Ever since it happened, she's dreamed of revenge. One Monday morning, it seems within her grasp.
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I guess I should've seen it coming. My name is Carrie, after all, and the irony that came with it was just too good to pass up.
It was senior year, the night of the prom. I was on the arm of Ken Davies, the notoriously handsome football team captain who made everyone around him look cooler by association. I was no exception - people didn't usually talk to me much, but that night, with my hair curled carefully round one side and a shimmery floor length silver gown, everyone swarmed around me making loud compliments. I should have recognised the mean look gleaming in each pair of eyes, the subtle nudges and smirks as they crowded around me. But I was oblivious to it all, my brain cells befuddled by the shining presence of Ken beside me.
Ken led me into the school hall, straight towards a large bowl of punch. He poured himself an ample cup, seemingly forgetting the gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer me some too. Instead, he turned his back on me in favour of some guys from the football team who were munching on some of the snacks set out, their expensively dressed girlfriends chattering nearby. I could tell I wouldn't be welcomed into their little gossipy huddle, so I took my time in getting a plastic cup of punch, feeling oddly deserted. I sipped my cup to make it look as if I had something to do, and nearly gagged at the revolting mess of fruit mashed together to create an indescribable flavour. Discreetly, I poured it back into the bowl.
One of the girlfriends interrupted the boys' raucous laughter. "Excuse me, but are we going to dance or not?" She said irritably, and the offending guy allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. Pretty soon, the two groups disbanded, as the guys realised they could get a bit more action if they kept their girlfriends happy. Ken turned back to me.
"Wanna dance?" He rumbled in the low voice many girls seemed to lose their heads (and pants) to, although he didn't sound as if he particularly wanted to.
"Why not?" I shrugged, keeping my tone as disinterested as his. I took his hand and he wrapped the other around my waist, pulling me in startlingly close. I placed my other hand lightly on his shoulder, sending up a silent prayer that he wouldn't try to grope me as we swayed awkwardly on the spot. However, as I glanced around at the other intertwined couples, I realised our positions were actually pretty modest; we were the nun and priest of the party, which didn't really say much for the rest of them.
We literally had nothing in common, and I had no idea if I was supposed to start making conversation with him or not. Most people were kissing as they danced, but I felt like our situation was not sure enough yet to suggest kissing to relieve the weird silence. It should have occurred to me then that it was really strange for Ken to have asked me to prom in the first place, especially when there were a tonne more interesting and more beautiful girls who already adored him, who would jump at the idea of swaying with him. But again, I failed to recognise that blindingly obvious fact; I was far too preoccupied with worrying over the silence.
Sometimes I wonder if I deserved what happened to me that night because of my inability to realise that everyone was out to get me.
"They're gonna announce prom king and queen soon." Ken grunted, and I latched onto the thread of conversation like a fisherman going in for the kill.
"You're a cert for that, aren't you? And Anna'll defo be your queen." I smiled at him, but he didn't return it, nor did he continue to talk. In hindsight, I really shouldn't have mentioned Anna, the girl who'd famously dumped him two weeks ago with the killer line of, 'I'm just not in love with you anymore,' slipped casually into conversation as she ate a low fat yoghurt. I wasn't at the lunch table where it happened - please, that was reserved for A-list students only - but the story circulated so quickly that by the end of the school day, even those who'd played truant knew Anna had dropped him like a bag of hot potatoes.
Almost immediately after I said that, there was a distinct sound of a microphone being tapped and the dull, 'Testing, one two three', from our school principal, who looked as if he'd rather be anywhere but there.
"Come on," Ken said in a passable imitation of a whisper, steering me up towards the front of the hall. I noticed Anna had placed herself in the prime spot also, fussily readjusting the immaculate skirts of her babydoll pink dress. She caught sight of Ken and I, his hand still pressed against my back, and her mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. For a moment, I thought she was jealous of me, standing there with her very recently ex-boyfriend. Perhaps that was my greatest error - she'd dumped him, after all, and she was not the slightest bit jealous. She was merely trying to hide her anticipation of what was about to come.
I pretty much zoned out for half of the principal's dreary speech, but as the whispers in the hall faded away, I realised he must be about to say something important, so I focused back on him again. "And the prom king is... Ken," he announced in the same monotone fashion. There was an outburst of clapping, hollering and cheers as Ken strode up to receive the crown no-one had ever doubted would be his. Everyone died down again to hear who was prom queen, although I regarded the event with blatant disinterest. I already knew Anna would be the one to claim the crown, so why bother making a big drama out of it.
