On Sunday, my mom told me to invite my friends over, so I called Melinda, Cheyenne, and Lara, to see if they wanted to come with us to the National Park my mom and me like to go picnicking in.

By twelve, we were at the park and beginning to bike far into the woods until we got to the amazing waterfall. We stayed until five, running around, playing tag, hide and seek, and manhunt when it got dark. My mom played with us, and we were all able to forget the day before and have fun. Even though it was the most fun we’d ever had at the park, somewhere in the way back of my mind, I wondered and worried about what tomorrow would bring.

During first period, I stared out the patched up window and wondered. About Megan, how she was doing, how we were going to visit her later today with my mom after school. About Ami, and why she did what she did on Saturday. And about who that was with Ami at the clock tower, and why did he seem so familiar.

By fifth period I had the answer to at least one question of mine. The guy with Ami was Nicholas Franklin, but everyone called him Nick. I’d always hated him. He tried to be funny, and was among other people, but to me, he was sick, and it was a gross, stupid humour like they use in cartoons lately. I always thought he was stupid and…. this is a big part of why I didn’t like him, shallow as it is. He looked unclean. The first requirement I have for dating (not that I ever have) is that the guy has to be clean. Nick, yeah, he’s not clean. He doesn’t look it anyway….

Now all I had to figure out was why Ami did what she did, and why she had Nick with her. We always used to make fun of him but now he seemed to be on her side….

After school, Cheyenne, Lara, Melinda, and I were waiting to be picked up by my mom to go to the hospital, that way there wouldn’t be any problems with meeting here, or there, when, etc. As we stood and talked, I thought I saw Ami disappear around the corner of the building, so I followed her. “I’ll be back guys. Stay here,” I said firmly. I needed to talk to Ami alone if that really was her.

Running up the sidewalk, listening to my footsteps slap against the concrete, I thought of what I would say to her. Then I figured, just wing it. I grabbed to corner of the building and swung around, running the length of the side, turning, and running down the grass that our school was built on.

Above me rose a steep hill, dead grass making it look scraggly and desolate when, in the summer, it was bright and green. The trees’ branches were like claws raking against the already reddening sky, as if they were dragging the blue into the hell-like sunset.

I reached the end of the building, a little out of breath, and looking over the short, locked gate that led to the tall, unstable-looking staircase in front of me. Ami stood at the top. “Ami! Ami! I need to talk to you!” she sneered and I saw that her face was reddish, her nose was red, and her eyes were a little puffy. There were glistening streaks trailing down her face and I realized that she had been crying.

“Ami,” I said, taking her silence to mean that I should go ahead, “why were you with Nick the other day? You always hated him.”

“Because—“ She choked for a second and then regained composure. Her voice was steady and strong when it came back. “Because I’m dating him, stupid.” She sneered again and laughed at my disbelief.

“But you hated him!” She leaned her weight to one side and crossed her arms over her (C-cup, as she likes to rub in) chest. Twirling a strand of honey-coloured hair in front of her face, she sighed and said, “Yeah? Well, now I’m dating him.” Then a look of (false as I soon found out) realization crossed her face. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” she said. “No,” I shook my head and told her. “Not at all.”

“Oh yeah. Sure,” she said sarcastically. And suddenly I was sick of her taking me for granted, always getting her way in our friendship. Always, always, always. I know I haven’t mentioned this in our little story here yet, but I started at the interesting part. See, if we were working on something, she would always get the parts she wanted, and if she didn’t, she would literally, incoherently whine at you until she did. It was really bitchy, but she was a friend of mine.

Also, she would always rub everything in, or try to top me and Megan in everything, even the bad. For example:

“My mom was in the hospital with a bad case of pneumonia.”

“Oh yeah, well when I was little, I got pneumonia and the doctors said I probably wasn’t going to make it.”

Why would you brag about that? Why would she always try and top us? It didn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t. “Oh, I’m a C-cup.” I’m a 38-A. Not so big for my age, and she doesn’t have to rub it in. Megan, Elizabeth (another, other friend of ours) started the “A club” because she would always rub in her C-ness. Ami would just have to be in the “C Club” with AHS. Amelia Hobo Slut. Because that’s what Amelia was.

Also, if a guy looked at her, Ami would think, oh he likes me. She would always say, you know, I don’t know why guys like me, very often. It was SO annoying you probably have no idea. Or maybe you do. I pity you if you do.

But anyway….

“He’s stupid, ugly, disgusting, and looks very, very unclean.”

