Ten Minutes

• Chelsea Suherland, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2011

Ten minutes.
Ten minutes before she left the Gym, always 9pm on a Friday night. A predictable routine made for easy pickings. I waited silently in the small dark alleyway, my breath coming in rapid gasps. I heard a faint ‘shush!’ sound from behind me. Of course, the rest of them would be anticipating the coming events with glee. I, however, was shaking with anxiety. I could hear my blood pumping through my ears, my heart beating like a drum. The metal I held in my hands felt heavy and unfriendly. Palms slick with sweat and feeling nauseated, I closed my eyes in misery.
8 minutes.
How did I get here? I swallowed loudly, goosebumps rising on my skin like little mosquito bites. I guess I was lying to myself. I knew all along what they were, and I still got involved. ‘And yet you didn’t do a thing to stop it,’ a niggling voice that sounded suspiciously like my mother, whispered to me. I knew how I got here.
5 minutes.
I remembered back to the first time. The beginning of everything. My falling down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland. Though it was more like R.L Stines Goosebumps than a Wonderland.
The mall. Such an innocent, enjoyable place to be on weekends, right? Wrong. The mall was not a friendly place. Not with the Emos and the Nerds, the Jocks and the cheerleaders all crusading for top of the high school food chain. Well, at least that’s what I liked to imagine when I went to people-watch on a Saturday afternoon. Usually I go there, get a sundae and make up my own stories for anyone who passes my little table in the back of the food court. Nobody bothers me, and so what if it’s slightly creepy?
I’d struck gold that Saturday. A few tables over sat Amber and her crew. Their lives were so full of drama; I barely even needed to make a story for them. Okay, so I made Amber a super-villain. That’s more interesting than ‘rich, popular girl.’ Looks better on a resume, too.
In my mind, Amber was discussing with her cronies how they were going to rob the nearest candy store, because Amber really loved sour worms. I frowned. It was a little ridiculous.
4 minutes.
You can imagine my surprise when Amber and the stereotypically ‘wealthy and popular but horrible’ group that she always had hanging off her arm, were looking straight at me. Before I could move, or, I don’t know, grab my sundae and run for my life, screaming bloody murder, Amber was approaching me with that elegant stroll she pulled off so well.
Amber was prim and flawless, constantly polished to the extreme. Her long blonde ringlets swung gracefully behind her back, always styled to perfection and shimmering like nobody’s business. Wide midnight blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical, stood out on her tan face. Her lips were pulled into a small smile as she approached. I wondered briefly how much she’d paid for those lips.
Her pink designer dress swathed around her body as she sat in the chair across from me, every movement wafting her scent in my direction. Her skin seemed to seep the smell of watermelon 24/7.
“Eli, right?” she said, one picture-perfect eyebrow rising. Damn, I wish I could do that.
Of course, I chose this moment to start stuttering. “Uh… y-yeah.”
“I’m Amber. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and sit with my friends and I?”
Here’s the thing about that group of people; they’re the powerful, persuasive and downright rich. I mean, they make Mark Zuckerberg look poor. Being in that clique is like playing God. To hang with them… well, you’d be influential to say the least. I had no idea what they wanted with a nobody like me.
Words escaping me completely, I simply nodded, stood gawkily and followed Amber to her table of cronies… er, I mean friends.
I was so busy contemplating if this was some strange dream; I barely even heard the next hour of conversation. My attention came back however, when Amber turned to face me, a huge grin on her face. The smile looked abnormal on her stunning face. She looked manic, a bizarre glimmer in her eyes. Her fingers – beautiful French nails – curled around my wrist, like a Boa Constrictor ready to strangle its prey.
Amber kept her grip on my wrist as the collection of people around us hoisted themselves from the plastic chairs they sat upon. Before I knew it, I was being dragged from my seat, torn along with the crowd of rich kids.
“Keep your head down,” Amber whispered in my ear, her voice a low tenor.
When Amber Craig tells you to do something, you certainly don’t hesitate. I dipped my head, my frizzy brown hair, the exact colour of mud, fell across my face, effectively concealing my identity from any watching cameras.
3 minutes.
Target. What would the insanely wealthy need to fetch from Target? Even the chocolate they bought was designer, and probably imbedded with edible diamonds. So why would they need to go to Target? This question ran through my mind as she pulled me past the huge red-and-white symbol hanging over our heads.
Amber gave the Greeter an exquisite smile, which would have melted even the devil’s heart.
The Greeter didn’t smile. Instead he eyed our crowd wearily, his watchful eyes sharp as an eagle’s talons, sinking into flesh, ripping, tearing… Yeah, great thing to think about while Amber is holding your arm! I inwardly shook myself. I had no reason to be afraid of these people.
We reached the Video Game section before anyone said a word. That person was Amber. And her words were directed at me.
