The girl from chemistry drew a skull over my yearbook picture. Not a smiling skull, but this evil-looking skull. I’d admire her talent, if it wasn’t so creepy.

I don’t know why I asked her to sign. I felt sorry for her?

No one else asked. They ignored her like every other day.

What, am I supposed to beg for a new yearbook and start over with signatures? Yeah, right. And what’s this skull supposed to mean anyway?

Ink’s still wet. I touch it. It soaks into my skin. I’m feeling kinda dizzy. Why’s this ink smell so funny, anyway?