“Ugh. You are just jealous.” She continued up onto the roof, but not before tossing her hair at me. What a bitch. And okay, I was stupid here, but you try resisting this.

“Ami, you are a nasty, self-centered, self-absorbed, bitch. I hope you burn in freaking hell, bitch.” I don’t know what made me say that. I don’t know what made me say that. I don’t know what made me say that.

Well, whatever it was, it was incredibly stupid, and this was proven from the rock flying at me head. I managed to move (ahem, trip) backwards, which just got me hit in the stomach. Better? Uh, no. Well, maybe, but it sure did hurt. My stomach felt like someone had…. I don’t know, stabbed it, thrown a rock at it—oh wait. THEY DID. “Bitch….” I hissed as I stood up, clutching my beautifully (yeah right) bleeding stomach. “Bitch!” You know, I don’t usually call people bitches. Not unless I think they deserve it and deserve to burn in hell. I think Ami does at this point. Then, what took me so long to realize this? Hm. “Right back at you.” She smirked and disappeared, leaving my blood heating up more and more by the second and screaming to kill her.

But that wouldn’t work.

I couldn’t just kill her…. I had to torture her….

Okay, not really, but you know, we all have impulses. Too bad we don’t all have reflexes. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and dragged myself off.

It turns out, that the rock didn’t actually penetrate too badly, just enough to bleed like hell, but I remembered that I was wearing my sweater around my waist, so I put it on, zipped it up. That way, no one would see the blood, or where it was coming from. Although I’m sure they would be left wondering about the dirt all over my jeans.

When I got back, there was a cop car parked behind my mom’s car. There

Cheyenne, Lara, and Melinda looked worriedly at the car, and my mom was leaning against the side of her red van, arms across her chest, talking to an old, but nice looking cop. Another cop stood nearby, a young one, scowling at the scene before him. I ran over to my friends and, before I could ask what was going on, the young cop came up to me, and, in a bored, yet agitated voice asked, “Are you Maura Emery?’ he asked. I nodded through the red haze that was my hair in my face while trying to brush it away. Seeing as the wind wouldn’t let me, I just left my world in red and waited for the cop to ask more questions. More questions…. Panic surged in one great wave through me and I could feel my ears heating up like they do whenever I’m being questioned, by a teacher, or the principal, etc. Good thing my hair covered my face or else I would probably look very suspicious turning the colour of a strawberry.

“Is it true that you were the person on the clock tower in town on Saturday?” Well he certainly got to the point. I thought cops usually beat around the bush, so to speak, until the whittled what they wanted out of your terrified little mind. “Yes,” I said, my voice coming out in the barest of tones rather than the strong, solid one I wanted. “Who was up there with you, and do you know why?’ I tried not to swallow and seem nervous, even though I was. I couldn’t let him know that.

I opened my mouth in response, but nothing came out save for a whine that hopefully was drowned out by the wind that suddenly sounded a million times louder, like it was echoing between my ears. “Come on Olive, give the kid a break.” The old cop speaks. I like him. Not Olive. I wonder if that’s his real name….

“Do not call me Olive! It’s Oliver,” the younger cop said through gritted teeth, his eyes closed in what seemed like concentration on having abstinence. “Whatever you say kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” He spoke in a strained voice. This older cop is good. Annoying Olive. For that, I commend him. “You are compared to me,” he—Jake—(I read his badge thing) said. Jake laughed a deep laugh as Olive’s face grew more and more overwrought. Jake walked over to me. “Miss Emery, do you know who was up there, and what they were trying to do?” He spoke from underneath black eyebrows that looked like bushy clumps of soot. He had hair that looked like the snow in New York City. Charcoal with some streaks of white. I shook my head no.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare to do something that I really, really, really shouldn’t have. I know, I know it’s wrong, but I need to sort this through on my own, and I can’t get Ami in trouble. Not with the police anyway.

“It was a middle aged man. I think. He had, um, brown hair I think, pretty short, he was attacking me with a walking stick.”

“And is it true that you had a metal pipe with you?” Jake asked nicely, warmly. “Yes.” My voice, again, came out as a sad, pathetic whisper. “And why is that? Will you tell us?”

“Um, well, you see, my friends and I,” I gestured to Cheyenne, Melinda, and Lara, “We’re building a small hut out in the woods behind the school, and, we left all the supplies at my house,” I said, remembering how much wood and nails we had in the shed. “And I found the pipe, so I went to town and I decided I’d show it to them to see if we could use it.” I tried to look defiant, but I’m sure I just looked scared.