I've read a lot of murder mysteries. In a few weeks, I have devoured two shelves in the living room. My mind has been filled with callous revenge plots, poisoning for money, family feuds.

None of those stories live up to History Class.

We're studying the Europeans. The French Revolution to be exact. Noah has been talking at me for an hour straight, matching the teacher in his knowledge. Death was so normal back then, with murder so easily committed. I suppose it's pretty much the same today, only with a lot more paperwork. All of those people killed with a silencing slice. One final chop to end it all. As I turn a page in my exercise book, I wonder if the pain they felt was brief. I wonder if it was a slow, burning agony that cascaded through their bones until darkness fell.

That is the pain those memories brought, the burning I've been feeling since I opened my eyes.

Wherever Doctor Steele's body is now, it's too good a place for him. I hope he rots in Hell.

My fingers grip the pen so hard the ink nearly explodes. Noah frowns.

"You okay there?" No, I'm really not. Tapping my heels on the back of the chair, I give him a hasty smile.

"Yeah". I'm fine, I'm absolutely fine. What do you mean I'm lying? I don't lie, honest.

The bell peels through the walls, dousing the class in a good shot of reality. Noah still hasn't had that 'talk' with me and I'm beginning to think he's forgotten.

"I'm in the P.E rotation today too, so hopefully our classes will join up," he drones on as I pack away the textbooks. Pretending to still be in the room, fully invested in the conversation, is harder than it looks. Noah is always staring, always checking if I'm okay. My eyes are already half-asleep from trying to keep up.

We meet Emma by the entrance to the changing rooms, where two blue halls split into boys and girls. It seems so surreal, so mediocre. Maybe that's because I've been through more than your average Grade 10 teenager. Or maybe it's because there's nothing here for me, not really. It's just a placeholder until I fall apart.

Emma gives me a smile, asks if I'm okay.

There's nothing here for me. Except her. Except him. Except my Stats teacher, with the easy-going manner and the kind, reassuring words she offers when I think I can't go on.

Emma hounds me through the door, rucksack bouncing from shoulder to shoulder in a rhythm that's almost hypnotic.

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem pretty out of it," she says as we search the masses of P.E kits for a space. I look up. Tear my eyes from the discarded jackets hung like bodies on the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine".

"Oh no, don't pull the whole Lone Wolf act with me. I know something's wrong".

"Seriously, I'm fine".

"Alright," she relents. "But if you ever want to talk, I'm here for you". We change to the beat of Emma's incessant commentary, as she relays her first lesson. Her positivity is blinding. In a few minutes, my heart has already ballooned to twice its size.

Emma urges me to the Sports Hall, where another class – including Noah – has gathered around Miss Kirby. Next to me, Emma fights a groan.

"Dodgeball," she says. Oh. Great. Checking Alyssa's presence, I find her clustered in the corner of our mind. Why isn't she saying anything? This is what she wanted. I did this for her.

While Miss Kirby divides us into teams, I zone out. Emma casts a glance my way and grins, alighting some part of me that still knows how to be happy. Noah is on the opposing team, his gym kit like a neon billboard against the grey pallor of the walls. He gives me a small wave. Ducking my head, I wave back.

I gravitate to the edge of the hall, taking my place behind a few other girls. Emma is immediately bouncing to the front, calling out encouragement to the team. At first glance, they don't seem to bother, but I know better. They need her – need someone – to tell them that they're doing great, that they're succeeding. Leaning further into the wall, I only wish I could do the same.

Where is Alyssa? Why isn't she here? I don't want to admit it, but I need her.

A girl from the other side launches a pink ball straight at my face, so I lean into it. I don't even try. It smacks my cheek, jarring my jawbone. The world rights itself as Miss Kirby blows her whistle to send me to the bench. A moment later, Emma joins me. I turn away, hoping she didn't let our opponent's hit her on purpose. Just to sit here with me.

"I take it Dodgeball isn't your favourite sport," she says after a while. I can't help but laugh. She puts her hand on my arm, suddenly much older. Her manner shifts, making her eyes more solemn. As if she is an adult trapped in a teenager's body.

"It gets easier". I recoil. Somehow, I don't think she's just referring to the game. Does she know? No, she can't, she doesn't. She must think I have some sort of illness though, I can see it from the pity in her eyes.

Seconds pass and she returns to her old self – bouncy - and her words colour my mind like sherbet. As I lean forward, I want to ask about her family, if they're the reason she's so happy.

Before I can even open my mouth, Miss Kirby blows the whistle, marking the end of the first game. We line up again on the far wall, ready for the second match. Emma smiles and positions herself next to me, a comforting presence that shrouds my fear. Noah offers me a wan smile from across the hall, one I struggle to return. Where is Alyssa when you need her? The whistle shrieks across the room – it's so loud I'm tempted to snatch it from around her neck. Emma encourages me to dodge, to duck and roll, but my attempts are clumsy, uncoordinated.

"Nice try Callett!" Miss Kirby calls, even though her tone suggests the exact opposite. Emma tells me to ignore her. A heavy-set girl growls at our team, throwing a ball at Emma. I dart to catch it, but my grip is butter. The dodgeball slides out of reach, but Emma ducks and it misses her by centimetres. Most of our team are out now, sitting on the bench like hangers in a wardrobe. I should just shut up and join them.

"You're not even trying," a blonde boy snarls. Emma moves to defend me – I'm not sure why – but I shake my head. He's right. I'm not even trying at all.

'But I will,' says Alyssa and the game resumes. Our game. She tells me where to move – the optimum place to stand. From beside me, Emma frowns as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing. Alyssa directs me further, right into the path of dodgeball. I close our eyes. Ready. Blondie starts shouting, while Miss Kirby does her very worst to scold him.

Even though we can't see, I know the exact second the dodgeball leaves the hand of my opponent. I step away, give up control.

As Alyssa enters the playing field, I don't bother to stop the smile that's coming.

Things are about to get crazy in here.