LIFE WITHIN THE HALL

Victoria

Tuesday, February 10th, 8:00 a.m.

As I sat next to my mom in her helicopter, which had just touched down on the sports field, I gazed out the window at the compound of my school. I couldn't shake the weight of expectations resting on my shoulders.

Being the school founder's granddaughter, class president, and a politician's daughter came with its own set of pressures, but there was another burden I carried—one that wasn't written in the history books.

Among the students, I saw few faces that resembled mine. I was that brown-skinned girl, the one with a white mother and a black father. The one who inadvertently became a symbol of hope for many students.

I wasn't my parents' only child, but since I was the oldest of two, I took on all the responsibilities. And now, with the school's 30th anniversary just a month away, I was too busy planning to even check my phone or watch television. I had no idea what was happening in the outside world.

Following the helicopter's departure, I walked into the entrance, weaving past Principal Wilson and the detective handling Hannah's case. They were obviously discussing the tragedy that had occurred the previous day.

My attention shifted from them to a small group of students reading the school newspapers. Their reactions to whatever was in the papers made me curious about the headlines. What was making the news?

The School Magazine Society had started again with their unnecessary big headlines. I had hoped they would have left it in our previous semester, but they didn't seem to disappoint me. After all, Ella Anderson was still their Editor-in-Chief, so nothing better to expect.

I quickly rushed to the newspaper stand, just inches away, to read the headlines. The first headline, "Fly High, Hannah Bentley: Beloved Head Cheerleader Remembered," didn't surprise me, since I was already aware of it. But the second one left me stunned:

"Daniel Blay: Missing for hours."

Missing? I had seen him yesterday, so where did this news of him being missing come from?

I took out my phone to check the news about my classmate's disappearance. I never liked reading the school papers—they seemed biased and focused on trivial things—so I opened the X app instead. On the trending list, there wasn't a single hashtag or mention of Daniel's name. I then searched for his name, thinking he had been missing for hours, so the news probably hadn't made it to the trending list yet, but still, nothing showed up.

The social world had no idea Daniel Blay was missing. I guessed it was because he had been missing for only a few hours, and the school hadn't issued a press statement yet, hoping he would return.

Daniel's family was outside the country, making him a resident student. So, where could he have gone? How could he go missing with all the school's security measures in place? And incredibly, on the very day his girlfriend died.

As I pondered, a burst of whispers erupted behind me. I turned to face three girls. Their faces flushed with guilt, and they hastily turned off their phones. It was clear they'd been talking about me. I beckoned them over, and they came closer, one of them holding out her phone for me to see.

On the screen, a video of me giving a speech at the previous day's ceremony played, but with a ridiculous twist: my head had been replaced with a chicken's.

My face burned with humiliation, and my eyes constricted into slits as I glared at the phone. I managed to temper my anger, and then gestured for the girls to leave.

Who edited and posted that video? Who would want to make a mockery of me?

A suspicion simmered in the back of my mind. There was only one person capable of pulling off such a stunt: someone who had a score to settle. He was the only one brave enough to do that, and his massive following on Instagram made him a formidable foe. It could only be him. Jayden Scott.

I headed straight to the backyard, where the tribute for the late Hannah was underway. There, I saw him with his latest iPhone, which he had claimed was a gift from one of his many fans, streaming the event live on his Instagram page, as usual.

Jayden was the type of person who didn't let the occasion dictate his actions; he would stream live from anywhere, at any time, whether he was happy, sad, or indifferent. It was all about the views and the validation for him.

Grabbing him by the arm, I pulled him aside and quickly ended the livestream.

"What game are you playing with me?" I asked, my emotions raw.

"Game? What are you talking about?" He feigned ignorance.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Please, take it down from your account." I pleaded, my hands shaking as I forced them together. This was my first time begging.

"You're desperate, I can see, but honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. You're acting like I posted something about you."

"Of course you did!"

"I didn't," he insisted, handing me his phone.

I scrolled through his posts, but there was no trace of the humiliating video of me.

"If it wasn't Jayden, then who..." I started to say on my lips.

"Are you talking about your chicken head video?" Jayden asked with a bit of amusement in his voice.

I didn't take it personally that he found the video funny and asked directly, "Yes, who posted it?"

"AnonymousX," he replied, already walking away.

AnonymousX? Why hadn't that name come to mind first? Spewing hate and spilling secrets was what that infamous account was known for.

I remember their first update, which took us all by storm. It was an exposé on Chloe Wilson, revealing she wasn't Principal Wilson's biological daughter but was adopted. They even added documents to prove it, which led to everyone mocking Chloe and calling her an orphan.

This made the authorities post notices on the walls to find AnonymousX's identity, but it yielded no good results. From that day forward, everyone became cautious about their actions, knowing AnonymousX could be anyone among us and might make them the subject of their next exposé.

I pushed my unease away and joined the somber gathering, where they were holding a minute of silence for Hannah. After all, they wouldn't talk about my video forever. Someone else would undoubtedly become the next topic of discussion.

Hannah Bentley's death had most girls wearing small badges with her initials, "HB," on their blazers. I wanted to wear one to show my respect and solidarity, but my Class President tag was already in position.

"May her soul rest in peace!" Principal Wilson expressed his condolences after the silence, dropping a rose beneath the picture frame of Hannah positioned by a tree.

Those present with flowers and gifts followed suit, dropping theirs too.

Hannah's death had shocked the entire town. Since I hadn't had time to listen to the police update on their findings on the news, I read their press statement, which my mom had a copy of. The statement revealed that the CCTV cameras in the assembly hall had caught Hannah falling from the gallery. They claimed she had accidentally fallen, and it wasn't murder, as some news reporters had thought. On that matter, the detective declared the case closed.

The mourning went on, with tears streaming down many faces as red roses were laid. Then, suddenly, a distant voice pierced the air: "Come check this out!" In an instant, the crowd surged toward the voice, leaving me standing alone. I didn't want to be part of whatever drama was unfolding.

I looked at Hannah's smiling face in the picture frame. She had done so much for the school as head cheerleader and didn't deserve such a hasty tribute. Moments ago, they were all saying words like "We can't live without you" to her; yet, the same people dispersed at the sound of someone's call.

It all seemed surreal, like a movie scene. But it was real.

With birds chirping around me in the trees as I stood there alone, I could hear noise coming from the direction everyone had rushed to. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on. I had to check, even though I didn't want to be part of it.

On closer inspection, I saw a crowd gathered around the compound. Without hesitation, I bolted toward the scene, pushing through them.

Before me was Daniel Blay, sitting on a bench, his head slightly bowed. The crowd kept asking him questions about where he had been, but he didn't utter a word. Some also offered their condolences for the loss of his girlfriend, with he accepted with nods.

When Daniel raised his head, I took in the little details: his blue eyes somehow didn't look charming like before, and faint freckles dotted his cheeks. I wasn't sure if Daniel had had those freckles when I last saw him yesterday or if I just hadn't noticed them.

Principal Wilson instructed Daniel to see him in his office and dismissed us to our classrooms. At that point, Hannah's tribute came to an abrupt end, without a final prayer.

Turning around to head to class, I faced Sandra, the new scholarship girl. Her large hazel eyes and button nose made her seem innocent, but I knew better. She was trouble with a capital T.

"Victoria!" She waved at me, approaching.

"Hi, Sandra." I faked a smile. "I have some work to do," I said, and with that, I spun on my heels and went back inside, eager to get out of her sight.

I needed to distance myself from her because she seemed to enjoy asking questions like a journalist on the hunt. If her inquiries were about academics or the school, I would be more than happy to answer; but questions about my personal life were off-limits.