“Eli, I have to ask you to do something. And you have to promise you’ll do your best.” Her clasp on my wrist tightened painfully. And of course, like an idiot, I nodded. “Okay, Eli. That Greeter, at the front? Distract him by any means possible, okay?” And like that she was gone. She and the others, walking away from me, all eerily graceful.
Like I said before, When Amber tells you to do something, you do it. Straight away. Heading back to the entrance, I rushed up to the man slumping on the wall, now looking bored since the troublesome teenagers had passed.
His face was pocked with age-spots, his grey hair almost non-existent. Glasses slipped down his face, precariously perched on the tip of his nose. When he saw me, his brown eyes narrowed into slits, a fierce glare.
I chattered to him, five minutes it must have gone on before I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the rich kids, hoodie pockets bulging with… what? Candy? Rats? Or was it, as I feared, stolen goods? Had they really just shop-lifted? They loped from the store, their heads down, just as Amber had instructed.
Without finishing the conversation, I left the man, my eyes set on their backs. Honestly, I think the man was glad I’d left. I was probably hurting his hearing-aids.
Two minutes.
So that had been the first time. Well, my first time being involved in pre-meditated crime. God knows how many times the rest of them had done it. But never anything this bad. This was an ambush, for Christ’s sake. They wanted to hurt someone. And I was helping them. In the scheme of things, we were just Amber’s puppets, doing her bidding. I remembered the first time I’d ever protested about the offense we committed. That crazed look Amber had possessed wasn’t easy to forget.
Sometimes, I truly thought she was insane. Not an ‘Oh my God, I got an A on maths!’ insane, but an ‘I see demons and they’re trying to kill me,’ insane. She lacked hesitation. Nothing was impossible.
“We’re the future of this world,” she’d said to me, her talons coiling around my pale shoulders. Too close, she was invading my personal-space bubble. “The only way to really contribute is to give them what they want, what they need; anarchy. Society needs someone to blame, needs someone to hate. We give them that, so really we are doing them a favour.” And of course, I’d listened to her, though it made no sense to me. What I knew though, was they were thrill-seekers. They looked for trouble, because it was the only thing that could get their hearts racing. Sometimes I thought getting caught would give them a bigger adrenaline rush.
But what they did was harmless, right? A fire in an old field? It would be put out. Stolen possessions? They’d replace them. Graffiti on an alleyway wall? They’d clean it up. No-one was getting hurt, everything was okay.
One minute.
These things went on for a month or so, and I didn’t do a darn thing to stop it.
There was a whole week where we didn’t meet to participate in something rebellious. I was happy, something I hadn’t felt for a while. That is, I was happy, until the annual run for Class President came around. I had no interest in being President, but Amber did. And when Amber wanted something, there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do to get it.
Only one person had dared run against her, the rest cowering like puppies to their masters. The girl’s name was Annaleise. Adorable, short blonde hair and emerald green eyes, plastered on an elfish face, she gave Amber a run for her money.
Amber was not happy. “Find her. Get rid of her. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done,” she’d said a few days ago, angry that Annaleise’s speech had been more entertaining than her own.
So, here I was, cold, and terrified for Annaleise, who was completely oblivious to the attack right outside the door. My reflection in the glass pane beside me looked petrified, my murky green eyes wide and my lips tense. Unshed tears brimmed in my eyelids, threatening to tip over.
Time.
The gym door swung open, right on cue. Why couldn’t she have stayed home tonight? Annaleise stepped into the dark, her tall thin body casting odd shadows behind her. Sweat shimmered on her peaches and cream skin, a symbol of the hard work she’d just done. She moved with the grace of a ballerina, each footfall barely making a sound.
A sudden hatred filled me, so intense the breath was knocked from my lungs. The hatred was one I hadn’t realised I possessed. It wasn’t for Annaleise. No, It was for Amber. Everything she represented; her beliefs, her manipulative words, her selfishness. I hated each and every part of her.
And seeing Annaleise… I could almost pretend she was Amber.
The next moments were a peculiar blur. I didn’t see, I didn’t think. All I knew was Amber was there, and she had to be eliminated.
My metal bar hit flesh and a scream echoed through the street. I could hear dull ‘thumps’ coming from my team’s assault. Again, I struck. Amber had to be stopped.
Again and again, my crowbar hit Annaleise. Again and again, until her fine blonde hair was stained with red. The ground was cold, wet and cut my knees as I fell, realising what I had done. The others yelled at me. I didn’t hear a word they said. My hands shook with grief, and I ran them through my hair, praying that I was having a ghastly nightmare.
Footfalls on the ground, my team leaving me. Silence. Red and blue. Flashes everywhere. Strong hands gripping my wrist. Tears falling down my cheeks as someone snapped metal bracelets across my wrists. The guilt beared down on me, heavier than the world. It was… agonizing.
And the last thing I remember of that night was hearing a faint, far-away voice.
“You’re under arrest for assault,’ it said.