Stella's POV

Somehow, don't ask me how, I've managed to make it to today. Friday. The last day before the Christmas holidays. Harry was supposed to drop me off at school this morning but something came up at work so he didn't get a chance to. Therefore, I had to take the bus to school and the journey didn't go as well as I hoped it had.

Due to the time I had boarded the bus, there was only one empty seat, which was next to a lady in her early twenties. I know people say that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but I couldn't help feeling like she's one of those type of people that wouldn't hurt a fly. Furthermore, this made me feel less nervous when I sat down next to her. Yes, I have to admit, I feel super anxious when I sit down next to a total stranger on a bus or a train, which is why whenever I have the opportunity, if I'm travelling by myself, I sit by myself.

In the corner of my eye, I felt the lady stare at me and I tried to avoid the awkwardness by staring at my phone screen. Eventually, her attention returned to her phone and I mentally sighed out of relief. When the bus was arriving at my stop, I stood up and was about to walk down the aisle when the lady spoke to me for the first time:

"Are you Stella Johnson?"

My heart stopped beating and my breathing sped up; my palms became clammy despite it being past the middle of December.

This can't be happening.

"Do you mean the daughter of the couple that started a fire to kill that family?" a man, who is seated in front of us with his wife, stopped reading his newspaper to ridicule me. His wife, sat on his left, scrunched her nose up in disgust as if all of a sudden, there was a bad smell spreading through the bus.

That's a lie! Mum and Dad didn't start that fire! They didn't kill them!

If they think of me as a murderer, let them! I can't waste my life living it for others.

Keep your head up high!

It suddenly occurred to me that my head was so low that my eyeline was fixed onto the floor so I raised my head.

"I am Stella Johnson," I stated, looking at the lady I had sat next to straight in the eye before making eye contact with the man,"But I'm afraid you're mistaken. My parents never killed anyone so they're not murderers and neither am I."

While I made my way to the exit of the bus, I ensured that my pace is neither too fast or too slow.

"Have a good day!" I called out to all of the passengers as I alighted from the bus.

The doors had shut behind me and the bus driver started its engine. As the bus departed from the stop, I waved cheekily at all the faces that were scrutinising my every move. That taught them what happens when you mess with Stella Johnson.

I'm retelling the events of the bus journey to Noah as we enter the school gates. When I finish, I expect a reaction from him but his face remains emotionless, the state it has been throughout my whole story. What is going on with him today?

"Noah!" I try to snap him back to reality. He looks startled and even if he that wasn't the reaction I was hoping for, it's better than nothing.

"Oh yeah, that's great, Stella!" he says it flatly and he doesn't even bother to give me the smile that gives me butterflies in my stomach.

Are you sure about that? You don't sound like you mean it! I thought you would be proud just like I am that I didn't let those people get into my head!

Flashback

"Mummy, are you proud of me?" I question.

"Of course I am, Stella, and I always will," her smooth hand gently strokes my hair and she lowers her voice as if she's about to tell me a secret,"But sometimes in life even when you do your best, nobody will be proud of you. That's when it's important to be proud of yourself because what really matters is that you are further than you were yesterday."

Flashback Ends

She was always so wise and I always try to live my life by following the lessons she taught me but I still turn to glance at Noah who is now biting is lip as if he's deep in concentration.

"You've listened to all of my troubles. It's my turn. What is it that's bothering you?" I question, my arms folded across my chest to emphasise how serious I am.

That is when I get a reaction I wasn't expecting: Noah's lips curl into a smile.

You wanted that a minute ago, didn't you?

No, I didn't!

Yes, you did!

Fine, maybe, I did but I'm not giving in that easily.

"Its not funny, Noah!" I remind him.

"You're right. You trying to be serious is hilarious!" he bursts into laughter the second he stops speaking.

"Haha!" I laugh dryly before adopting a serious tone," But I really am serious, Noah! I'm always here if you need to tell me anything."

"Alright."

————————————————————————————————————————————————

Last lesson of the day! Freedom has never tasted so close. Just has to get through this hour of English and I'm out of the school gates.

Easier said than done!

When I need English to go fast, that's when it goes slow. Why is it going slow? Because this is the lesson I've been dreading for: the presentations. Over three months ago, I was partnered with Storm for a project to learn more about each other; there were two problems with this situation. Firstly, I had to attempt to get along with my enemy for the sake of the project but it turns out it helped me form a friendship with her. Secondly, there was my past that I hid from everyone, including Storm(which is why our friendship was torn apart). I really believed that this project wouldn't bring my secrets to light as long as I was careful and didn't trust anybody.

I trusted Storm while her best friend and older sister worked against me. What a relief it is that these are one of the few lessons I don't share with Emma! This hour would have become more hell-like than it already is. Not only for me but also Storm. From what I've observed, she only talks to her when she has to and even then, I can feel the tension sparking through the air as if it's a warning.

Why are you caring about Storm after how she treated you?

Because I'm not selfish.

Are you sure that's not an excuse?

For what, exactly?

That deep down you are not angry at her, anymore. You want to be friends, again.

Well, she did help me talk to Noah.

But she only helped by giving him your address. That doesn't make the two of you even.

Well, she has given me space even without me asking for it.

Maybe it's because Storm has changed her mind. She no longer wants to be your friend.

