Maya

 I didn't pay attention to the signs as I stepped off the trail. Dry, New Mexican land was covered in snow up on the mountain. The view below me was actually quite pretty for the city everyone complained about. I stepped closer, taking it all in. Then, I slipped, falling over the edge and down a straight cliff.

But this wasn't my story. I had never been to the top of the Sandia Mountains. I hadn't slipped on a hidden patch of ice. I hadn't fallen off a cliff. That wasn't me. That was Maya.

I knew on Saturday that someone had died. It was a girl from my school, a daughter of one of the teachers. They didn't release her name, or any excruciating details, yet I cried. I was the kind of person to cry over the people I didn't know and the families and friends that had been hurt.

The weekend passed and Monday came. I had a math test first period that day. I wasn't prepared for the test, having spent my whole weekend a nervous wreck. No one in my class seemed to care. They talked about the parties they threw and all the crazy shit their parents paid for. No one was bothered by the fact that a student had died the year they would graduate high school and take on the worlds.

Then one of the office staff walked in. Short, balding, he held a slip of paper. We all fell silent when he cleared his throat and read. He read the girl was Maya, the daughter of one of the upperclassmen science teachers. Maya, the girl in my French class that always hugged me and made me smile, that greeted me in the halls, that was always happy and friendly. I felt like I had been set on fire.

I couldn't breathe as I went over math subjects. My muscles and bones ached and burned. Everything I saw was red or orange. My eyes burned and my throat tightened. I wanted to curl up and di right there while everyone around me took the news so lightly, as if nothing ever happened. My teacher even walked in late and could've cared less about the incident.

When the office man left, I went up to my teacher, shaking, unable to breathe. I was ready to cry, but I bit back the tears. My teacher excused me from the test. I sat in the back, silent tears trailing down my cheeks. I pretended to study, but I just texted my friends and prayed for the day to end.

Emotions overwhelmed me as things dragged on. I was sad and angry that she was gone, that someone so kind to me was gone. Then, I was upset with myself for feeling bad. I was never close to her. I didn't sit with her at lunch or talk to her on a daily basis. She was a junior and I was a freshman. We had only one class together. I guess I just loved the small moments we had even though we were never as close as I wanted to be.

I knew her taste in music and she even introduced me to some bands. She showed me how she dreaded her hair. She showed me her tattoo that showed her love for music. She told me the origin of her Mexican jacket. She always hugged me and complimented me on my hair. Even in the hallways, she would greet me as if I were near her.

I guess I did have a reason to grieve.

That Friday, everyone around school wore tie dye for her. I didn't get the memo and felt out of place, but then in art I splashed paint on myself. It passed. I was given a blue and yellow ribbon that I pinned onto my backpack strap. It didn't have a back and sometimes jabbed at me as I walked or shifted the heavy sack, but it was one of my favorite things.

I didn't get a yearbook, but I saw the pages devoted to her. They had her Instagram posts and quotes from so many people. I cried as I signed my friend's yearbook, staring at those pages. There was a quote from her. I don't remember how it went, but I remember what it was about.

Maya spoke about how she'd always had trouble loving herself and though she may never truly have been able to love herself, she was more confident and comfortable being who she was then than she ever had been. My friend sat next to me as we stared at this quote and felt as though she were next to us, telling us that we're beautiful. We couldn't help but cry, thinking of how unfair the world had been to so many people, but sometimes bad things have to happen for good things to be appreciated.

I never took Maya's pin off of my backpack. It still stabs me to this day, but it helps me remember her ever smiling face and laugh that lit up the room. I helps me remember her unique look, always wearing pajama pants and beads in her dreads. It helps me remember that even death can't take away the good memories I have with someone.