People have always told me things, probably because I’m quiet and unnoticed, and nobody expects me to tell. Nobody expects me to fight back either.
I know things about everyone, even some of the teachers, and each time I heard a new story about deceit, cheating, fraud, despair or sadness, I wrote it down, ready for this moment.
It’s probably because I’m quiet and meek; unpopular so with no real outlet to spread the things I hear, and with big eyes that just radiate ‘trustworthy’.

So much for trust. Trust flies out of the window as soon as you become a cynic, as soon as the last childhood friend deserts you for want of popularity. Four years I have sat alone at lunch, and now as the last letter slips into its recipient’s handbag my trustworthy eyes shine with anger and glee as the revenge games commence.

And I laugh in my quiet corner of the common room as it fills with screams, shouts and slaps, and I feel loud for the first time.
Still, I remain unnoticed.