Automatically, I turn around to glance at her from my new seat. In my first English lesson this week, I had asked Miss Cooke to move me away from Storm and Sophie and fortunately, she agreed and I had the choice of where I sit: I chose the empty table at the front.

"Wouldn't you like to be sat next to someone?" my English teacher had questioned, slightly surprised because every other student in my class would never even consider that empty table at the front of the classroom because not only do you not have anybody to talk to but also that means the teacher will always be watching you. However, if you haven't noticed by now, I'm not like every other student in my class.

"No thanks," I declined the offer.

Storm's exercise book has already been handed to her and she's just opened it to a new page when she notices me staring in her direction. This time, she doesn't show any friendliness like she did at the very moment she sauntered in on Monday morning.

Well, what were you expecting when you gave her a cold stare back?

If it wasn't for the many pairs of eyes in the room, I would have mouthed an apology to Storm.

It's a sign that you two were never meant to be friends.

The timing of this thought is impeccable because she gets drawn into an ongoing conversation. Although Sophie and the others are constantly trying to involve her, Storm barely participates in the chat that is going on.

"Settle down, everyone!" Miss Cooke raises her voice over the loud chatter," As you all know, today is the day you'll be presenting your projects and if we want to get through everyone in time, everyone needs to stop talking."

Keep on talking! I don't want to do my presentation! I hate speaking in front of the class!

Against my wishes, the classroom goes deathly silent.

"Who wants to go first?" Miss Cooke questions, waiting for a hand up and she does receive one but I'm feeling too sick to see who it is. When the person reaches the front of the classroom, my English teacher tells her to state who her partner was before beginning the presentation.

When the person finishes speaking, the class gives a round of applause and somebody else takes the spotlight. Then, so does someone else...and someone else...and someone else. Before I know it, we've gone through half the class' presentations, most of them filled with laughter as the speakers make jokes about their partners as well as informing us on some facts about them.

"Who wants to go next?" Miss Cooke asks, scanning the class for any volunteers but to her sheer disappointment she doesn't receive any. I decide to stare at the carpet of the classroom. Top tip: To avoid being picked on by the teacher, do not make eye contact...

"Stella, would you like to go next?" my English teacher is watching me with concern as she brings up her suggestion.

No!

My mouth opens and shuts again but no sound comes out.

"Anytime today would be nice!" Liam jeers and all the boys and some of the girls snigger. My face burns with embarrassment and the nausea I've been feeling for the whole afternoon becomes hundred times worse.

I thought you were done with being a pushover!

"Says the person who still hasn't managed to have the guts to get up there himself!" I remark, spinning around to witness his reaction. The veins in Liam's neck bulges as the rest of the class say 'oh!' and 'you have been roasted!'.

"She's got feisty!" one of the boys add.

Although she is trying to calm the class down, Miss Cooke's amused smirk is not completely hidden from view. Taking this opportunity while the class is distracted, I raise my hand as if it's on fire. My English teacher nods and I tell her I'm ready to do my presentation; she says go ahead. I collect my written work and go to the front of the classroom. As I look out onto the faces watching me, some of them are confused since they must have not heard the conversation between Miss Cooke and I while some, including Storm and Sophie, look interested. On the other hand, Liam appears to be losing his temper. Or he's probably already lost his temper. When he notices me watching him, he glares at me back.

The old Stella would have been intimidated and broken eye contact but the new Stella is braver. She knows anger is more harmful to the person storing it but to the person it's being taken out on. It's like an acid being stored in a vessel: it's more harm to the place it's being stored than to anything on which it is poured. I manage to outstare Liam and I have a mini celebration on the inside of my head but it's cut short when I realise he's raised his hand and is retaining an aura of trouble.

What is your problem? Why do you spend time looking for the faults in others? Why do you think you're so perfect that you spend no time to correct your own faults? These questions are almost spoken aloud but I'm intrigued to hear what he has to say so I keep my mouth shut.

"Yes, Liam," Miss Cooke seems exhausted of him just like I am.

"Are you going to just leave it like that?" he asks, not being specific on what he's complaining about.

"Pardon?" my English teacher, just like me, is unsure on what he's referring to.

"Stella has just insulted me and you've done nothing."

Excuse me! It's not my fault you were looking for trouble!

"Well, if you had said nothing to her in the first place, Stella wouldn't have needed to defend herself. End of story," Miss Cooke says with finality, giving me a smile full of warmth.

"But, Miss-"

"Save your breath for your presentation, Liam! You're going after Stella," Miss Cooke dismisses him.

Her non-acceptance of his complaints leaves him utterly deflated. Miss Cooke turns my way and signals for me to go ahead; I take a deep breath and I start telling the class the facts I had learnt about Storm. I can finally breathe when I reach the end of my presentation and I receive a round of applause as I take a seat.

Even if I've now got my presentation done and over with, there's still butterflies in my stomach. Although Miss Cooke privately spoke to me about how Storm has changed the subject of her presentation, I still can't help having a bad feeling.

Can Storm stop waiting and just do the presentation...

She's last. Yes, Storm is the last person in our class to present her project. When Miss Cooke calls her, she stands up, carrying a plastic bag, which probably contains her project. A bead of sweat forms on her forehead as she opens her mouth, ready to start speaking.