Suzie's eyes are a dark hole as she deadpans. "There's no more point in avoiding accountability, Lane, you know?" I wonder what she's talking about. I have never cheated on tests. I have never bullied other students. Well, I might've had one or two spats with teachers, and I've run late twice in the span of two weeks.

So, why does Suzie look scary with that glare of hers? Even laser isn't as dangerous and deadly as her look. I've never liked her, and this is just one of the many reasons. Every time she has to call someone else out, she has that smug smirk on her face that's a clear invitation for a punch.

The entire senior year is gathered around us in the school halls. Everyone is silent as Suzie glowers. "Now, they will all know how much of a piece of shit you are, Braverly Lane!" The others cheer. For Suzie, not for me. I'm completely defenseless.

I ask, "What do you mean, Suzie? Just because I told you to back off?"

She raises her voice further. "You tried to choke me, Lane! Don't try to deny evidence!" What is she talking about? I didn't choke her. I only clung at her hair in defense. She attempted to hurt me first. I can't allow that bitch to throw me under the bus.

I reply calmly, "Suzie, you threatened to pluck my eyes off my orbits. You punched me twice. You hurled insults at me all the time. Stop acting innocent. How the others still fall for your tricks is a mystery to me, honestly."

Suzie laughs and keeps denying her part of responsibility. I continue. "Don't forget you nearly broke my wrist, as well. Be thankful it doesn't hurt anymore."

"Lane, stop lying. You nearly choked me." The more she insists on that blatant lie, the angrier I get. She really thinks I'm stupid enough to give in to her absurd threats. She has always hoped I'd be content of being her little slave until the end of the school year. She's wrong.

The cheers for Suzie become more and more insistent. This is on the way to become a one-way WWE match, with me bound to a sore defeat. To make matters more humiliating than they already are, Suzie pulls my right ear and drags me in the middle of the mob. I'm bombed with all kind of insults and accusations.

There's no more exit way for me unless I play dead or stuff like that.

***

Suzie's so-called "exposé" has dramatic consequences for me. More hours of detention after school for me, but nothing for her, the instigator. Sometimes I wonder what justice truly means to those fuckers. I'm more and more convinced everyone hates me.

Principal Hall has also announced that an internal investigation will occur to determine each part's responsibility. I hope I can defend myself adequately and prove my innocence. Easier said than done, because the entire school is biased against me.

Meanwhile, hours seem like an eternity as I face detention. I spend that time doing my homework so that I don't have to face an uphill battle at home avoiding distractions by Delyla and Sadie.

I walk my way home in tears, only to realize Mom and Dad will ask me endless questions. So, I take a detour instead. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer. I have to recollect my thoughts and pray that the allegations against me can be debunked as quickly as possible.

***

Too bad the Lonely Party service is only available for birthdays. I'm in dire need of a confidant. Someone who can listen to me without turning their back on me when convenient or judging me. Finding anyone matching this description is much easier said than done, though.

I miss Celina, Liam and the rest. Even though they just "offered a service." They are the only ones who have listened to me so far in these years. Something neither my family nor my schoolmates have even tried doing.

All I can do, at this point, is hope for a miracle. A miracle that, however, can't happen unless I start truly believing in it. That said, instead of going to the river as usual, I decide to take another path. I walk without following directions. Just my instinct.

I enter the town's best pastry shop, Birdsong at Midnight. I know, the name might look sappy for how poetic it sounds; however, I find it has a nice ring to it. The shop's owner, Imelda Byrd, is someone the Evans know perfectly, and not for the right reason. They have beef. Big time.

This is why she's happy to see me. "Oh, Braverly, what brought you here? Don't tell me that little prick pissed you off once again." Although this didn't happen today, she's 100% right. All he brings to the table is negativity. When I'm around him, I barely keep myself from wanting to punch his gummy face.

"No, this time it wasn't him. It was Suzie Beckette." Imelda's face turns even darker. That yapping brat is another person she can barely stand without feeling the urge to scratch her eyes. Seriously, how shitty can those two pricks be to anger such a sweet woman like Imelda?

"How about you stop focusing on those two and shift to something sweeter? Like these macaroons over here." She points at the delicious treats on the counter. They come in different colors and flavors. I'd like to buy one of each, but I'm on tight pocket money.

Therefore, I only settle for two: white chocolate and lemon curd. Imelda, however, being the generous lady she is, slides other eight types of different macaroons on a tray, along with two chocolate éclairs and a couple of scones. When I ask her why, she simply remarks, "It's on the house."

"Thank you so much!" I find a secluded seat where to try some of the delicious treats and start tasting one scone. It's exactly like the last time I had one. Fragrant, sweet, with a slight savory note. Simply perfect.

I decide not to taste the rest straight away and have it placed in a tote bag. I have to hide it, though, otherwise my parents and siblings will snatch them and eat them all themselves. For once, I want to be the only one to enjoy these sweets.

I know the perfect place where to have them away from prying eyes. My beloved river, the place where I leave my struggles behind and can truly be at peace. It takes a little of a long way to go there from Birdsong, but it's worth it.

When I'm there, I sit on the grass and take slow bites of the last scone remaining. Then, I pick an éclair and taste it. Better than I thought. I stop eating for a moment and try to picture my family gathered in the kitchen, basking in these delicacies with me while sipping tea.

No matter how beautiful that image is, it's painful because it isn't realistic. Instead, it's a stark contrast with a reality where love isn't contemplated at all, but it's seen as a liability.

To compensate this pain that bothers me, I rely on the other éclair, as well as a few macaroons. Even though the sweet note on my palate is short lasting, its reminiscence will take a spot in my mind for a long time.