Well let’s see, there was early in the piece, that day back in Grade 5 when the home-room teacher’s handbag went missing and Matilda gave so graphic an account of having seen little Sue-Anne Thompson hovering around Miss Jamieson’s desk before relegating the said item to her schoolbag, that no-one doubted Sue-Anne’s guilt.

Of course when the missing item somewhat inconveniently tumbled out of Matilda’s locker some three weeks later – in front of the passing assembly, whispers grew that maybe Matilda Benson wasn’t necessarily the cute little Miss everyone thought she was.

Her early teenage years were a maelstrom of deceptive cunning. “The Texta affair,” where-in several classmates, found their homework submissions and class books defaced by broad black marking ink. Pointedly, none were exactly close friends of Matilda. The case remained unsolved but the rumor-mill had its suspicions.

Then there was “The Case of the Disappearing Lunch-money” in eighth grade. Again the victims were not aligned with Matilda’s little clique, but it seemed to correspond with a period that the “suspect” turned up at school every second day with some new gadget or fashion accessory.

“How could you even think it was me?” Matilda would smile sweetly, “As if...” The teachers at her new school believed her of course, to even suspect such a well-behaved and presentable young lady was madness.

It was “The Brinks Job” however, that finally brought her undone in year ten. Not only was Stephanie Brinks a popular girl, she just happened to be the Principal’s daughter.

Planning is the cornerstone of any successful crime ... or “lie” for that matter. The day Stephanie knocked Matilda off the number one class position for the second semester running – her fate was sealed. The fact that she had the hots for Rick Stevens, the class jock and line quarter-back had not escaped the notice of her peers. Unfortunately for her though, Rick had less interest in Stephanie than a night out with his sister, although in Steph’s mind it was just a case of youthful shyness on Rick’s part.

The letter was brilliantly crafted. An outpouring of love and teenage fantasy laced with not a little sexual flirtatiousness. Stephanie hugged herself as she read what she supposed to be Rick’s heartfelt desires. “I knew it all along,” she told her classmates proudly, displaying to all, the romantic epistle clutched to her undeniably well-proportioned bosom.

At the point Rick laughed in her face and told her he was not the author, Matilda’s revenge was complete. Shamed, embarrassed, hurt and emotionally violated, Stephanie could but cry herself into submission.

“You think I wrote it Mr. Brinks?” Matilda replied to the Principal’s questioning, fake tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “I love Stephanie,” she forced herself to say, “Whoever wrote that is a sick person Sir.”

It was an impressive performance. Even given the circumstantial evidence available, the Principal felt he was right off track here. What was he thinking?

It was just three days later that during a routine check-out of the school’s closed-circuit security video, Mr. Brinks noticed a lone figure scooting across the hallway near the girls’ lockers. It was timed at 17.08 long after most everyone had left the premises.

Backing the tape up and slowing to normal speed, he was astonished to see Matilda no less, obviously being highly vigilant and checking the corridors, approach the girl’s lockers with something in her hand. Slipping the article with some difficulty beneath the metal door, she then left along the eastern corridor towards the main entrance. On zoom, the evidence was irrefutable, confirming it to be his daughter’s locker and the object in Matilda’s hand, clearly a small envelope.

It was only a week earlier the school had secretly installed the new system.

Matilda’s parents were summoned to the school office where both then watched dumbfounded as the incriminating images were replayed.

“Why sweetheart? Why did you do it?” her father asked. “Have we brought you up to behave like this?”

Even in the face of indefensible guilt. Matilda was a class-act. Crying hysterically she told, between dramatic outpourings of remorse, of her shame and misery at being ousted from the top of the class. How she felt she had let her parents and teachers down and that completely without rational thought she had hatched the plan to get back at Stephanie.

She could never face her friends again, she sobbed and then buried her head in her hands – truly a performance that would in other circumstances, have landed her the Oscar!

The Principal and her parents stared at each other. Just who is the victim here they were now wondering.

Acceptance of any offered apology goes only so far. In Stephanie’s case not much further than her forced smile. Inside, it was still murder, death, kill!

It was obvious to all that Matilda was still a virgin, even at sixteen. It was obvious to Matilda too – she really had to do something about that. Stephanie it must be admitted, had the very solution in mind. After all, Matilda was the disease ... she herself was the undoubted cure!

“I forgive you Matilda,” Steph replied, in response to the other girl’s declared apologies. “I suppose it was hard losing your position at top of the class after all that time,” she added – the slightest hint of catty satisfaction in evidence. If Matilda noticed, she didn’t show it.

“Look, I’m having my sixteenth birthday party this Saturday” she continued, “You wanna come over? We can like, kinda make-up and everything.”

Although wondering why Steph appeared to be such a good sport, given the humiliation heaped upon her, she gladly agreed. After all, a couple of boys she really liked, she knew would be there.

“Ok Steph, thanks,” she replied, hugging her. “I’m so glad we can be friends again.”

“Oh, that’s OK Matilda,” Stephanie smiled at her, “I’m never one for holding a grudge. Life’s too short, right?”

It might at this juncture be appropriate to describe Matilda in detail. An extraordinarily pretty girl, slim and standing no more than five-three, weighing probably less than a hundred and twenty pounds. Fair hair that, brushed out, cascaded to the onset of her decidedly shapely and compact little bottom. Somewhat rounded face that proclaimed both youth and innocence.

She didn’t even look her sixteen years and two months. Hazel eyes that sat beneath long lashes accentuated her appeal and if that snub little nose wasn’t as cute a feature as one could wish for in that blemish-free visage – her delicate shaped ears were. It was a face you would want to kiss first and ask permission later. A few had done just that!

From upper middle-class origins, she dressed accordingly. Always neatly attired, even her sports uniforms were all creaseless and perfectly fitting. She had tried-out for the cheer-squad but although accepted, felt ultimately the status of such beneath her, and had declined further involvement.

As she sat there on her bed that Saturday afternoon, wondering just what she should wear to Stephanie’s party, she decided that maybe she should go with the “hot little girl” look rather than her usual “Yes I’m cute, but don’t come near me” dress sense. Fact is, she did want someone to come near her!

Accordingly, the skirt was shorter, the top cut lower and the make-up just a tad on the garish side. She even slipped on a g-string knowing that most teenage boys found them a turn-on ... not that she was planning on letting any of them see that far up her skirt. The main idea was to make her feel sexier.

The party had been in full swing for almost an hour by the time her father dropped her off, insisting that he pick her up no later than 10.30 p.m.

“Hi there Matilda,” Stephanie said, opening the front door. “Hmmm you look really hot,” she mused, ushering her in to the lounge-room where she recognised pretty much all her school-friends as well as many others. Even Rick and his entourage were over the far side of the room she noticed. This had distinct possibilities!

Stephanie thrust a tall glass into her hand. “Daddy’s champagne,” she giggled. “He’s never going to miss a bottle or three from his cellar.”

With no great track-record as a drinker, Matilda nevertheless did like the odd glass of sparkling effervescence. It being a party besides, she intended to enjoy herself to the max. By the second glass she was certainly doing that, having danced with a couple of boys – a couple of girls too if the truth beknown.

“Hey Matty,” Stephanie called out to her from across the room. She hated that nick-name but being lightly inebriated as well as unaccountably drowsy, took it on board without complaint.