Chapter 12 pt 1: Fools
You know how people love to pretend they're the main character of something bigger? Like they're poets or fucking masterminds or whatever aesthetic they saw on Pinterest at 2 a.m.? It's embarrassing. Truly. They walk around like they're profound, like their thoughts are gold, when in reality, they're just loud. Clowns, honestly. Jesters in a kingdom that doesn't even exist.
And the worst part? They don't even realize it. They think they're so clever when they're predictable. They think they're deep when they're shallow enough to drown in a teaspoon. It's pitiful. I mean, how can they be so blind? Are they really that vain they don't see they're insignificant? That they could be gone with a single spark? It's so many of them too. Like a disease. It baffles me, makes me nauseous. Clearly, they don't get it. They aren't even close.
But then again, I guess someone has to observe the bullshit. Someone has to understand it all, watching, keeping it together, not falling into the same pathetic patterns. Someone who knows when to play along and when to remind everyone exactly where they stand. And to show you how foolish some people can get, I'll tell you what happened last April 1st.
So, the prom committee, led by the ever-so-perfect Cheryl Duncan, decided to host this fundraiser. An April Fools event. The idea was simple: you prank someone, record it, post it on Instagram with #WestermorlandFools2018, and then people vote. Winner gets their prom idea approved. Honestly? I didn't care. Not really. It sounded like one of those painfully normal teenage things people pretend matter. But Ashley and Ashley were immidiately obsessed with it. They begged me to join, saying it would be "fun", "good for memories", and "we're the only ones with good ideas in all of Westermorland anyway."
And I thought... maybe. Maybe I could do something normal for once. It's been a pretty hectic few months, why not have some dumb fun? That was my first mistake.
Because then the committee announced a rule change: pairs only. No groups. Apparently, three people was an "ambush," "too unfair to have that many people humiliating a single one." Which is ironic, and it makes no sense, but what else could I expect of Westermorland High? Whatever.
Anyway. The Ashleys looked at each other, then at me, and I already knew. I knew before they even opened their mouths. They gave me that fake-sympathetic smile. The kind that's supposed to soften the blow but actually just makes you want to peel your skin off. "We're really sorry, Vaani," Ashley C. said.
"But you get it, right?" Ashley D. added. "We have a better chance together."
And then, my favorite part:
"You're kind of... the nobody of the group. No hard feelings!"
No hard feelings.
I could've protested. Tell them they're both two cold hearted bitches, and tell them to go to hell. But no, I smiled. Of course I did. I always smile when people underestimate me. I give them what they want. It makes it easier later. But inside? I was already deciding how I was going to ruin them. Not just beat them, that would be too kind. I would ruin them. Make it so their stupid little video wouldn't even matter. If they wanted to treat me like I was invisible, I'd give them something they couldn't ignore.
So I went to Jacques.
By now you know Jacques. He has this way of talking like everything is beneath him. Like the world is some kind of failed experiment he's too intelligent to participate in. It's as hot as it is infuriating. When I told him about April Fools, he literally scoffed. "It's just another futile holiday," he said. "Capitalism thrives on it. People desperate for attention, manufacturing relevance for one day."
I almost rolled my eyes, but I knew I'd change his mind. So I told him my idea.
"Cheryl Duncan," I said. "We prank her. But not like everyone else. Something anonymous. Something that spreads." And suddenly, he was interested. Of course he was.
"That's not a prank," he said with a huskiness to his voice, this little smirk forming like he'd just discovered fire. "That's a statement."
Exactly. He got it. He's the only one that ever does.
After that, I did what I do best: I went unnoticed and pay attention. Cheryl had tweeted (very publicly, because she's not exactly brilliant) that she was expecting a package. Expensive "vintage-style" hot rollers. The kind she'd probably make her whole personality for a week. She also tweeted, on the same day, that she wouldn't even be home when they arrived because she had a date.
I mean... you can't make this stuff up.
So on April 1st, Jacques and I parked outside her house. And we waited. It wasn't boring, we always know how to entertain ourselves. It must've been an hour when the mailman came, ringing the Duncan's doorbell.
We walked up like we belonged there, like we just so happened to come back home. "Perfect timing," I told the mailman. I pretended to be Cheryl. Signed for it. Easy. People believe what they expect to see. And just like that, we had it.
The plan was simple. We knew she wasn't home, so we went in through her bedroom window. Jacques handled most of it, he's good with things like that, taking them apart, putting them back together... differently.
Now, don't we make the perfect team?
The goal was to make the rollers heat up. Not just warm, hot. Hot enough that when Cheryl inevitably rushed to use them, she'd burn her hair. Ruin that perfect little image she clings to.
And we'd be there. Watching. Recording. Letting the world see it. It was going perfectly. Well, almost.
At one point, I noticed a smell. Like something burning. I asked him about it, obviously. "It's fine," Jacques said, not even looking up. "I know what I'm doing."
I believed him. Because that's what a good girlfriend does. We should trust each other.
And then— We heard the front door. Giggles. Whispering. Shushing.
Cheryl. And someone else. We didn't think she'd be back that soon. Naturally, we left. Fast. Out the window, no hesitation. We didn't even turn anything off. There wasn't time. From outside, hidden just enough, we watched. She came in, still giggling, dragging who we assumed was her date along. But then she stopped. Another voice was heard inside the house and she grunted. Said something about her grandmother being home. Apparently she was staying for the weekend. She rushed out of the room, to send her somewhere else in the house, and told her date to wait in her bedroom. Which he did.
For a moment, everything was still. Then he noticed it, the smell. He walked further into the room, looking around with his natural dumb look, confused. And then he saw the rollers. Smoke was starting to come off them. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to be noticeable.
He reached out.
Like an idiot.
And the second his hand made contact...
Everything snapped.
A sharp, awful sound. Then his body jerked.
And then—
Nothing.
The fool was dead.