This is going to come back to bite me in the ass, I just know it is.My mouth drops open, and I flip back and forth between the previous pages to see if I missed something. But no, Jenica was just purposely vague. I mean, it was her journal after all. Guess she didn’t expect anyone else to read it. Either that, or she was high when she wrote that section. Who knows?
With a frustrated sigh, I continue on, but the next few pages are fairly boring. Her boyfriend Rick seems like a chauvinistic prick, but there’s nothing about whatever happened to her in the woods.
I flip through a few weeks’ worth of entries, and then pause on the page with the symbol. Jenica’s sketch doesn’t look hurried or unsure; it’s like she was drawing from something in real life. I slip the stone from my pocket and examine it. The boys and I have tried to research it, but there’s no information on this symbol. It looks like a lot of other well-known symbols, but it isn’t a match to any.
With a sigh, I tuck the stone away again, and turn the page.
Right here, it looks like a whole section was torn away. I zoom in on the image, and there it is, clear as day, the edges of ripped paper next to an entry about Lionel Murphy. He’s such a good, kind-hearted friend, the only sort of person I could share so much with.
Huh.
Yep, they were dating behind Rick’s back, no doubt in my mind.
I'm halfway through the next page when I hear a noise. I lift my head up, expecting to see another student, the janitor, a faculty member. But instead, there's nobody there.
Whatever.
I start reading again when I hear the sound of boots on gravel.
This time, when I look up, I see a guy standing just down the path from me. Wearing a hoodie that's cinched tight over his face.
What. the. fuck?
“Uh, can I help you?” I choke out, and then the guy's racing down the pathway toward me. I drop my phone as I roll to the side, and a baseball bat slams into the brick wall where I was just sitting.
This so isn't happening! I think as I scramble to my feet and take off, finding the double doors to the hallway locked. I yank on them, and then out of some deeply buried instinct, I duck.
The baseball bat hits the bullet-proof glass of the windows and bounces back, making my attacker curse.
I'm already scrabbling away, using the wall to stand up as I head for the open window behind a wooden garden box filled with vegetables (and dandelions). I vault over the box, crushing a cucumber in the process, and then shove the screen out of my way, crawling into the classroom and landing on the floor in a panting heap.
Unfortunately, there's nobody in there, so I'm still on my own. I race toward the door and fling it open, letting myself into the empty hallway.
The second of my two attackers is standing there, a knife in hand.
Jesus.
“This is insane!” I scream, my voice echoing in the empty hallway. Where the hell is everyone? I take off for the cafeteria, slipping on the floors as I pound past the picnic tables in the direction of the fire exit. There are footsteps behind me, closing in fast. And even though I’ve been surfing lately, I’m still a bit out of shape; I'm panting like crazy.
My third attacker, much smaller in build, leaps out from behind a trash can, wearing yet another nondescript black hoodie and wielding a Taser. A freaking Taser. And where’s mine when I need it? That’s right, back at Monica’s because I’m not allowed to bring freaking weapons to school. Fuck my life.
Trying to stop on those waxy floors is a recipe for disaster, and I end up skidding, slamming into the legs of douche bag number three. She—this is most definitely a she—gives a feminine grunt, and collapses on top of me. She can’t use the Taser in such close proximity, but she sure as hell can hold me as long as she needs for the other two guys to get here.
“Let go of me!” I scream, and the sound of a door slamming in the kitchen area echoes around the room.
“What on earth is going on out here?” one of the lunch ladies asks, storming out the gate that leads to the kitchen with a knife in her hand. The girl I’m all tangled up with kicks at me, and curses, rising to her feet. I’m not fully convinced one angry lunch lady is enough to stop these freaks, so I scramble forward toward the exit, using the handle to pull myself to my feet.
