Notes in My Handwriting

I found a note in my locker that just said my name. I don’t use lockers anymore.

I thought it was a prank at first. No message, no threat—just my full name written

neatly on a folded piece of paper. I asked my friends if they’d done it. Everyone swore they

hadn’t. The next day, there were two notes. One said my name again.

The other said, “You forgot.” I checked my bag. My phone. My calendar.

Nothing missing. Still, the words sat in my head all day like an itch I couldn’t

scratch. By Friday, the notes had gotten specific. “You left the door

open.” “You promised.” I started keeping them, lining them up on my desk at home.