A/N: This is based on an email I was forwarded by my friend, and it was really creepy. Not for those easily scared. It is the chain mail “They Pushed Her” that originated on MySpace. It is actually a pretty creepy email, that I happened to read right before hearing a really strange noise that no one else could hear . . . creepy.

“It’s innocence, it’s brillance, it makes you wanna cry, it’s innocence, it’s brillance, please don’t go away,” Innocence, Avril Lavigne, The Best Damn Thing

Carmen’s POV

Those foolish girls. Thinking I don’t exist. Acting like it was all a stupid story created for a chain mail. Just like that email that says if you don’t forward it to this many people Mickey Mouse will come and kill you after midnight. Mickey Mouse is just some sissy cartoon character who wouldn’t have the guts to kill anything. I on the other hand, am not some sissy who wouldn’t hurt a fly, David’s living proof of that. Well maybe not ‘living proof’. And I am not just a stupid story.

Sarah’s POV

I was walking through the FDR Middle School campus on my way home from ballet practice with my ballet shoes over my shoulder when I saw them. Jacob and his big dumb friends picking on my friend Scarlett because she wouldn’t stand up for herself. Scarlett was a quiet girl who often retreated from reality into her books, and was always teased about her height and glasses. It was time for people to stop picking on her. 

“Hey little girl, you lost?” Jacob taunted and his big dumb friends all laughed.

“I’m not a little girl, I’m a student here.” came the girl’s response.

“Hey, jerkwad,” I called out, “Leave Scarlett alone.”

“Whaddya call me?” he asked, spinning around.

“What’s wrong jerkwad? No wonder you’re picking on her, seeing as you’re only a low life wannabe gangsta.” I smirked at him.

“Take it back Sarah, or I’ll wipe that smirk off your face.” He snarled.

“I’d like to see you try.” I baited him.

“You asked for it girl.” He spat ‘girl’ as if it were a swear word, pure hatred burning in his eyes.

With I smirk I made a ‘come get me’ motion with my left hand. Snarling like a rabid dog, Jacob ran at me while I twirled my ballet shoes in my right hand in ever faster circles. I’m at an advanced level of ballet in which the shoes that allow you to balance on the tips of your toes are used. The thing about those shoes is that they’re really hard and you don’t want to be hit by them at any speed.

When they connected with his face they made a resounding smack, and from the sound of it that had to hurt.

“You little brat!” Jacob yelled, concentrating all his anger on punching me in the eye. The force from the punch snapped my head back, and I could almost feel the black eye that I was going to have later.

Covering my right eye with my hand, I sent a round house kick at him which hit him below the belt. He bent over and fell onto the ground near my feet; ignoring him I called to Scarlett: “Come on Scarlett, let’s get out of here.” Once again slinging my ballet shoes over my shoulder.

“How did you do that? I thought you were just some dumb blonde chick who took ballet classes.” One of Jacob’s big dumb friends asked, well, dumbly.

“I’m also a black belt and in the honor roll, moron.” I said.

“Hey who ya callin’ a moron.

“Hay is for horses and cows like you, smart one.” I taunted.

“If I’m the smart one then why did you call me a moron?” He asked, trying to sound smart but failing miserably, his confusion clearly written on his features.

“It’s an insult stupid,” I replied, then added in an innocent tone, “Or do I have explain what that is too?”

“What is going on here?” demanded Mrs. Y, the principal in her nasally tone of voice, how just happened to turn the corner at the worst possible time. ”Jacob, Sarah, to my office now!”

I sighed and walked toward the office head down, my parents were going to kill me for this. Behind me I heard Jacob groan from where he was still crumbled on the ground.

“Now mister!” Mrs. Y yelled, looking about ready to blow.

With I grunt of effort, he got up and fell into step behind my, brushing off dust from his baggy clothes and then tugging the collar of his baggy jacket. Acting like a gangster. In other words, acting like an idiot. That’s also when he tried putting an arm around me.

“You touch me and you die a thousand slow painful deaths!” I yelled at him.

“Don’t be like that—” he began, but I cut him off with another hard whack with my ballet shoes.

Some other stories by Lydia Tall:

• Updates!
• D Is For Dead
• 9/11/01
• C Is For Conviction
• B Is For Betrayal

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