"And the prom queen is... Carrie." I barely heard the announcement, too lost in visions of the soft bed and box set binge that awaited my return. If I snuck out of here while everyone was preoccupied crowning Anna, I could maybe fit in three episodes of Grey's Anatomy before Mom came up to check I was asleep at midnight...
I was jerked out of my reverie by the crush of hands propelling me forwards, and this time I heard the principal say, "Carrie, please come on up." Stunned, I nearly tripped over the hem of my dress as I climbed up the steps. Why was I wanted on the stage? Had he figured out I sold the answers to the math quiz last week to one of the cheerleaders?
Instead of telling me off for one of my many crimes, instead he plunked the prom queen crown on my head, and the hall erupted into gleeful applause. Uncertainly, I touched the crown placed on my curls, still not quite understanding the situation. I had been elected prom queen, over all the girls in my year who would have made far more suitable candidates, over Anna herself. My name wasn't even on the ballots! I glanced down at Anna, worried she was about to climb onto the stage and deck me, but she was holding up a rose gold iPhone. "Move to the side, Carrie, I'll get a better shot!" Her voice carried to me clearly over the crowd, and I did as she asked, receiving a thumbs up in return.
Quite a lot of people now had their cameras out, which was pretty confusing. I didn't understand why people would want to take a picture of me, of all people. I didn't deserve the crown or the glory. Still, I had somehow won it, so I smiled, because if the moment was to be captured on camera, I at least wanted to look good.
And that was when it hit me.
Literally. Because someone up in the rafters had just dumped a huge bucket of red stuff all over me.
Everyone started shrieking with laughter, turning into a pack of overexcited hyenas. I stood there like a fool, wiping the sticky red substance off my face so I could see properly. I already had a fear of what it might be - I had heard of the movie, even though I'd never been tempted to watch it - and one look just confirmed it. I was drenched in pig's blood.
I could feel the tears coming now, and I didn't make an effort to keep them from falling. I was humiliated enough, and the simple fact of crying didn't seem to make any different to my immense embarrassment. Many phones were still pointed at me, including Anna's, who I already guessed had something to do with it all. Nervously, I glanced over at Ken, hoping against hope he'd also be standing there in shock, but luck was not on my side that night. Ken was doubled over in laughter, tears of a different kind trickling down his cheeks.
I had been tricked. It had all been some cruel prank against me, not even an original one. And they had played it out oh so well.
I ran out of the hall, ran straight home, and got into the shower immediately. All the work I'd put into making myself look pretty for prom had completely wasted. I washed my hair out three times, and it still stank of blood, still seemed dirty and disgusting. The blood had embedded myself in my fingernails as I tried to scrape dried clumps of it off my skin, so I cut the nails I'd been growing out as short as possible, then scrubbed them vigorously. Everything I wore I dumped straight into the bin outside. The bin man would probably assume I'd committed a gruesome and bloody murder, but I didn't care. If he looked me up online, he was bound to see the videos already posted on Facebook and YouTube and Snapchat stories, all accompanied with emojis crying of laughter.
I didn't think it was that funny.
I would probably have given up school if it wasn't for my parents. I had told them the morning after; they were bound to find out eventually, it was an internet sensation. They spoke to the principal, threatened to press charges for emotional damage, demanded that those who masterminded the prank be expelled. It was of little use; with so short a time of senior year left, the principal was reluctant to take action, and he didn't know who had caused it anyway.
"It was Anna and Ken. I'm sure of it." I spoke for the first time during the interview; my parents glared at the principal as if to say, 'there you go'. He shook his head.
"There's no proof." He said in his usual dull voice. "I can't expel all of senior year just for laughing at the prank. Besides, Anna and Ken are prized students. They would never dream of something like this."
"Can you at least do something about those who filmed it and posted it online?" Mom demanded. "This Anna, she was one of them. Get them to take it down, issue punishments, for Christ's sake!"
"Anna is a prized student." He repeated. "She has a clean record. The school will not come down on her and others for one little video. Plenty of people here film things out of school hours and post them to the dislike of others, and we cannot do anything about it."
Mom stood up, Dad following her. "You're useless! Absolutely useless!" She snapped. "My daughter got pig's blood poured all over her! You were standing beside her when it happened! You did nothing!"
He regarded her with doleful eyes. "The school cannot take action with no proof of who did it..."
"We're going!" Mom snapped, and the three of us left. As we went out, she bent down a little in her heels to my height and looked my straight in the eyes. "I'm so sorry, Carrie. I always told you I would protect you, I would keep you safe... I failed." I hugged her.
"It's okay, Mom." I whispered. "You did your best. And he's right about one thing... we can't press charges against those that did it. We have no proof." I drew back, Mom's eyes looking a little misty.
