My eyes squint as I pull open the glass door and try to figure out where in the world I am supposed to go. My shoes slap on the shiny white tile that is littered with discarded papers and gum wrappers, and I cringe as my footsteps echo in the empty hallway. The rows and rows of red metal lockers seem to mock me as I shuffle down the hallway, glancing nervously at the small door numbers every few seconds. I swallow hard and wet my dry lips as I reach the last door. My palms are clammy with sweat and my legs feel heavy and leaden. I barely register the chatter of students and the stern voice of their teacher as I adjust the leather straps on my shoulders and open the door. I don’t know why, but I had expected explosions or fire or yelling or something other than the silence that settled over the class as I walked in. The teacher, Mrs. Morgan, smiled at me nervously as if she were scared of me and gave the class a look that said: “Behave.”
     “Hi, you must be Tessa.” Mrs. Morgan said smiling. I nodded my head meekly and she gave me a knowing look before taking my stuff and and telling me where to sit. My table group smiled at me and giggled at each other, and I tried really hard not to think that they were laughing at me. Kaitlyn, Morgan, and Daniel were the three other people who sat at my table, and even though I spent most of the day not talking to them and keeping my head down, they seemed to be nice even if they sometimes seemed to forget I was there. Maybe life at Rockfell Middle School wouldn’t be all that bad.
     5 weeks later, life at Rockfell was still the same, or at least that was what I would have loved to say but I had learned that nothing in middle school is ever as people say it is. I walked down the hallway quietly, taking extra care to not say anything, bump into anyone, or do anything that would attract any attention. But despite this, I still heard them as I turned the corner, still felt there judgmental looks.
     “She’s so ugly.” I heard a girl whisper as I walked away. Kaitlyn. Of course. I stopped at my locker, not looking anywhere except for the shiny red metal in front of me. No matter how many times I told myself to stop, my hands still shook as I turned the combination in my locker, only messing up twice. I almost smiled, thinking today was going to be a good day, until a small white piece of paper fell out of my locker and onto the floor. Why had I expected today to be any different? I almost walked away, but I couldn't resist the urge to see what they had written today, what new way they had come up with to bully me. My hands surprisingly didn't shake as I took the paper off the floor and read it silently to myself, ignoring the tears that spilled from my face onto the paper and the tremor that ran up my legs.
     I slammed my locker shut and ran into the nearest bathroom, not hearing the cruel laughter that followed me. I shut the toilet seat and sat down, crumpled the noteinto the trash can and sobbed into my hands quietly. This had been happening every day for the past 2 weeks, always with a new message and delivered in a new way. I thought about it for hours, but could never figure out why they did it. Why they hated me so much they had to do this to me. Why me? But today was different, because today I was finally going to do something about this permanently.

     After school ended, I walked to my house so fast I was surprised to find that my shoes had not caught on fire. I fumbled the key into the small hole on the front door and walked into my house, making sure to lock the door firmly behind me. Nobody was supposed to be home till 5:30 and it was 4:00 right now, leaving me an hour and a half to do it. Perfect. I walked to the pantry slowly, expecting to feel something in me, something ceremonial or something telling me to stop. But all I felt was cold detachment from my life, and that I was finally going to get back at the three people that had made my life into this pile of crap. I find the bottle I was looking for shoved all the way in the back, as if somebody had tried in a half-ditch effort to save me. I shoved the bottle into my jacket pocket and ran out the door, not stopping until I got to the edge of my small town where all the bars, pubs and shady businesses kept house.

     I only see a few people, all of which were either drunk or hungover, and manage to avoid all of them. I turn into the last alley, away from everyone, and rest my back against the brick wall, sliding down slowly onto the dirt. I take the small, white bottle out of my jacket calmly and balance it on my knee. The word Vicerfal is written on it in bold, black letters along with tiny red letters exclaiming how many servings you should take per day. Only one per day for adults 30 and over who have severe problems sleeping at night, and anybody who doesn't follow these instructions could end up fatally wounded. My eyes lock onto the colorful graffiti on the wall in front of me, and I take in the curling letters, sharp corners, and interesting choice of words, because I know they are the last thing I will ever see. I thinks about my twin brother, Will, with his mop of black curly hair and beautiful face that lights up every time he laughs. The drunk yelling coming from the bar behind me mixes with the loud honking of horns and quiet buzzing of mosquitoes around me as I sigh and close my eyes. A feeling of hopelessness settles into the pit of my stomach and the weight of the world seems to fall on my shoulders. “Goodbye.” I whisper through my lips and swallow the pills.

     “Mom, for the 15th time I'm fine.” I say exasperated.
    She gives me a worried look, but finally sighs and leaves the room. Will, my twin brother, is asleep in the chair next to my bed and no matter how hard I try he refuses to leave, even when my parents go back home for the night. It’s been like this for the past month or so while I recover. I remember that day like it was yesterday, the day I thought would be engraved on my gravestone forever. But after I had swallowed the pills, I had heard my phone ring in my pocket as my brother called me to see where I was, and it allcame flooding back to me. The years before middle school, when I had laughed every day and went out with my friends and ate ice cream out of the container every night with my brother. I remembered how much I had loved my life and my family and realized that I did not want it all to end. That I would not be the reason it all ended. So I called 911 and confessed everything, which is how I ended up here a month later still healing from the effects of takings all those pills. My parents now keep all the medicine in a safe in their closet and told me that they had transferred me to another middle school. I sigh comfortably in my hospital bed, and for the first time in a while I actually look forward to tomorrow.