Crystal View High was the town's sewer.

The halls were actually tunnels and caverns, oozing the black goo of gossip from its walls. The students were cockroaches, carrying the rumours on their backs and displaying them to the others. The teachers were the rodents, spreading their filthy disease around to one another, infecting the population of the school.

To me, rumours are like playing a game of telephone. It starts one way and rarely ends the same way it began.

Abigail's death was an endless game of telephone.

The first rumour was how it happened.

"Were you there? I was right at the edge of the pool when it happened! It looked as if she knocked her head on something and fell in."

"I heard that it was so bloody, you could see her brains!"

"So apparently they found her at the bottom of the pool; just lying there!"

"She was floating on her back, everyone could see she was dead."

"She wasn't in the pool you moron! She was found on the pool deck!"

It was all "She was this" and "She was that". No one actually cared about her. It was all about the bite they could take out of the juicy gossip. That rotten, juicy gossip.

Repulsive. They were all repulsive.

The first day back at school since the murder was hard. As I walked into my homeroom, the smell of old musky books hit me in the face. Walking towards my desk, I took my seat in that uncomfortable plastic chair, tucking my legs under the wooden table. I can't help but look around at the other students that surrounded me. Witnessing them whispering into each other ears, hearing my name be dropped once or twice in multiple conversations. On a better day, I might have been the one confronting them about it. Instead, I had someone else doing it for me.

"Why don't you stop talking until you hear the truth, Libby." I heard the familiar masculine voice snap.

Katherine Libby and Lilly Taylor look up towards the skinny tall frame of the boy in front of them.

"Coming from the guy who works for the newspaper," Katherine spits back. "You're full of bullshit if you think I'm to believe everything you write is true Daniels."

Nathan scoffs and shakes his head, making his way towards the desk next to mine. He slides into the narrow confinements of his seat and glances at me.

"Those two fly first class on Air Bitch," he laughs out.

I couldn't help but chuckle at this. Nathan was always one to make me laugh in the darkest of times. He was a real guy. You know, the guy who doesn't look like he just walked out of a movie. He actually has blackheads and pimples like the rest of us. He isn't some nerd nor jock, he's just Nathan. Movie obsessed Nathan.

He ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair before he continued speaking. "These popular girls bore me," he adds.

"How so?"

"They are just so banal, so television."

"Banal? Where did a guy like yourself learn a word like that?" I interject, curiously raising an eyebrow.

"You know, I actually do pay attention in this class sometimes. English isn't all that bad for a script writer." He smiles at me, which slowly fades into something dark, more dismal and concerned.

"How are you really?" He asks, trying to act as the sympathetic friend.

"Not the best," I admit, beginning to play with a strand of my long chestnut curls.

He nods his head, not asking anymore questions.

I should have known by the fact that Miss Shrew, the Hitler of punctuality, being late was an indication for something unpleasant to come my way. All heads popped up to watch as Miss Shrew, accompanied by Principal Hancock, walked into the class.

"Hello everyone," she began with an eerily calm tone. "Instead of partaking in normal class activities today, Principal Hancock has decided that, as a class, we should discuss the emotions everyone may be experiencing. I know that the recent events of this past weekend have had a great effect on some of you."

I shook my head, fury building up inside of me. I really wasn't in the mood of hearing the blatant lies of my peers, their false words making them seem like the vulnerable ones.

"I would like to begin," Katherine says, standing up with a hand held to her heart.

"Miss Libby, the floor is yours," Principal Hancock gestures to her with a wave of his hand, beckoning her to come to the front of the class.

"Abigail was such a dear friend to me," she began. "Oh, who am I kidding! She was a friend to us all! The countless times my friends and I sat next to her in the cafeteria, the fond memories of sleepovers we shared together. Goodness, it's so painful to talk about and yet I feel as if a weight is being lifted from my chest."

The class nods in fake sympathy, giving Katherine the attention she craved.

"I can't help thinking of her big brown eyes-"

Her eyes were blue you bitch. That's enough for me.

"Excuse me," I move out of my desk, excusing myself from the classroom.

Walking quickly down the dimly lit halls, I make my way towards the girl's bathroom. I swung the door open with force, causing it to make a clashing sound against the cement walls. I look up at myself in the narrow mirror. My hazel eyes are glazed over with the anger that spread through my body. The curls of my chestnut hair cascade down my shoulders in a frenzy, causing me to look a bit insane.

'Was I always this pale?' My mind ponders at the thought as I stare at the frail and weak person I didn't recognize.

My hands began to shake as they gripped the sides of the cold white sink. I felt as if I was going to be sick. These fake ass people made my stomach churn.

As I began to calm myself down, I turned away from the mirror. Before I could take more than a single step, my thigh hits the hard surface of the sink next to me. A sharp object in my jean pocket stabs me in the leg, causing me to wince in unexpected pain.

"Crap!" I whimper out.

Instinctively, I grab for my leg, holding it as it throbs from the sudden contact. I begin to rummage through my left pocket, finding the culprit of the injury. I pull out a key. To be specific, a key found on a Mickey-Mouse key chain.

From all the shit that happened at the funeral, I must have forgotten to give the spare house key back to the Smiths. The smiling face of the well-known cartoon character sent a chill down my spine. His grin turned into something sinister as if it knew something I didn't...

Even my thoughts are becoming crazy.

My thumb traced across the cool surface of the dull gold key.

'I will give it back to them tonight,' I thought at first. 'Dammit, Wednesdays are golf nights for the Smiths. Death or no death they won't miss golf; those rich bastards.'

'Wednesdays are golf nights,' repeated in my mind until I realized what my consciousness was trying to tell me.

The house will be dark and no one will occupy it. I know the code to the alarm system and have easily gotten past it countless times.

In that bubble gum room that haunts my dreams something lurks there, waiting for its discovery. Secrets that need to be unfolded in order for me to get to the bottom of things.

Looks like I'm going sleuthing tonight.

~~~~~
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