Things seemed to be getting better when Giselle, an outcast in Ashmoure High, finally found herself a friend -- a girl who saved her from her bullies. Except that wasn't the case. Unexplainable murders were occuring in the school she was in-Ashmoure...
I dreaded going to school. I have no friends, not even acquaintances. Everyone was either hating me to death or was terrified of me and I didn't understand any of them. I didn't know what was it about me that made people feel the way they did. Some of them avoided me at all cost like I had some kind of infectious disease while some looked me into the eyes with pure hatred. I just didn't get why. It was not like I was a monster or something. Oh right, that huge scar on my face. Awesome. I sighed as I felt the weight in my heart heaved.
The scar was something I got last year. Trina, a girl from my previous high school gave it to me. I was flushing the toilet bowl when I heard the sound of glass broken and people screaming. The moment I stepped out of the stall, I saw Trina slashing the huge shard of broken mirror at something in the empty space in front of her, yelling at whatever she saw to stop pestering her. I was scared cold feet. If I haven't peed a moment ago, I would definitely pee my pants.
My only thought at the moment was to get out from there as soon as possible. But our eyes met before I could move. The next thing I knew, a sharp pain burst on my face as her high pitch scream ringed endlessly in my ears.
That was the reason for my transfer of high schools. To have a new start in life. Besides, mum and dad were paranoid about my safety ever since, so they made this decision. Everything was nice. There were no more crazy Trinas around to bother me. Except that didn't actually eliminate my danger. Although my presence was made unknown by half of the school's population, leaving me peacefully alone, the other half were out there to get me.
A soft clicked sounded after I put in the right combination to the dial on my locker. Giving myself three seconds before swinging the door open, I braced myself for some gifts from the haters or bullies.
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Maybe it was a tradition in Ashmoure High, just like what the posters on the notice boards said: No one gets left out. So even losers like me were included in the gift receiving list. Every day, if it weren't notes about how ugly I was, it was half eaten food or candy wrappers thrown into my locker. Maybe students here didn't know the difference between a locker and a rubbish bin.
Pathetic.
I sucked in a deep breath and pulled the door open. A yellow post-it note was laying on top of my belongings.
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