The narrow sliver of Scotch tape happens to be exactly at my eye level. It pokes out through my locker vent. Inside, there’s a blur of white. Someone has stuck something in there. For no good reason, my fingers start to shake. I get my locker combo wrong and have to do it again.
A small white card, with a neatly typed message:
You don’t know us, but we know you.
Sorry about your sister.
As much as it sucks, we can help you.
Art room. Today. 2:45.
Be there.
Or don’t.
Whatever.
(This card is biodegradable. Crush it and flush it. Now.)
I flip the card over. The back is white, except for a small notation in the top left corner:
-1