Vivian POV
I yanked my locker open, the metal screeching as I stuffed my math book inside. The hallway buzzed with kids laughing and shoving, but their eyes kept darting to me. Three days since Bella drowned, and I was already the freak show. My hands shook as I grabbed my backpack, trying to ignore the whispers.
"Hey, Vivian!" a voice called, sharp and mocking. I turned to see Courtney, the queen of seventh grade, leaning against a locker with her posse. Her lip curled. "Heard you killed your sister. That true?"
I froze, my throat tightening. "It was an accident," I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
"Sure it was." She stepped closer, her friends snickering. "Bet you pushed her in. Jealous she was the favorite?"
"Shut up," I snapped, shoving past her. My cheeks burned as their laughter chased me down the hall.
I ducked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection looked like a ghost, red eyes, messy ponytail. I was twelve, but I felt a hundred. Bella's giggle echoed in my head, and I gripped the sink, fighting the urge to cry. I'd tried to save her. Why didn't anyone believe me?
The bell rang, and I trudged to English class. Mrs. Harper was droning about some poem, but I couldn't focus. A folded note landed on my desk. I opened it, and my stomach dropped: Murderer scrawled in red ink. I crumpled it, glancing around. A boy two rows over smirked, then looked away.
"Vivian, care to share what's so interesting?" Mrs. Harper said, peering over her glasses.
"Nothing," I muttered, shoving the note into my pocket. The class tittered, and I sank lower in my seat.
After school, I dragged my feet home, dreading the silence. Our house loomed ahead, all sharp angles and cold windows. I slipped inside, kicking off my sneakers. The foyer was empty, but I heard Dad's voice from his study, low and clipped on the phone.
I hesitated, then knocked on the half-open door. "Dad?"
He didn't look up, just kept talking. "Yes, the deal's still on. I'll handle it." He paused, then added, "No, she's not here."
My chest ached. He meant me. I was right there, but to him, I was invisible. I backed away, heading to the kitchen. The fridge was stocked, leftover lasagna, soda, but I grabbed an apple and ate it standing up, too jittery to sit. Bella's chair was empty, her favorite pink placemat still there. I turned away, my appetite gone.
Upstairs, I tried to do homework, but the words blurred. I kept seeing Bella's hand slipping under the water, Dad's face when he screamed it was my fault. I'd told him about the black car I saw that night, but he'd brushed it off, saying I was making excuses. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was crazy.
I grabbed my sketchbook, hoping to draw something, anything, to stop the noise in my head. But my pencil kept sketching Bella, her braids, her gap-toothed smile. I tore the page out, ripping it to pieces. "I'm sorry," I whispered, like she could hear me.
That night, Dad didn't come to dinner. The maid, Maria, set out plates, but I ate alone, poking at cold chicken. "You okay, mija?" she asked, her voice soft.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. She patted my shoulder and left. I wanted to tell her everything, how I couldn't sleep, how I kept hearing Bella's laugh, but the words wouldn't come. Nobody listened anyway.
The next day at school was worse. In the cafeteria, Courtney "accidentally" bumped my tray, sending my lunch crashing to the floor. Ketchup splattered my jeans, and the whole room erupted in laughs.
"Oops," she said, smirking. "Guess you're used to making messes, huh?"
I clenched my fists, tears stinging my eyes. "Leave me alone."
"Or what? You'll drown me too?" She shoved me, and I stumbled into a table. A teacher yelled at us to break it up, but Courtney just flipped her hair and walked off.
I skipped my last class, hiding in the library. The librarian, Mrs. Cole, caught me crying behind a bookshelf. "Vivian, what's wrong?" she asked, kneeling beside me.
I shook my head, wiping my face. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she said gently. "You lost your sister. That's a lot for anyone, especially a kid."
I wanted to tell her about the bullying, about Dad, but fear stopped me. What if she told someone, and it got back to him? "I just need to be alone," I said, pulling away.
She sighed, handing me a tissue. "If you change your mind, I'm here."
I nodded, but I knew I wouldn't. Nobody could fix this.
By Friday, I was a wreck. The heat was brutal, the air thick and sticky. I got home from school, my shirt soaked with sweat, and found Dad in the living room, staring at a photo of Bella. He didn't look at me, didn't speak. Just sat there, his knuckles white around the frame.
"Dad, can we talk?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't move. "What's there to talk about, Vivian?"
"I… I miss her too." My voice cracked. "I didn't mean for it to happen."
His head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare act like you cared. You took her to that pool. You let her die."
"I tried to save her!" I shouted, tears spilling. "I'm your daughter too!"
"You're nothing," he said, his voice cold as ice. "Get out of my sight."
I ran upstairs, slamming my door. My chest heaved, sobs choking me. I couldn't breathe in this house, couldn't stay where I was a stranger. Bella was gone, Dad hated me, and school was a nightmare. I was done.
I grabbed my backpack, dumping out textbooks. I stuffed in two T-shirts, jeans, a water bottle, and Bella's pink hair clip, the one she wore that day. My hands shook as I zipped it up, but I didn't stop. I scrawled a note, I'm sorry, Dad, and left it on my bed.
The house was quiet as I crept downstairs, the heat pressing in. I slipped out the back door, the afternoon sun blinding. My sneakers crunched on the gravel as I headed for the street, not looking back. I didn't know where I was going, just away. Away from the whispers, the silence, the guilt that crushed me.