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Shirley sat at her desk. Her posture was stiff, eyes blazing with certainty.

Reflected within her glassy eyes was a shiny Apache revolver, its ownership tagged to her father. It was bought with the aim of household defence but later used as a means of self-inflicted offence.

She liked it ever since she was little. It reminded her of the guns owned by cowboys on TV.

Her fingers rose and grazed her lips as twirling around her mind was the fantasy of blowing her brains out before the bathroom mirror. She wanted to relish in the act; hear the instant tearing of her flesh and cracking of her skull. She wanted to watch herself do it, dancing between the limbo of life and death as her fingers would grasp and let go of the trigger.

She could not wait to let that scene play out, that golden scene that had run dominant in her head since she met Victoria Kensington. Shirley granted her fingernails permission to scrape at her lips as she thought of her. It was inconceivable how much she despised her, for good reason too. She was an unfeeling bitch.

Victoria was short and fat and looked like the plastic in her face would squeak when she would talk. Shirley could not understand how everyone found her attractive. She thought all those skimpy clothes just gave way to a fat pile of disgust, but everyone loved it, everyone loved her. And she was terrible. She was a monster, terrorizing Shirley the moment she saw her. How could anyone find that remotely attractive?

Shirley moved to England from France. Poor and already embarrassed by her foul English skills, she entered Camelot Academy about two months prior-her parents barely managed to pay for private schooling-Victoria had one look at Shirley and knew she was going to make school hell for her.

She would do to Shirley all kinds of things: cut her hair, let girls beat her up, and lure her to areas where boys would do as they please with her. Victoria would also spread nasty rumours about the girl, turning everyone against her.

She would humiliate her and tease her and pull elaborate 'pranks' on her. She even poisoned her one time, leaving her sick for weeks. Those were only a few things she did to Shirley.

She would do those horrible things and get away with them, every time, because of her dad. He was a nefarious lawyer who could have spoken his way out of anything. He knew of Victoria's antics; he knew his daughter was wrong, but he still defended her with claims that had even Shirley second-guessing herself.

Victoria was a Russian immigrant and a fake blonde and a whore. And also, she was the reason for the death of fifteen-year-old Shirley Clement.

Shirley had it all planned out. She was going to give life one more chance, give Victoria one last chance to apologize. Her refusal would mean Shirley's death.

Thus, Shirley went to school, ignoring the hushed tones and whispers amongst the clamour of the students when she passed. She knew exactly where Victoria would be, sitting at the top of the table in the courtyard while her little posse would chat below her on chairs.

And, of course, there she was-shirt lamely buttoned to reveal her cleavage and a skirt so short that if she bent over, the slightest bit would reveal her bum.

Shirley stopped.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard them man was talking 'bout her bum," yelled a girl with black hair. "They never shut up about it."

"Becos, Vicky got gyat!" a girl with caramel skin retorted. This caused the rest of them, Victoria included, to erupt into giggles.

Shirley's stomach churned and her vocal cords shifted uncomfortably. Her fingers tried to soothe the discomfort, but to no avail, as her body reacted violently to what she saw.

Victoria's smile slipped upon eye contact with Shirley. She grew quiet while the girls continued to chatter away. Shirley came closer.

Victoria waited until the girl was close enough to ask, "What do you want, Sticks?" Shirley cringed at her accent as the girls grew uneasy. Some sighed and others looked away.

The one with the caramel skin spoke up. "Tors, please. Just ignore her for once." She turned to Shirley. "Scram, you idiot! You know how Vicky gets. Why don't you ever learn?"

Shirley repeated the words she planned to say in her head. "Victoria, I would like to speak private with you," she said.

The girl with the caramel skin sighed in defeat, laying her head on the table.

"Can you even?" Victoria mocked.

"I would try. Please, I would bother you no more." Shirley spoke carefully, trying her best to not fumble.

Victoria thought for a while. "Sure." She merrily hopped off the bench, granting her boobs to bob beneath her shirt. Shirley tightened the space between her top and bottom teeth to the point they nearly shattered. Victoria forced it so much.

Before Victoria could walk off, the black-haired girl grabbed her wrist. This caused Victoria's head to snap in the girl's direction. "Don't overdo it. Give the damn girl a break."

The caramel-skinned girl joined in, "Yeah, sometimes you go overboard. To the point, it's not even funny anymore."

The black-haired girl continued, "Mhmm... it actually gets kinda scary."

Victoria ripped her hand from the black-haired girl's grasp and smacked her hot across the face. Everyone flinched at the sound, but Shirley alone knew all too well what it felt like.

At that moment, she could feel it herself. The sensation throbbed in the shape of a handprint across the cheek. Nerves likely obliterated as tears would prickle at the eyes.

Victoria huffed. "Don't you ever touch me like that again." Her eyes hovered above them all. "I would rather shave my head clean than listen to what any of you wannabes have to say."

After that, she glanced at Shirley before walking away. The tall girl took that as a gesture to follow her and did exactly that.

Later, she found that she would rather have shot herself dead than follow Victoria Kensington behind the bleachers of Camelot Academy.

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