Author Note: Damned verb tenses.

Summary: Everyone’s afraid of me. But I swear, I didn’t do it; I didn’t kill her. No matter what anyone says.

Warning(s): Slight profanity, unbeta-ed.

Last Edited: Nov. 18, 2005

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Fluctuate. Change.

Chapter One: Vocabulary

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I was walking home when I noticed him.

His hair was slicked back, his jeans were too tight, and his leather jacket had definitely seen better days. He looked like he had come straight out of Grease and I hated him on sight. Anyone who can’t pick up on the fact that we no longer live in the fifties deserves to be stoned. Or educated very thoroughly about fashion.

He was walking ahead of me, sauntering, laughing with his girlfriend. He was new; I’d never seen him before. He carried a large black case in one hand and didn’t bother with a backpack. I recognized the case; the band members carried their instruments in them.

Another couple was walking behind them; I’d never seen the boy in my life though the same could not be said about the girl. She wasn’t much older than me; I was only two years younger.

She was in one of my classes, despite our age difference. It was a class for exceptionally bright students from the tenth grade and exceptionally illiterate students from two grades higher. It was supposed to encourage bonding between twelfth and tenth graders while having a positive effect on all of our test scores.

It wasn’t working. The bright kids stayed bright, and the less than average students remained less than average.

She seemed like the kind of girl who’d sleep around. Her skirt was short, although the weather could be described as more than chilly. Her boyfriend’s arms were wrapped around her and they walked in awkward gate for she was rather short, while he was rather tall. I wondered vaguely if she used condoms; I wouldn’t want her dead before I graduated.

I wasn’t sure why I thought that.

Why would it be important to me if she died?

Nobody was talking to me as I walked home, trailing behind older students whom I did not intend to interact with.

I’m not stupid.

I wish I could have gotten away faster, but they were horribly slow and took up the entire sidewalk, so I couldn’t even walk around them to get ahead. I hated it when that happened.

We came to a corner and they stopped, telling each other loudly to let a beat up Chevy station wagon make a right turn before they crossed. I wondered if they knew the people in the car.

There was a kid in the front passenger seat and she waved at the grease-boy as her mother waited for a green light.

“She’s cute,” he said, glancing back at his friends. He looked at me and smirked as the car turned. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said to me, before breaking into raucous laughter which none of his friends echoed. He stopped laughing rather quickly, opting to give his friends a questioning look.

The statement didn’t bother me. Well, it did kind of, but not why you’re thinking it did.

I stared back at him. “Well, you obviously weren’t talking about yourself,” I answered, in a flat tone, before stalking off and crossing the street.

I heard them talking as they followed me across the street.

“Are you going to let that bitch talk to me like that?”

The girl in my Interactive Literature class (oh, what a name, what a name!) answered him angrily. “That’s Annie, you asshole!”

“Who the fuck is Annie?”

Apparently grease-boy wasn’t up to speed on the school’s gossip. The oil must have seeped into his brain or something. Or perhaps it was clogging his ears.

The other male spoke up. “She’s fucking creepy. Haven’t you heard? Everyone at school is scared shitless of her.”

They crossed the street again, eager to get away from me, I supposed.

“No fucking way. Why?”

I didn’t catch the answer.

I adjusted the collar of my blazer and ran a hand through my slightly frizzy hair. I hadn’t had enough time to run product through it this morning.

The greasy-haired guy irked me.

Somebody has to tell him that his hair makes it look like he hasn’t showered in weeks.

I let out an exasperated sigh and stomped along the sidewalk, knowing that no one would tell him.

One day he will wake up, look in the mirror, and ask himself what the fuck he was thinking.

I took comfort in that thought.

I walked through a park and got to my house after a few minutes. The door opened easily and I threw my things to the floor.

Nobody else was home.

I grabbed a slice of pizza from the fridge and went through the mail. It was all bills. I frowned and sat down in a chair.

I wished again that Jenny were alive and threw my pizza down. I wasn't hungry anymore.

I headed for the bathroom, thinking.

If only everyone understood what acquitted meant.