The Perfect Takedown

Malia Stephenson

The Perfect Takedown

“Ready for the test, girls?” asked Shelbie. She is a short blond haired girl. I flinched at the question. I wasn't the best at chemistry but at least I tried. Reanna and I are lab partners so she helps me study. ¨Why are you guys so worried I'm sure you’ll do great as always.” stated Shelbie “I was up all night studying. I’m a little tired and stressed, and this murky weather isn’t doing anything for me.” moaned Reanna. I stuffed notes and textbooks into my backpack and shut my locker door. “Clearly,” Shelbie chuckled. She told Reanna and I jokes as all three of us headed toward the lab. It was her way of cheering us up, and she knew it always worked.

She stopped at room 135 and opened the door. Her mouth dropped to the ground and she squealed. I ran to see what she was looking at. In the dark classroom, the little bit of light that seeped onto the floor through the blinds lit up a pair of Nike tennis shoes, bottoms facing Shelbie, Reanna and I, which were connected to a pair of limp legs. The rest of the room was blocked by a dark figure. A flash of lightning flooded the room with light for two seconds, revealing the figure to be the school janitor, Joe Bob. His eyes piercing me like I was next.

We all gasped loudly and jumped back. My heart pounded hard as I backed into the wall. Mrs. Bush noticed the commotion down the hallway, tapping two other teachers and motioning them to follow her.

“What’s going on?” she asked loudly, shooing students out of the way as she made her way toward us. I stared wide eyed at the lab door, and just pointed, stuttering, “Dead...he’s dead...I-I-I don't know.”

Mrs. Bush tore the door open without hesitating and flicked on the light switch. The other teachers filed in with her, blocking my view.

Mrs. Shipman appeared suddenly at the door, “Call an ambulance,” she ordered. It finally registered that she was speaking to me as she raised her eyebrows and shouted, “Now!”

I reached for my cell-phone and dialed 9-1-1 and immediately heard the operator, “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

“Um…” I didn't know what to say. All we knew was that there was a cold lifeless-looking body on the ground.

“What is your location?” she asked calmly.

“I need an ambulance,”I finally mustered. “Storybrooke High. There’s a student on the ground and...” On the ground I could finally see who it was, Ryan Johnson, a lineman from our football team. He was sprawled out with something coming from his mouth.

“Hello? Are you still there?” questioned the persistent voice.

“He doesn’t look so good,” I said as my eyes welled, my throat getting tight, my chest burning. He was so still.

My mother rushed to me as I walked through the front door, pulling me into a tight hug. “Oh, honey, are you alright?” she asked softly. “They called me from school after you had to call the ambulance,” she said, her face filled with sympathy.

“I’m fine,” I assured quickly. “Have you heard anything from Mrs.Bush?”

My mother wasn’t a crier. She was as tough as nails. But her face fell and her lower lip quivered. Ryan was gone, she didn’t have to tell me. I collapsed on the couch, my mind racing like a waterfall. Joe Bob, or Mr. Joe as the teachers told us to call him, kept running through my mind. His face, so menacing, glaring at me from that room. He had something to do with Ryan’s death. I just knew it.

My friends were silent as I placed my lunch pail down at my usual spot. The typically popular girls with loud voices barely managed to crack a smile as I started into my Lunchable.

“It was poison,” whispered my friend Shelbie to me across the table, trying to break the silence. Her eyes were big and sad, very out of place next to her ponytail, with her dance uniform which she was wearing because of the pep rally after school. She wasn’t your typical dancer. She was gorgeous, and pretty much the sweetest person in the entire school. An A+ student with a squeaky clean track record. “Malathion,” she said a little louder. “Sounds like suicide.”

“What—”

“It kills bugs,” my friend Reanna interrupted before I could ask. Reanna was shy but had a hilariously dry sense of humor once you got to know her. She wasn’t making any jokes this time, though. I’d never considered suicide, mostly because it made no sense. Ryan was handsome and popular. He had the ideal life.

The bell rang, startling me. Shelbie ran out ahead of everyone to get the other dancers in order. The hallways were packed with students, slowly trudging toward the gymnasium. I looked up from feet, and my stomach dropped. Joe Bob stood at the entrance, holding one of the doors open. I could tell he had been staring at me before I looked up, and he didn’t break eye contact with me once I’d caught him. I quickly inspected my shoes again, the ceiling, other people's shoes, anything so I didn’t have to look at his eyes. I shoved my way past a few people, determined not to get stuck anywhere close to him. I felt his gaze burning into my head as I ducked through the doors and sprinted breathlessly toward the bleachers.

The band played, we said the pledge of allegiance, we paid our respects to Ryan, and the color guard performed. I was starting to nod off as the dancers lined up. I lazily scanned them, looking for Shelbie. I was bored, but I’d certainly cheer my friend on. Where was she? The other dancers seemed to wonder this too as their eyes dart around the gym to find her. I stretched my back, my eyes searching every corner trying to find her, but no luck. This was certainly not like Shelbie. She was never late, plus I’d just seen her. The co-captain shrugged her shoulders and signalled for the music to start. They completed their routine and the assembly was dismissed with no sign of Shelbie.

“She must not be feeling well or something,” I wondered aloud as my friends also exchanged puzzled glances. I headed to the bathroom to see if she needed anything. Sure enough, I saw her dance duffel and backpack leaning poking out from underneath the