The Flip Side

🖇️Chapter 5

Anonymity - The art of blending in. The art of disappearing.

Those cold, blue eyes, the hooded face - They seemed to carry so much weight. There's definitely something about that girl - whoever she is. June Archer was exposed today and I saw it, the satisfied smirk on that girl's face, underneath her hood. Nobody else seemed to care about her, therefore, nobody even glanced her way because she's invisible, but something pulled me to her immediately the notifications went off. If anyone knows something about these happenings, it would be her.

I put down my empty cup of water and plop down onto my sofa, placing my laptop in the hollow of my crossed legs. She looks like she doesn't have any friends, so tracking her will be a little tricky. I wait a few seconds for Instagram to open, and then I start searching. Jet black hair and blue eyes, the only features I could get from underneath her hoodie. I type in the first name that comes to mind, the one person that follows every single person in senior year, Stephanie Lawrence. She calls it 'social service', giving them the chance to be followed by someone untouchable. She's the self-appointed newscaster of East High, her camera strapped around her neck, twenty-four seven and a look of grandeur plastered permanently on her face. They all have that look - the students at the peak of social hierachy.

Her account opens up, filling my screen with loads of unsolicited gossip, the last being that of June Archer and Friday Hart. I click open her following list and begin my search. She follows about eighty profiles and I go through every single one of them, my hope slipping away after each review. It's been about forty-five minutes since I started, and I exit Instagram feeling drained. Social media is supposed to be a sort of maze, providing you with just the information you don't need, and linking you up with just the people you don't know. How hard is it, then, to find this girl? I will just have to get her name tomorrow. It's the only way.

I get up and stretch out, then I put my books in order. It's been two days only, and I already have loads of homework. I grab my headphones and head out. What I need right now, is a ride to get air, before I begin my journey into the art of homework mastery.

The environment around my house is usually very quiet, but for some reason, when I step out of the door, I'm compelled to pay attention to sounds. I could've sworn I heard something drop within close proximity. No, I'm not being paranoid. The average person in this situation would turn on a flashlight and try to find the source. It's a brave response, but nothing like my resort. I pull out the razor in my sweats pocket, and move stealthily towards the sound, which is now a gentle shuffle. My senses tell me it's no raccoon or any stray animal at all, it's a person and their breathing is very calm, almost inaudible, which is a complete contrast to what your breathing should sound like if you're caught sneaking up on someone. From that, I can tell that it's not their first time, they've done this before, many times before.

The darkness hides them, but I see from their crouched silhouette, that they have their face hooded. They try to slip away but we are both in the garage with my bicycle, and I have the advantage of nearness to exit. Their back is to the wall and I'm standing over them. From the slender figure, I infer that it's a girl, and she leans towards the left in a bid to get away, ignorantly exposing the side of her face and I run my razor down her cheek. She grabs my hand and tilts it abnormally, causing me to drop the razor. I try to grab her hand with my free hand, but she's faster. I feel a blade cut through my left thigh a few inches down and I lose my footing a little, giving her a wide chance to escape. Before she gets up, she somehow manages to kick the back of my knee, sending me tumbling down. I wince in pain and clutch my bleeding thigh as she finally escapes.

The cut is shallow but I know she's capable of worse. It was meant to serve as a distraction to enable her leave without getting discovered. Innate or trained, that girl is skilled. She is a stalker - East High's stalker, and I may have underestimated her.