Disappear Under Their Watch

Prologue

I throw my clothes on despite not being properly dry, then step out of the shower cubicle, annoyed that my socks are soaked through and my shirt is sticking to my chest. I hate being the last one here but I guess that’s what happens when some prick trips you up and you land in mud and, on top of that, the teacher decides it’s your turn to put all the equipment away.

The changing benches are empty except for a single hockey stick that has been left out, and a green towel that dangles from a hook. I frown because I’m sure I heard voices while I was under the shower.

With every step I take, echoes bounce through the steamy, vacuous room. An eerie chill runs through my body. Even the teachers have deserted me.

The bell for next lesson makes me jump, then my phone vibrates in my bag.

I know I’m not meant to have a phone in school, but we all hide them in our socks, clothes or pencil cases.

I pull mine out and see that my dad has sent me a message.

When I get home, I’m to heat up the food in the fridge for dinner as he has to do overtime at work, and I mustn’t forget to walk our little Yorkshire terrier.

Another message flashes up. It’s from an anonymous number.

A bang coming from beyond the changing room door sends my heart racing. I need to leave and I hope that there’s someone else around and the noise can be explained. Why are changing rooms so creepy when you’re alone?

I sprint away from the showers and burst through the double doors to the gym where I stare at the basketball rolling towards the pile of crash mats in the far corner. Someone was here. The gym door slams and I’m left alone with my banging heart.

As I half-jog through the gym, I click on the anonymous message and gasp.

My throat tightens and I’m hot, burning hot.

The gym spins so I grab one of the monkey bars to keep myself upright.

The attached photo is a close-up of my ample butt cheeks with trickles of water running down them.

Someone took a photo of me in the cubicle, that’s why I heard voices.

I click on the other two photos. There’s one of me, eyes scrunched closed with shampoo all down my face and it’s a full frontal. The other one is of me bent over.

I need to leave, to get out of here and go home. Geography can do one. The whole school can do one. I hate it here. My chest tightens again and… and… everyone’s going to be looking at me.

I’m nearly at the end of the empty gym, my steps echoing through the hall.

The stench of sweat and cheesy feet threatens to overwhelm me so I gulp in deep breaths in the hope that I don’t heave.

I burst through the main door, lean against the wall and inhale the wintry air.

Several kids with phones in their hands stare at me.

The pointing, the whispering and the laughing – they’re all closing in on me and growing in number.

Maybe twenty, thirty, forty – I’ve lost count. Are there hundreds of them, now?

They grin at my red teary face and the one at the front of the pack points and says, ‘I won’t stop until I destroy you – freak.’