Part 2 ⧫ Derisive

de·ri·sive
/dəˈrīsiv/
adjective
Expressing contempt or ridicule.

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Surprisingly, for the first month of school, I was able to avoid Baekhyun and his friends pretty well. In fact, it might've even worked for the whole year if I hadn't almost accidentally killed him on Friday.

After the encounter that had resulted in my running off, he never really spoke to me again -- not that I minded, really. It just made everything easier. Chanyeol didn’t exactly acknowledge my existence either; the only times he talked to me were the rare occasions in which he was asking for homework or had dropped his pencil. The twinge of anger was still there every time I saw Baekhyun, but there was something else mixed with it, another emotion I couldn’t identify. It felt somewhat like jealousy, but I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to be jealous about, especially when it was Byun Baekhyun.

It was nearing October by now, and the leaves were beginning to turn color. The sidewalks were littered with gold and red and orange leaves that fanned out like a brilliant carpet. The wind had shifted from a warm breeze to a chilly gust that made pedestrians shiver and hug their jackets closer as they hurried to reach warmer places. The sky was also starting to darken earlier- a fact that led me to never leave my house after eight thirty.

My second freak encounter with Baekhyun and his friends took place after school- and I may or may not have tried to bash his brains out with my textbook. 

I normally never stayed at school for longer than thirty minutes after classes had ended. I prefered to go home as early as could, finish homework, maybe help with a couple of chores,  then go to bed. I rarely went to bed after ten thirty.

Unfortunately for me today, I had left my homework in my locker, and completely forgotten about it when rushing home. Fridays obviously left normal people’s brains in a jumble -- at least, that was what it did to me. And besides, the assignment was due on Monday.

The school was pretty much dark by now, and all the lights except the one from the main hallway were out. A couple teachers, probably ones with meetings, were still there, along with the handful of students who had stayed for detention. The watch on my phone told me it was nearing six thirty; the time I normally ate dinner. I walked more quickly, scanning for my locker in the darkened hallway. My footfalls sounded ridiculously loud in the silence, and I almost squeaked with relief when I spotted the familiar number at last: 447.

Cramming the last few pieces of notes into my backpack, I shut my locker turned to head out, wanting to get home as soon as I could. Not only was it dark, but it was also freezing. I was in no mood to wait for hours in the cold for a bus, and missing supper altogether wasn’t a comforting thought to my extremely demanding stomach.

Voices coming down the hallway stopped me in my steps, along with the rather loud pitter-patter of footsteps. On instinct, I stepped back to hide behind the wall of lockers -- an action that seemed ridiculous even for me, as there was really nothing to hide from -- until I heard a couple sentences floating down the hall towards me. Immediately, I froze in place.

“Did you kill it?” a vaguely familiar voice asked. I felt as if I had heard it somewhere before, and I frowned, trying to place the tone.

For a moment I was back to age five, a super-spy, bravely, fearlessly, hiding behind a wall and listening in on the enemy's conversation. But the moment was gone when the echo of voices registered, and I jerked back, reconnecting to reality. Empty hallways were always terrifying, especially with the echoes and all- and that scarily gentle reverbration of kill it, kill it, kill it… didn't help my sudden fear. I clutched my backpack against my chest and squeezed it as tight as I could. Kill it? Kill what?

I was a super spy no longer- now, I was just a scared teenaged girl trying to figure out what the hell was happening. My brain immediately leapt into panic mode, clouding out all rationality. Oh my god, is there a murderer in our school? Did they kill the teachers? What do I do? The exit is over there and they’re in the hallway and I need to get through. What if they come to kill me? What if they -- oh my god. I’m sorry for whatever mistakes I made in my past life. Spare me, God. I’m sorry. I don’t want to die.

Another male voice answered. “I’m not sure. I saw it run off. Better watch out.” The following laugh was slightly sadistic, and I shuddered.

They were coming closer- I was sure of it. It was an empty hallway, with no place to hide. There was a dead end at the other side of the hall, with a window too high for me to climb out of. Unless I was going to pry a locker open and somehow fit myself into it, then I was screwed. Compressing myself against the wall, which was what I was currently doing, was only going to do so much, and my breathing itself was already making me feel paranoid.

There were probably many more logical explanations to what was happening and why, because there wasn’t really a reason for a murderer to come to a high school (especially when it was six at night and the students were all practically gone), but even then, there was always a what if. What if a murderer was to come? Better play safe than be sorry.

The footsteps were still coming closer. The voice that I had heard first (the one I kind of recognized) spoke again. “I hope you killed it. That was horrifying.” The walls resonated back again: horrifying, horrifying, horrifying… and by some degree, it was worse than the previous ‘kill it’s’.

By now, my mind was practically screaming, Kill what?! at me repeatedly. I highly doubted that knowing who or what had been killed would be any consolation to my trembling heart, which was threatening to burst out of my ribcage -- I wasn’t even sure I would feel properly safe until I had hidden under blankets in my room behind a set of locked doors. Unfortunately, the school didn’t provide me the luxury of a locked door or even a hiding place.

So, as quietly as I could, I ped my backpack and drew out the first thing I could get my hands on -- a textbook. The rustle of papers made me flinch, and I could only pray that the two people, whoever they were, didn’t hear it.

The book I had grabbed was a chemistry textbook, and those things were extremely thick. I had previously mourned the idea of having to learn all the material in the book, but now, the fact that it was so long and thick was a relief. With over 500 pages in all and a hardcover, it served as a pretty good weapon- for bashing people over the head and hopefully knocking them unconscious, that was.

Attempting to zip my backpack up, however, soon doused my triumph of finding a sort-of weapon. The crinkling of papers was unmistakable, and in an empty hallway like this, every small sound was magnified seemingly by the hundreds. I cringed inwardly.The footsteps stopped.

I sighed. If I die, at least I won’t have to do this stupid homework.

“Did you hear something?” This was voice number one. I still felt as if I somehow knew the speaker-just not well enough to be able to identify his voice.

“I’m not sure. Do you think there’s anyone here? We need to get out without getting caught.”

Without getting caught? What -- who -- di