Haley

The crinkle of the wrapper was too loud. Haley froze, her fingers buried deep in her messenger bag, and waited for the professor to keep talking before she pulled the bite-sized chocolate out. She slipped it into her mouth while she stared at the screen at the front of the lecture hall.

Group project.

Haley’s shoulders crept up toward her ears, her back rounding as she tried to sink lower into the stiff plastic chair. She hated group projects. People either ignored her completely and did it wrong, or they dumped all the coding on her while they talked about their weekend plans right over her head.

"To keep you all from just pairing up with your friends," the professor said, clicking to the next slide, "I've randomized the station pairings. Check the bottom right corner of your monitor for your station ID, then find your partner."

Haley looked at the little white sticker peeling off the bezel of her monitor. 42.

She scanned the spreadsheet projected on the wall, her eyes darting down the columns until she found her number. Paired with Station 17.

"Pinche viejo..." she muttered under her breath, her voice entirely lost in the sudden scraping of chairs and the swell of chatter as the rest of the class started moving.

She didn't get up. If she stood up and wandered around looking for seventeen, people would look at her. Instead, she pulled her shirt down a little further over her skirt, gripped the strap of her bag, and looked toward the front rows where the teens usually were.

When she saw someone standing up near the middle of the second row, looking toward the back, she made sure to shrink in on herself just a little more, looking up through her bangs like a kicked dog waiting for another boot. If she had to deal with a partner for the next three weeks, she might as well establish how fragile she was right now. It saved time later.

Haley watched the metal coil spin, pushing the brown bag of M&Ms forward until it tipped over the edge. Instead of dropping into the chute with a satisfying thud, the bottom corner caught on the coil below it, leaving the candy dangling helplessly against the glass.

The motor whirred to a stop.

Are you fucking kidding me?

She stared at the trapped bag, her reflection in the smudged plexiglass staring back at her through her bangs. Her bag was still full of Pocky and fruit snacks, sure, but she wanted chocolate. Specifically, she wanted those M&Ms, and the convenience store was two blocks away in the heat. She wasn't walking out there just to sweat through her shirt.

"Pinche máquina..." she muttered under her breath, glancing over her shoulder.

A few students were milling around the main lobby, chatting near the front doors. A guy and a girl were standing way too close together by the bulletin board, the guy's hand resting low on the girl's waist while she giggled at whatever stupid thing he was saying. Haley's lip curled slightly, her stomach souring at the sight.

She turned back to the machine, hunching her shoulders a little more as she pressed her palms against the sides. She tried to give it a shove to knock the bag loose, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor. The heavy machine barely budged, not even rocking enough to make the plastic wrapper crinkle.

Haley let out a quiet, shaky sigh, letting her hands drop down the sides of the machine until she was practically leaning her forehead against the glass. If she kicked it, she'd just look crazy, or worse, someone would laugh at the fat girl fighting for her life over a bag of candy.

Instead, she reached down and pushed the flap of the empty delivery chute, letting it snap shut once, then twice, while making her shoulders droop as pitifully as possible. She sniffled softly, pulling at the hem of her untucked shirt, waiting to see if anyone walking by would notice the poor, helpless girl getting robbed of her two dollars.

It was a cold night, just the way Haley liked it.

She was currently deep in the woods of some park in Colorado. Why was she here? Because Marcus, the pinche puto, had been making fun of her every single Tuesday and Thursday for two months now, and she'd had enough.

After some sleuthing, she found out he was going camping with his family over fall break.

It just so happened that she, too, had a sudden need to go camping for fall break.

She hated camping. But that didn't matter. No one knew she was here anyway. She had rented the cheapest car she could after researching how to turn the miles back—also laughably easy—and followed him.

She was just waiting now. She knew he'd walk a specific trail and that none of his family would join him because he always bitched about them not joining him on Facebook.

She waited until he said his goodbyes, saying he'd "be back in a few hours," and then followed him quietly. It wasn't hard. He made no attempt to silence his steps, so hers were lost in his.

She didn't even bother coming up with an elaborate kill method. There was no point. Nobody would find him for hours, possibly days. Especially not after she dragged him off the trail.

Eventually, she'd followed him far enough.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the pocket knife. She put her hand behind her back and spoke, bringing her other hand up to her mouth to hide the small smile.

"M-Marcus," she said, nervously but loud enough.

Marcus whirled around, his hand going to his heart.

"Coyote?! What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here? Did you follow me?" He sounded panicked but was calming down quickly.

Haley had to fight to keep her smile from getting wider, but managed to school her features and dropped her hand.

"Yes. I did," she said, her voice steady but quiet. Marcus took a few steps forward, because of course he did. Why would he be scared of the fat, weird girl?

Puto.

She struggled not to smile again as he leaned into her space and began to speak. "Why did y—"

But he was cut off as she jammed the knife straight through the bottom of his jaw, then pulled it out and stabbed it into his chest, then his stomach.

He finally fell over, gurgling and unable to scream.

She kept stabbing him until he stopped breathing.

She was breathing heavily herself, not hiding the smile on her face as she stood up straight.

"Chinga tu madre, cabrón," she whispered, more to herself than anything, and closed the blade and stuck it in her shirt pocket. She'd have to dispose of it later.

Then, she got to work dragging his body off the trail.