"I know it's going to be hard, but you have to keep going to school." Dad interjected. "You're so nearly finished... it won't be long, then you can put all this behind you."
I wanted nothing more than to curl up under my duvet and not go out until I had finished watching all fourteen seasons of Grey's Anatomy, but somehow I nodded. He was right - I couldn't throw away my shot at college by ditching school for a month.
And being at school would help me with the one thing I now cared about.
Revenge.
Revenge doesn't come until over a year later, mostly due to my careful planning. Anna and Ken got back together pretty quickly after that. Apparently the break-up had all been part of the plan, allowing Ken to ask me to prom, ensuring I went. It worked pretty well considering I wasn't originally planning to. Anna seemed to be the brains of the operation, making sure to get one of her dirty minions to pour the bucket on me while she had an airtight alibi; she was filming it right in front of me when it happened. It was clear I couldn't use normal methods to prove they'd committed the prank and get them in trouble. No, I had to go for my own careful brand of revenge.
And finally, it all comes down to one day. A Monday. A typical hot, sweaty, Monday morning in August, right when nobody is expecting it. I'm back in town for a while to see my parents before going back to college.
You see, while they moved on, another day, another drama, all I think is about karma. Punishing those who saw fit to prank me. It's been a while since it happened, but I can still recount it perfectly. It's not the type of prank that you forget in an instant. If you scroll down far enough in their Facebook feeds, you can still find the video, with its horrific amount of likes and comments.
The world may have moved on, but one thing's for sure; I might have got mine, but they're all about to get theirs.
"Mom, I'm just going to nip over to the diner for breakfast." I call upstairs, being careful to leave out which diner I'm going to. Not our usual haunt that Dad discovered, that cook the best bacon in town. I'm going to the one where the heavily pregnant Anna now works, alongside the guy she hastily married when she started showing, Ken.
I walk into the diner, the same smirk on my lips that Anna wore so long ago. Another waitress brings me over to a table, where I order a milkshake before asking sweetly, "Could Anna bring it over? She's an old friend of mine, see, and I want to catch up with her. I can't believe she's pregnant."
The waitress nods and goes off to deliver my request. I can't wait to see Anna's expression when she sees her 'old friend', and I don't have to wait long.
Anna is tired looking, and her baby bump does look rather formidable. I don't fancy the idea of popping out mini me's myself. She sets the vanilla milkshake down on the table, and I get the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in shock. "Carrie - I - you're -"
"Take a seat," I say pleasantly, and she does so with relief, her hands rubbing her belly. Her eyes are still trained on mine though, as she expects pig's blood to come raining down on me once more. The girl I see in front of me is so different to the pink-clad girl who delighted in seeing me humiliated, even though I had never said a bad word about her. She created the worst moment of my life because she thought it was fun - I should be perfectly entitled to ruin hers after everything she did, making snorting pig noises every time I passed her in the school hall, holding her nose as if the smell of blood had never really been scrubbed off. When it came to one Art class she seized the opportunity when I accidentally bumped into her to spill red paint down my front.
"Whoops," she'd uttered softly, her eyes shooting daggers at me. "Look what you made me do."
And yet... looking at her now, with a baby on a way, a terrible job her only means of support, dropped out of college, tethered to a high school boyfriend for eternity, I don't want to do it. I don't want to threaten her with the information I've gathered, I don't want to release it to the world. Anna might have been the most popular girl in high school, dating the most popular boy, yet it got her nowhere but a greasy diner. I, on the other hand, have supportive parents, great new friends, a place at wonderful college and the good grades to ensure a steady job when I get out.
It occurs to me that I don't need to get Anna back for what she did to me. She has already done enough to ruin her own life.
And so I reach into my bag and shove the papers down, smiling at Anna as I do so. "I just wanted to say that I forgive you. I still think you were massive bitch to me, and I don't think that you're sorry - you've never apologised, certainly. And I know it was you. But I forgive you anyway. I'm moving on."
She looks weary, on her guard, as if I might just spring up and shoot her at any given moment. Eventually, she hauls herself up again, wincing a little. "Right. Okay. Thanks for that." She says with scorn, which is almost enough to make me want to reverse my decision, but as she waddles away I remind myself that I'm trying to move on. And I can't do that if I'm still bearing a grudge, if I'm still searching for revenge.
I take a sip of my milkshake, which is wonderfully cooling in the intense heat, and glance out the window. Nothing big has happened to Anna; to her, it's still just another Monday morning. But for me, a lot is happening. I'm moving on, I'm forgiving her.
As I leave the shop, I leave behind my resentment, my anger towards Anna. I don't see her again. I don't look back.
And to think that ending that particularly chapter of my life happened on a Monday morning.