The Emerald Locket

1. Ella

"I promise you, I was correct." I say sternly, eyeing Mr. Doherty with determination.

"Miss Stowings, I double check every test I grade. There's no way I made a mistake."

"But if you'll just-"

"Ella." Mr. Doherty cuts me off and exhales loudly. "You got a ninety-nine percent. Why does it matter?"

I cross my arms and squint through my glasses. "It matters because I'm right." He looks back down at his desk like he's dismissing the conversation. "This isn't fair. You marked it wrong when it wasn't." He continues scribbling away and ignoring me, so I shove the now crumpled-with-frustration test paper in front of his face.

He sighs and glances at it reluctantly. I can tell by the way he shuts his eyes and rubs his temple that I've won. "Fine. I made a mistake." Mr. Doherty snatches the test out of my hand and crosses out the ninety-nine to replace it with a one hundred. "Now get out of my classroom."

"Thanks, Mr. D!" I say triumphantly and bound of the room with a smile on my face. I know Mr. Doherty gets annoyed with me, but I get equally annoyed with his sloppy grading and scarce knowledge of the subject he's teaching.

I dial my combination into my locker and stagger backward when a piece of paper comes flying out and hits me in the face. I bend down to pick it up and my brows knit together in confusion. It's parchment. I've never touched parchment before. I unfold the perfectly creased page and am met with a short note scrawled in perfect calligraphy.

𝔉𝔬𝔬𝔱𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔦𝔢𝔩𝔡.
𝔐𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱.
ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢.
𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢.

That's creepy alright. I assume this is some stupid prank, but it looks like a lot of unnecessary effort went into making this. I doubt anyone at this school cares enough to work that hard for a dumb joke. I roll my eyes and crumple up the parchment, shoving it way in the back of my locker. Out of sight, out of mind.

I dump my books into my locker and grab my lunch, heading in the direction of the library. My friends and I always eat lunch in the library because the cafeteria is loud and gross. Nothing kills my appetite more than the football team pelting each other with food and shouting out insults at everyone walking past. So, the library it is.

I plant myself down at a table next to Hunter, who is buried in a large book. "You still haven't finished that thing?" I ask. He's been reading that same book for months and still hasn't reached the end.

"One: It's 800 pages. Two: Not everyone has superhuman speed reading powers like you." He says casually, not looking up from the book.

"I'm not superhuman." I shrug. "I just spend copious amounts of time researching techniques to make my daily life easier." I also learned how to write in shorthand, and I'm starting to get into meal prepping for my dad and I.

Hunter finally looks up from his book and shuts it, sliding his Batman bookmark inside. What a nerd. "Speaking of your weird superpowers, did you get your chem test back today?"

"Yeah, and I gave Mr. Doherty hell for a grading error." This makes Hunter laugh.

"Do you remember what the answer was to number seventeen? I think I might have gotten it wrong." He asks.

"Number seventeen." I close my eyes. "'What is produced when a hydrocarbon fuel burns in a good supply of oxygen?' The answer was carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, and water."

Hunter makes a strange noise. "Damn it. I was wrong." He perks up again. "Have I ever mentioned how grateful I am for you and your photographic memory?"