Free A Girl Called Dust by V.B. Marlowe

making some new
friends. You’re a wonderful person, Arden, and you could have plenty of friends
if you really tried.”
    She sounded like Mom. I didn’t know if
they were right, but maybe if I tried, I could make a friend or two.
    Scarlett ran her fingers through her
frenzied curls to pull down the glasses perched on her head. Why, I don’t know.
Maybe she needed to see me better. “What about the teacher who was killed in
the woods? He was a teacher at your school.”
    I cringed. I’d been hoping to avoid that
conversation.
    “Yeah, but I didn’t know him personally.
I’d never had him for any classes.”
    “Still. That has to be scary. You have to
be feeling some type of way about it.”
    “It makes me sad and worried. Something
bad is killing people, and no one knows what it is. They’re only guessing.”
    “Whatever it is,” Scarlett said, “it seems
to be confined to the woods, so I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
    “My parents said the same thing.”
    Scarlett winked at me. “Then we must be
right. Can I see your journal?”
    I reached into my backpack and handed it
to her. She would usually skim it and only discuss things that popped out at
her. I watched her as her eyes darted from left to right and then stopped.
“Let’s talk about what happened in speech class.”
    Groaning, I sat up and faced Scarlett. I
wasn’t proud of my outburst, and everyone in my class, Mrs. Martin included,
thought I was a lunatic. “I don’t know. I hate speech class. It’s hard enough
to get up there and talk in front of a group of people, but they make it so
much harder. They’re always laughing and whispering when I’m up there, and I
just got tired of it.”
    Scarlett nodded. “I love the fact that
you’re speaking up for yourself and saying how you feel, but I’d like you to
work on something. Speak up more often. Right when something is bothering you.
That way your anger doesn’t build up and explode the way it did that day.”
    “I feel like if I shut up and take it, I’m
wrong, but then when I say how I feel, I’m still wrong.”
    Scarlett smiled and closed my journal.
“You’re not wrong for speaking up. You just have to find the right way to go
about it.”
    We talked some more about school and
Bailey. Though I’d never tell Scarlett or my parents, it felt good to get some
things off my chest. My goal for the next two weeks was to reach out to someone
new and try to make a friend.
    Maybe the session helped just a little
bit.

 
     
     
    Chapter Eight
    Monday, school was slowly returning to
normal. A substitute had been hired for Mr. Thompson until a permanent
replacement was found. Apparently a teacher for drama was a little harder to
find than other subjects, although from what I heard, no one would be able to
fill Mr. Thompson’s shoes.
    The day was going fine until second
period, which was usually my favorite time of the day. Ms. Melcher, who taught
biology, was my favorite teacher so far. She was interesting, and she never let
the kids call me Dust in her class. I liked to think that she was kind of like
me when she was younger, so she understood me. Most teachers didn’t, or else
they couldn’t remember how traumatizing high school could be for the socially
tragic.
    That day we were doing partner work. Ms.
Melcher had split us up into pairs, and of course I was the odd man out since
no one ever wanted to sit at my station.
    “Arden, you can work with Trista and
Marley,” Ms. Melcher offered since they sat at the station beside mine. They
both scrunched their faces like they smelled rotten meat. Lacey and Bailey were
working together at the front of the room.
    I swallowed hard. “I’d rather work alone,
if that’s okay.”
    Ms. Melcher frowned and thought for a
moment, probably wondering if it would be best to let me be a loner or force me
to work with someone. “Okay, I suppose it’s all right this once.”
    Relieved, I picked up my project sheet and
began