GENRE: YA Fantasy Thriller
I sat in first period Bio II, my guitar pick scratching out a tuneless riff against my pants leg. After the years of hiding, of keeping my head down, I was still going to die. They'd find me now, and soon…
I gripped the pick, digging it into my palm until my fingers turned the color of my chipping purple nail polish. I shoved the pick into my pocket. James Loeper could be stopped. I had a plan. I stood up, slipping a test tube and a couple petri dishes into my hoodie pocket as I did.
Getting out of class was the easy part. Mr. Mueller, like most guys, was scared to death of "girl stuff," so I just grabbed a not-quite-concealed tampon, went up to him, and said, "Umm... Mr. Mueller, can I go to the bathroom?"
Poor Mr. Mueller. Ears going pink, he mumbled to somewhere above my head, "Sure, Taylor. Fine. Take your time." I stuffed the tampon into my hoodie, trying to keep the glass silent, and walked out.
I should have been relieved, but the knot in my stomach just tied more kinks. Still, I walked down the grey and white hall as confidently as I could. The key to not getting caught was acting like you knew what you were doing. And though I had no freaking clue what I was doing, I couldn't get caught. My life depended on it.