By Loving the Killer

A Stitch in Time Saves Nine

I don't know how people learn to move on from things like this. There have been plenty of school shootings in the past and people have gotten through it. But those guys were loners, right? They fell into the background, not really missed by anyone, and maybe that's why they did it. To make a name for themselves. But Peter. . . He was a loner, but not to me. Now that he's gone, I have nothing.

That's incredibly selfish of me to say, because I have my parents and a home, which is more than he ever did. But he's gone, taken in a way he shouldn't have been, and he took others with such violence.

Sometimes I wish we never met. Sometimes all the joy he brought me isn't worth the pain he caused. He left me with this reputation, the girl who loved the killer. He chose to leave my life and leave me to gather the pieces of the mess he made. He did awful things. He made me question everything I thought I ever knew about him.

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Bullying.

Something we are always taught is wrong,

always a victim of,

always promise we'll never do,

always do.

Bullying. It sounds almost childish, like the term a middle schooler uses when they're tattling. So we change it. Hazing, teasing, messing around. Nothing serious, just having some fun.

But it's bullying.

It's cruel, it's harsh. I think I'm starting to realize that. Peter drifts through my mind when I'm gliding through my day. . . doing homework, taking neat notes, folding my laundry, deep-conditioning my hair in the shower.

"He's disgusting."

It feels fake. I don't mean it.

Except, I do. It's true, he looks like he hasn't showered in a week. But I don't want to make fun of him for it.

Stacey laughs. "Seriously."

I study her. She's happy. Laughing, pleased by her degradation of Peter. Tiffany laughs along with her, clutching her open locker door for support as she doubles over. It's not that funny.

But if he didn't want people to be mean, he should do something about it. Take a shower, do something.

And I don't feel bad anymore.

"Harper," Tiffany hisses, tugging on the sleeve of my oversized sweater. "Stop staring at him, he's going to see you."

I peel my eyes away from Peter, but not before he turns and catches me, just as Tiffany warned. I expect him to glare, maybe flip me off. Instead his face falls and he stalks away to class.

I'm his partner for our English project. Great.

"We'll have to meet after school," I say.

He nods, his eyes glued to the notebook lying open in front of him.

"Does your house work?" I ask. "My parents have a meeting at home tonight and I can't interrupt."

"We can go to a restaurant."

"Why not your house?" I ask. "It'll have a better vibe than a restaurant."

He shakes his head. "Just can't tonight."

I decide not to push it any further. "Okay," I say. "Starbucks?"

"That's not exactly a restaurant," he mutters. "But I don't care."

"It has free Wi-Fi," I offer.

He shrugs and closes his notebook as the bell rings.

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