A New Kind of Notebook
Cameron Kingston didn't want to stick out. Didn't want to be noticed, and especially didn't want anyone to sneak peek of the notebook that held his entire life together. But when his brothers fame reached its peak, Cameron realized what he really wanted in his life.
And it wasn't to blend in.
A Death, Not a Death.
I watched my feet as I speed walked down the hall. The tiles were uneven and I continuously stumbled over my own feet, almost losing my balance. The hallways were adjacent, not a single soul scuffling down the hall.
But that notebook was everything to me. It was my entire life, the one thing that I knew held my insanity close. I was almost to the office. And then I would be able to make it to second period, late, but of course late for class is much better than losing that notebook.
My jeans brushed over the tops of my converse, and I watched as one of the ankles caught in the tongue of the shoe. It had thrown off the pattern of the jeans, and seemed to change the rhythm of my walking. This, this losing my notebook, did the same with my day. It had caught, and now everything was thrown off.
I stumbled into the office, approaching the desk near to Mr. Kitskey's room. There was an elder lady with graying blonde hair and dark blue eyes sitting in the plushy chair, a pair of spectacles resting on her nose as she struggled to read a student note. I stood, waiting impatiently for her to finish.
She finally lifted her gaze, catching my eyes for only a moment before sighing. She set down the note.
â€œCan I help you, Mr. Kingston?â€
I nodded, quickly, wishing to get to the point. â€œMy notebook.â€ I said. â€œI left it on the bus.â€
â€œCome back at the end of the day,â€ She said dismissively, â€œAnd weâ€™ll have found it.â€
â€œYou mean you havenâ€™t yet?â€
â€œMaybe we have, Mr. Kingston, but as of now, itâ€™s the middle of second period and youâ€™re not in class.â€
I rested my thumbs inside of my jean pockets to keep from fiddling. â€œSorry, but that notebook means a lot to me.â€
â€œWell, I donâ€™t believe weâ€™ve found it yet.â€ She pulled off the glasses and used her fingers to wipe her nose, stretching her eyes and blinking. â€œCome back later.â€
â€œCan I get a pass?â€ I asked, although I knew it was a stretch. And sure enough, the woman shook her head.
â€œYou came here.â€ She said, her voice taking on an irritated tinge. â€œI didnâ€™t bring you here.â€
I nodded. â€œSorry for bothering you.â€
She didnâ€™t reply.
I turned and pushed open the door to the office, my fingers shaking. There was panic filling every pore in my brain and my eyes couldnâ€™t focus quite right. The tips of my vision were blurred with darkness.
I stumbled down the hallway, my hands clutching at the loose grey backpack that Iâ€™d been carrying on my back. I had to get to second period.
I was almost there, nearly four doors down from my afternoon math class, when I heard someone speak from behind me. I couldnâ€™t hear the words, they were blurred in the ringing of the halfway-bell that rang in the middle of a period. At first, I thought it may have been a teacher asking me why I wasnâ€™t in class. But that didnâ€™t seem quite right.
And then, a hand clamped onto my shoulder and I groaned. The grip was far too familiar, far too unsettling to be a teacher. And my suspicions were only confirmed when I looked up into the ugly face of Mitchel Jars.
Mitchel was the school bully, I suppose you could say. He was big and hefty, with rippling muscles and a huge chest. His face looked somewhat like a mutilated gorilla, but he somehow was popular with the girls around my grade. He was captain of the wrestling team, the football team, and just about every other sport at school but the girls sports. Mitchel was nearly two feet taller than me and at least three times heavier, and it wasnâ€™t abnormal for him to come at me. Although I couldnâ€™t help but wonder why he wasnâ€™t in class.
â€œCamden,â€ He said, the stench from his teeth filling my nostrils and making me want to puke, â€œWhere you headed?â€
And then, three more boys appeared around me. If I hadnâ€™t known better, Iâ€™d have said they appeared straight from the shadows, simply forming from nothingness around me. But then, it didnâ€™t matter. I was surrounded.
â€œCameron.â€ I corrected him, as I did every time he tried to harass me, â€œAnd Iâ€™m going to class, like you should be, too.â€
The gorilla scowled, shoving a hand the size of my head against my shoulder. I stumbled, but hit a wall and managed to steady myself. I had learned from experience to stay calm during times like this, although it didnâ€™t do much. Often, I was harassed either way.
â€œWhereâ€™s the diary, then?â€ Mitchel asked.
This only sent another wave of panic down my spine, because I knew he would think I was lying if I were to tell the truth. And if I were to lie, he would know it was a lie. This meant that I had no good way out of this situation, not this time.
â€œI donâ€™t have it.â€ I said. â€œLeft it on the bus this morning.â€
He laughed, and threw his head back. His hair was long and black and hung right in his face over his eyes, which glinted dark brown in the dimly lit hallway. His buddies, whom seemed to just be mini versions of himself, did the same.
I yanked the dark backpack from my shoulders and threw it on the floor in front of me, the clang from my extra lock hitting the ground ringing on the thick walls. The gorilla and his buddies all froze.
â€œGo ahead.â€ I said, brushing my hair back from my face. â€œBe my guest. Youâ€™re not going to find anything.â€
As large and as hairy as Mitchel was, I had to give him the speed factor as well. Because it wasnâ€™t two seconds after Iâ€™d choked out the last word that he threw me against the wall and latched a hand, tight, around my neck.
I grasped at his hand, but I knew it was no use. My head had hit the back of the wall and Iâ€™d seen stars in my vision, black dots dancing around the edges.
â€œYou donâ€™t lie to me, Kingston.â€ The gorilla demanded, his voice raspy in irritation. His buddies swarmed again as I tried to gasp for breaths.
It was as if the air had been sucked from my lungs and my tongue was becoming dry. I grasped again for his hand, struggling to dig my nails up under his fingers. But it was no use.
â€œIâ€™m not lying.â€ I gasped. â€œI swear.â€
His eyes held pure disbelief, and I knew he wouldnâ€™t let go. But meanwhile, I could practically feel my own heart slowing, the breath fading from my own throat. My vision was fading. I was blacking out.
I could feel his fingers begin to tighten again, and warbled pleas escaped my throat as I tried to refuse his threats. The light began to fade.
I closed my eyes tight, hoping for quick death. But there was only a thud and a warbled shout, and the fingers fell from my throat.
I gasped in the air, gulping as much of it as I could. My fingers fumbled for my mouth, where I could feel gentle warm breaths escaping my throat. I was alive. I was breathing. I slid to my knees against the wall, trying to breathe, to only breathe.
I struggled to open my eyes. The gorilla was on his butt on the ground, a vision I never thought Iâ€™d see. It was surprisingly satisfying to see him like that.
His minions had scattered. Only one figure stood amongst the wreckage of my backpack and Mitchel, and I found that suddenly my breaths were slowing.
The girl. The one on the bus, with the black hair and bright blue eyes. She stared at me, concern flecked onto her face, before kneeling in front of me.
â€œAre you okay?â€ She spoke slowly, but still it sounded as if her words were slurred and twisted. I gasped again.
I tried to nod, but my neck burned with nail marks. And it wasnâ€™t even three seconds after this that I felt my vision flash, and then everything went black.