Chapter 31

The following weeks are a nightmare. Videos of me fighting go viral, and you can clearly see me getting shot multiple times and not dying. People suggest that maybe it's a hoax, a publicity stunt. Some claim I'm wearing a bullet-proof vest, but it is quickly shot down with the footage of my forehead wound. Mom and Dad watched the videos, themselves, and wanted to know how I'm alive. Over and over they ask, but each time, I shrug the questions off, saying something vague about pepper bullets and blanks. The more they beg me to tell them what happened, the more I want to tell them everything. I desperately want to confide in them about all the horror I've endured, I want to be able to cry on their shoulder and tell them about how I should have looked for a way back sooner.

The news tells of my 'heroism' and how there were no deaths or serious injuries, except for the attacker. When I hear about it, the heaviness on my shoulders lifts. People stop me in public and shake my hand or thank me, but then people started demanding how I did what I did, how I'm alive.

"I believe that he had real bullets first, but the rest of his clip were blanks." Is my response to everyone, some want to argue, and some even agree with me. It gets to the point that on the occasion when I leave my house, I go out invisible.

A few days after I began going invisible, I get a letter in the mail, addressed from the White House, and I pass out.

I come to on the floor with mom nervously shaking me.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" She says, panicked. I hand her the letter, and her eyes bug out of her head. She rips it open and reads it, and I lay there, just staring at the ceiling.

"It's a call to a hearing. They want to interview you on how you lived in the shooting. It says it isn't a court case, just an interview, but it will be live on multiple news media."

Nononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononononono.Please no, please. Nonononononononononononono. This can't be happening, this isn't true.

"I don't have to go, right?" I ask, and she bites her lip.

"No, you do have to go. It is going to be used as evidence for Jameson's trial, and it would also paint you in a better light and make it look like you weren't in on the shooting."

I groan. All this wouldn't have happened if I would have said yes.

This isn't because of me. This is because of him, this is on him.

"The hearing is set for Wednesday, so I guess we better get packing." Her words make me start crying. I never wanted any of this, I never asked for it.

Why didn't I just go to school that day? If I had just been the good child I was believed to be, none of this would have happened. I would have never been at the library, and I would never have found the book. My car would probably never have broken down, and the country wouldn't know my name.

"Come on, kiddo. There are three plane tickets for tomorrow, so get packing, honey." She helps me to my feet, and I drag myself upstairs. I call Faith, and she answers almost immediately.

"What's up?" she asks, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I- uh. I'm going to DC to be interviewed by a bunch of official people from the White House, and uhm." I blink back tears. "I may get found out, Faith." I begin to cry.

"Hey! Hey, it's ok. Just-" She says, and pauses.

"It's not! They won't believe me when I say that the gun probably had blanks, I was obviously moved by the impact! And the wound to my forehead? I'm so screwed." I sob, and she shushes me through the phone.

"Hey! Hey, it's ok, it really is. If all else fails, show them the queen you are. Prove to them you saved the school because you believed it to be right, prove to them you are a force to not be messed with. Show them you are a good person." She soothes, and I swipe at my tears as I pack.

"You're right. I'm... I'll play along until I can't. I have to fly out tomorrow, and I'm seriously considering going back. The only reason I haven't left is because you and mom and dad are here and I can't leave you guys." I say, sniffing.

"Hey, I'll be watching and I'll be with you in spirit, I promise. I'm here for you, and I'm on your team all the way."

"Honestly, thank you. Thank you for being my friend, thank you for being here for me, and thank you for being you. I love you." I say, taking my suitcase from my closet and opening it up.

"Girl, don't you ever forget I'm here for you. Even when I can't talk, I'm still there for you. I love you too, and you need to sleep. It's already seven, and I'm sure your plane leaves at the crack of dawn. Get some sleep, and I promise things will turn out fine." We sign off and I put my phone on the charger, then turn to my closet.

I take out my bloody armor and roll it up and feed it to Mr. Pouch. Setting it aside, I grab out my only pants suit, a midnight blue color that I had only ever worn once, looking for a stronger image. Then, I pack my pajamas and a couple of pairs of jeans and tee shirts. I zip it up, open Mr. Pouch, roll my book copies up and feed them to it, and once all the books are away and safe, I close it up. I set Mr. Pouch on my suitcase and lay down and fall into a fitful sleep.