Page 15 - Classroom Overtime Edition 2

“Yeah, OK,” she said, a little bit sadly.

“Bye,” I said, and we walked in separate directions.

I walked down the street until I felt a peculiar sensation on the back of my neck and I started

feeling queasy. I started running and I could have sworn I heard something behind me. I turned

around but saw nothing but I didn't stop running.

As I ran up the driveway, I saw several cop cars parked outside our house. I thought that it was

just my dad who usually drove drunk. I ran up the steps where the police officers were talking to

my parents on the balcony.

“Hello little girl,” one of the officers said “Something very bad has happened and we wanted to

tell you and your family.”

I eyed the officer and I saw his badge.

“OK officer... Ron?”

“Well, there has been a murder. We believe that it was the clown, Red Shoes”.

My heart was in the middle of my throat and my breath suddenly became rapid.

“Sorry?” I said hoping that I had misheard.

“RedShoes the clown, is believed to have murdered someone”

My head started spinning and I asked to be excused and ran up the stairs and lay panic-stricken

on my doona cover.

“Oh no, Oh no,” I said to myself and got up and started pacing. “What if she is real”. I was about to

cry and butterflies churned in my stomach. I slowly pulled myself together and walked out my

bedroom door. As I walked into the living room where the police and my parents had migrated, but

the sound of hushed voices stopped me.
“When did it happen?” I heard my dad say.

j

“Only this afternoon, we have already told the parents and we ust want to tell the neighborhood

where it happened”.

“Of course,” my dad replied and silence met the conversation.

My mothers' meek voice broke the quiet, as she said, “Who was she?” It sounded like she was

about to cry.

“Her name was Amanda Simes and she was only 13,” the police officer said, with grief weaved into

his voice.

My parents didn't know who Amanda Simes was but I knew, she was my best friend. My heart

dropped, tears pricked my eyes and my throat started to burn as I tried not to scream. I ran back

into my room then slumped against the wall and buried my face in my palms. I cried until my tears

ducts were empty and my throat was hoarse. I cleaned up my face and slowly walked down the

stairs to oin my parents for dinner.

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“What's wrong, Ruben,” my dad asked.
“Nothing,” I replied.

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound convincing.