Natalie's Diary

[03] Naïveté

NAÏVETÉ

"Jane, do you have a moment?" I froze, stopping in my tracks, still deciding whether or not to look up.

I survived Monday mostly unscathed. I honestly believe everyone was too afraid to ask me what happened outright. Or they were disinterested.

The morning announcement included a moment of silence for the death of a classmate, but the room felt... unsure, not in mourning. I couldn't tell which made me more nauseous: the remind of my weekend or the general apathy.

"A moment, yes," I answered, finally looking up at Mr. Gabler. The guidance counselor looked at me, his eyes half-hidden behind the glint of thick glasses.

Books still clutched to my chest, I followed him into his office, sitting down in a standard, guidance counselor office chair.

"I understand you—"

"I saw her on the fence. Her mom was crying. No one else was doing anything," I interrupted. The apathy, again. I remembered the flicker of lights across the street while I tried to rub some kind of comfort into Mrs. Driscoll's shoulders.

"Yes." Mr. Gabler steepled his fingers, his eyes on me.

"I am okay." I don't mention the dripping, or the false alarm of a towel on the shower rod.

"My door is always open," he said anyway.

That was a lie. The door was closed right now so no one could hear us discussing Natalie's death.

"Thank you." I stood up, running my thumb along the spine of my English textbook.

All I wanted in the next five minutes was the opportunity to put my books away and walk home without further incident. The radar I flew under for a year in Cullfield finally picked me up just so I could become the girl who saw Natalie die for the last three months of school. 

Talking about death was bad luck, probably. I couldn't remember if that was a particular rule, but Filipinos declared almost everything was bad luck. Clipping your nails at night was bad luck and could bring death. If that would do the trick, I was positive talking about it couldn't do any good.

"I heard you were there when she did it." Rhys Davenport slammed into my locker before I had the chance to get it open.

His height and his leaning had this effect of practically making me claustrophobic. He loomed, like he was trying to cast his whole shadow over me. My heart jumped into my throat.

"I didn't see it happen," I corrected, "if that's what you were hoping." A bit grim, really. Rhys generally was a bit grim. He sort of had that look to him. It was the black in his clothes and in his hair. And the looming. 

"But you were there?" he asked, fixing his eyes on me. There was no escaping him once he had his gaze boring into me, hazel and intense.

As if I couldn't feel the stare, I pushed him over enough to swing my locker door open, putting a piece of metal between him and I.

"Did you know her?" I asked, finding the zipper pull on my backpack.

"Everybody knows everybody here." Rhys leaned around my locker door. That wasn't the answer I expected, but it wasn't any of my business to begin with. I was a messenger, not an investigator. I was not the person to question the motivations of a girl's last wishes.

I handed him his envelope as I swung my backpack over my shoulders.

"What's this?" he asked, "a little old for passing notes, aren't we?"