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Emma Eismontaite

Emma Eismontaite

Email: emute9@hotmail.co.uk

Total Article : 66

About Me:Hello! My name is Emma, and I'm fifteen. I do tennis as well as horse-riding. Also, I love Art and English, and have chosen to write stories because I love creative writing! x

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Truth Ache (Part 3)

Truth Ache (Part 3)

Truth Ache (Part 3)

 

As we are walking towards the office, a sharp pain suddenly goes through my body, I don’t even know where. I wince slightly. When we enter, I see my parents sitting down on a couch. My dad has his arms crossed, and my mum has a worried expression on her face.       Carefully, I sit down as far as I could from them, while Mrs Collins sits down in the middle.

     “Now,” Mrs Collins says with a serious look. “At the beginning of break, I checked the Student Services sign-in book and scanned the pages for your name.”

     Oh no, I think, I can already tell this is not going in the right direction.

     Again, the same sharp pain goes through my body. Strangely enough, I feel as if it’s between my teeth. Or is it just me?

     A frown crosses Mrs Collins’ face. “Somehow, I didn’t see your name. Unusual. Did you do it in the wrong book, or did you, I don’t know, not do it at all?”  

     This time she is looking at me intently. My gaze wanders over to my parents. They, too, are looking at me with the same expression.

     All I can hear is my heart thumping loudly in my head. I try not to show my feelings as, once again, the sudden ache shoots through my body. Why did I get myself into this mess? I think desperately, trying to rewind back. What are you waiting for Brandon Roberts? Just own up to it!

     “I didn’t sign in at all,” I mutter.

     With a satisfied look on her face, Mrs Collins leant back onto the sofa.

     But my parents look even more confused.

     “Did you forget to sign in, honey?” Mum pipes in.

     “Yes,” I say truthfully, even proudly.

     Mrs Collins narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. Then, not taking her eyes off of me, she reaches into her bag and pulls out a familiar looking piece of paper with familiar writing on it.

     I almost gasp out loud. My fake letter! Why didn’t she just throw it away after she saw it?

     “Brandon gave this to me when he came late,” she gives the letter to my parents. My mum’s eyes widen when she sees her signature and her name at the bottom.

     “So that’s why you needed my signature!” my mum says with a trembling voice. My dad just looks speechless, which is rare. “So you could fake your late arrival to school and cheat your way out of it!” A furious voice suddenly cuts through the thick, tense air like butter. It couldn’t be my mum, could it?

     “Where were you when you weren’t in school, Brandon Harley Roberts?!” Somehow my dad finds his voice. And when he says my full name like that, I know not to mess with him.

     “And tell us the truth, for once,” Mrs Collins says firmly.

     All this blaming and arguing doesn’t even let me get a word in edgeways, let alone a sentence.

     And then my mouth starts to spill, like a waterfall, instead with words.

     About texts from this girl who was bullying me in this school.

     About me and the gang deciding to go get revenge, as she was bullying us all.

     About when we found out she was off sick so we went to go to her house.

     About when we found out she was alone in the house it gave us an advantage.

     About when I found out she was just a nerdy school kid, I backed out of the plan and the gang just sneered at me.

     About when I found out they had accidentally killed her.

     And about when I rushed into school at the last minute and forgot to sign into Student Services.

     To be honest, it feels really good to get all that out.

     And at the end, all three adults just look at me with a speechless look.

     “Come on, Brandon,” my mum was the first to say something, as usual. “We’ll talk about this when we get home. Thank you for your time, Mrs Collins.”

     Mrs Collins just nods.

     “You guys wait at the exit. I just need to get my stuff, ok?” I say.

     I grab my bag just when they leave, and before I get out of the door, I turn around to a puzzled Mrs Collins and say, “Oh, and when you go to your daughter’s funeral, tell her I said hi.”

     Then I rush off.

 

 

     So, to whoever’s reading this, remember to tell the truth, or you will really regret it!     

      

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