When I leave the principal’s office, there is silence. In my mind, because now I know. And then I realize it’s not my silence but the hush in the hallway. God help me.

They’re all watching me; I don’t know what to tell them. But now I know that they know.

Many thoughts run through my head, but none of them seem decent enough to say. They tangle like red yarn in a cat’s paw. I don’t like cats or yarn. I don’t like getting tangled either.

I watch some of them in the eye, thinking things I would never say out loud.

‘Sorry, I’m not who you thought I was.’

‘If you’re going to stare so hard, why not take a damn picture?’

I never chose myself. I didn’t make myself The Chosen One. But it does not help me feel less ashamed. Merida had said that perhaps there never was one and that it was rigged all along while I sat frozen in the office.

Like me right now, I didn’t know what to tell her.

But now I know that prophecies are crap meant to leave you hoping. It gives you an excuse to do nothing, to hope that some greater power will do it for you.

Prophecies are excuses to be listless. And I was the scapegoat to show it.