It was the third period bell that woke Geraldine from the nap she didn't even know she'd taken. She lifted her face from the desk, now covered in a puddle of her own drool. "Shit," she whispered, rubbing her eyes. She tried to pick up her belongings, but like so many times before, became caught in a sort of acrobatics routine where she'd stack her things as neatly as she could, only to have them slide around precariously in her arms as walked. It would now be a race to see if she could get to her next class before the crumbling book tower fell apart. The task was made no easier by the fact that she was still fighting off sleep.
When she was finally ready to leave, she was surprised to find Carrie still seated at the desk next to hers. She was working herself into a frenzy, shuffling through her belongings over and over again. "Must have lost something," she thought before leaving for math.
Carrie had indeed lost something. Her history notebook, which contained the homework due that day, was nowhere to be found. She was certain that she'd brought it to school with her. She remembered packing it in her backpack. She looked down at her hand, which still had the traces of the paper cut one of its edges had given her that morning. But now, it was as if it had never existed.
She continued to search her desk and the area immediately surrounding it until she was forced to leave by Mrs. Rossbeck, who was none too keen on having the flustered girl clutter up the role call for her period three English class. And thus, she attended gym in a particularly sour mood.
"They probably took it," she though, bitterly, as she changed out of her gym clothes, still wet from a particularly exhausting game of dodgeball. She had a sore spot on her shoulder that would likely bruise, courtesy of Chris Hargensen. She rubbed it and then resumed stewing. "I'll get it back in a few days with 'Carrie White eats shit' all over it."
It didn't particularly matter who the "they" in question were. It could have been anyone in the study hall, as it had always been a popular pastime in whatever class she'd attended for her fellow students to find ways to mess with her without getting caught by the teacher. Last year, a classmate had managed to slip and entire can of bait worms into her dress pocket. She hadn't even noticed something was amiss until halfway through the next class, when, in search of a pencil, she unwittingly slipped her hand into the writhing mass. Her screaming was heard, and subsequently ridiculed, buy students halfway across the building.
Yes, she was sure she'd see her notebook again, and she thought with dread of all the vile things her fellow students could write, or slip between the pages, or smear over the cover.
The door of the locker next to hers flew open, smacking Jessica Upshaw in the forehead.
"Oooow," she whined. She whipped around and glared at Carrie. "Watch it, shit face."
"I didn't do anything," said Carrie, softly.
"Yea, you never do anything," sneered Jessia. "But weird stuff only seems to happen when you're around."
This was true. Misfortune seemed to creep up on people wherever Carrie went. Burst pipes, falling books, large, stable furniture suddenly toppling over. All of it was standard fare for any event she was party to, but she had always chalked it up to bad luck, probably the same bad luck that cost her her notebook that very morning.
As she left the girl's locker room for fourth period, she was startled at the sound of her name being shouted from down the hall. She quickened her pace, not daring to turn around and leave herself vulnerable.
"Hey," it called again. It sounded familiar, but she kept walking. "Jesus Herbert Christ," it called out in exasperation. "Carrie, it's me, Geraldine. I've got your book."
Carrie turned around to see Geraldine's wiry frame flailing down the hall after her, and let out a sigh of relief. She didn't trust Geraldine per se, but the girl was new to Ewen High School, and, therefore, not steeped in the culture that had caused her so much grief. She was safe, for now.
"Why were you running," asked Geraldine as she handed off the notebook. "Am I scary or something?"
"No," said Carrie, inspecting the pages for signs of vandalism. "I just thought you were someone else. Where was it?"
"Under your chair. I saw it when I had to run back to grab my jacket that I left."
She found everything to be as she'd left it, including her homework assignment, still present and perfectly legible on the first page after her class notes, and smiled. "Thanks Geraldine," she said, looking out from under her hair.
"Call me Jerry," she replied, with a playful swish of her wrist. "Rolls off the tongue nicer than Geraldine. Besides, I always thought Geraldine made me sound like a milk cow."
This elicited a giggle from Carrie, and Jerry walked away feeling that a good deed had been done.