Author's Note: I'm back! Please review and check out Baby-M-xo's writing. She gave me the idea for this chapter, so mucho gracias to her!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Everyone Has a Problem
Chapter 5: Gossip
By musiclover94 and Baby-M-xo
Recap…
"I'm fine," she said quickly, "why do you ask?"
"Because you haven't been eating my baking, but eating excessively at lunch," he said, "usually, you eat my deserts like it's your last meal."
Just then, the bell rang and Sharpay said, as everyone shuffled out loudly, "See you tomorrow!" Zeke looked very confused, but didn't say any more.
That was a lucky escape, Sharpay thought shakily to herself as she joined the mass of students going up the steps.
Sharpay watched as one by one, her classmates shuffled into the stuffy Health room. Her stomach ached with emptiness, but she ignored it. She must stay thin.
"Attention class," Mr. Jones said in his wheezy voice to the room full of murmuring high schoolers. They fell silent at once. The teacher, despite his appearance somewhat like a field mouse, he gave detentions away like Halloween candy.
"Now," he said, satisfied with the class's droopy attention, "we will be talking today about teen's problems. First of all, the subject of self-harm…" He went into a long-winded drone speech on the topic, showing the bored class various pictures of people with deep gashes on their wrist. Mr. Jones looked at them expectantly, thinking they would gasp at the sight. Yet the class remained as lifeless as possible. The only pupils who showed any signs of life were Gabriella, who shifted nervously in her seat upon seeing the wrist slitting pictures that were so like her own. Sharpay was looking pointedly at Gabriella, knowing her deadly secret. Gabriella was looking blankly at the whiteboard, avoiding her friend's knowing gaze. Mr. Jones finished his spheel.
"Any questions?" he asked, looking around the small room for hands raised.
"Yes, Ms. Evans?" he asked the blonde.
"How do we help someone with self-harm problems?" she asked, looking sideways at Gabriella, who sunk low in her chair and shot Sharpay a glare.
Mr. Field Mouse, who had not noticed the dead-giveaway encounter that had just happened right before his small eyes, said, "Well, Ms. Evans, the best remedy is to keep a strong friendship with that person, or, perhaps, suggest a therapist if the problem deepens. Any more questions?" He asked the room at large. When no hands rose in the air, he continued his drone on a different topic: eating disorders. It was Gabriella's turn to shoot a knowing glance at Sharpay, who had copied Gabriella's body language and who was trying her best to hide.
The bell rang. Mr. Jones dismissed them and Sharpay wove her way through the crowd due to her extremely small figure.
"I know what you are doing to yourself," she whispered to Gabriella.
"Are you deaf!? I told you, it's my dog that's been causing me those scratches," she hissed back.
"Dog? Scratches! Those are way more than mere scratches, Gabriella. And you don't even have a dog. Call the number on that paper I gave you, okay?" she said as she disappeared into the Algebra room while Gabriella walked into the French room with a sigh.
During Madame Ingrid's speech about the supreme dominancy of French over Spanish, the class was whispering just loud enough for their friends to hear the latest juicy gossip, but just quiet enough for the prof to keep droning on; Madame Ingrid didn't have the sought-after gifts of Mrs. Darbus and Mr. Jones; the ability to keep a class quiet, however way possible.
"Did you hear?" one student said to another, directly behind Gabriella.
"That Montez and Bolton broke up? Yeah, I did…"
"I heard it involved Melody, the head cheerleader…"
"They call him Two-Timing Basketball Boy now, don't they?"
"At least East High's Golden Boy has come to his senses," the student muttered darkly.
"How?" the other asked thoughtfully.
"For breaking up with Mathlete Montez, she always seemed fishy to me…"
"Really?"
"Yeah, always following Three-Pointer around like a lovesick puppy, like they were attached at the hip. Too clingy, no wonder Bolton broke it off, and at the worst possible time too…"
Gabriella was looking at her French book without blinking, afraid that if she blinked, the tears would fall thick and fast…
"So she really was pregnant?"
"It seems so. She does look a bit heavier, you know what I mean?" The gossiping pair obviously didn't know that Gabriella was right ahead of them. I'm not pregnant, though…but there was that time over the summer…no, surly not, she would have known by now…
"What a little wh-!" Just then, Madame called for attention, finally noticing the whispering pair.
Gabriella raised her hand.
"Yes, Gabrielle?" she asked kindly, using her French name.
"Peux-j'aller à la salle de bains?" she asked shakily, the marks on her wrist burning, but completely hidden under a heavy black sweater.
"Oui," she said and went back to the lesson.
Gabriella quickly got up and walked seemingly calmly to the door. However, when she got to the deserted hallway, she bolted to the bathroom, her heart and her wrist aching and her eyes brimming with tears.
She quickly latched the bathroom door shut. She whipped out the knife, its handle gleaming in the glow of the lights up above. She quickly ripped it across her flesh, feeling a grim relief at the dark, sticky, crimson substance flooding down her arm, slowly dripping onto the floor. One, two, three, four times she sliced her forearm open, more blood draining from her. Finally, on the last stroke, more blood than ever before snaked down her arm; she had hit a vein. She saw her usually tan skin turn paler, the blood standing out like Kool-Aid stains on a white carpet. She felt a lump in her stomach, as if something was residing there... And then, with a last spooky laugh, she collapsed.
Author's Note: I'm in a weird mood today…please review and many thanks to Baby-M-xo again! And Peux-j'aller à la salle de bains means Can I go to the bathroom? in French.