The Tutor 2

Chapter 23

Funerals are the worst, especially when one's got a deep attachment to the person.

Around us, there is a nice little church.

People are standing inside of it looking at the body who they used to know.

Some are crying, others expressions are unreadable.

"Why?!" A woman in all black with short blonde hair yells out. "Why my little sister? She was so young."

People crowd around the girl and pull her into a deep embrace.

Daya sits in the back of the church, a look of guilt written on her face.

Her mother sits beside her with an arm around her shoulder.

"It's not your fault she's gone Daya." Is all her mother says.

Daya scoffs and shakes her moms arm off of her shoulder.

"It is my fault." Daya says, throwing her face into her hands. "It's my fault that she's not here and I just don't know how I'll live with myself knowing that I'm the cause of her death."

At this point, Daya is crying.

Her mother stays silent for a moment.

"Well," her mother starts. "This is a-."

"Daya!" Amira calls out to me. "This script is like, really depressing."

"Yeah Daya. We are supposed to teach a lesson, not make people cry." My classmate Dilly agrees.

"Sorry, I just knew you guys weren't going to pick my script, so I wrote out what I thought my life would be like if my friend Tracy had of died in the crash we had a couple of weeks ago."

Amira looks at me with an eyebrow arched and I look back at her confused.

"You got in a car crash and didn't tell me? A-are you okay?" Amira asked as she walks up to me, searching me for any cuts or bruises.

"I'm okay, I only had a mild concussion."

"And what about your friend?" Lizzett, my fourth and final partner for this group project, asked.

Letting out a sigh , I run a hand through my wavy hair.

"She's also okay, but she broke her arm...and now she has to go to prom...in... in a cast because of- me."

Dilly frowns and Amira shrugs her shoulders.

"At least she's not dead." Amira says as she leans back in her seat.

All of our eyes look to Amira who's writing in her notebook.

It takes her a second to realize that we're all looking at her but once she does, she mutters a "sorry" and then a "that was a bit harsh" and keeps writing.

Ms. Crown walks over to me group.

"Did you guys pick the script you want to act out next week?" She asks.