IDEAL HIGH

Chapter 2

The principal reads my mind, I guess, because he ends the memorial service, his voice barely audible over the din. The crowd is past listening to him unless he somehow has an explanation for what happened on stage. I'm just relieved not to have to listen to any more of his nonsense about unity and respect. I know what matters at Ideal High and it isn't A-plus citizenship.

Chelsea's ashen face matches her posture as she droops into the molded plastic chair, but I barely give her a passing glance. One more funeral to attend, then avoiding Chelsea will be pain-free again. I drop the list on a chair and bolt to the stairs. As much as that is possible in heels anyway. Thankfully, the buzz of the crowd will allow me to leave unnoticed.

Except for my parents. They wait at the bottom of the stairs with Kayla's mom and dad. Mom plucks me off the last step.

"You okay, honey?" She hugs me a little too tight. She's been doing that a lot lately.

Dad takes his turn. "See, you survived after all."

I grimace into his shoulder. How can he use the word "survived" around the Carters? I have no choice but to hug Kayla's parents, and hope no one else is joining the assembly line. I wish for the thousandth time things were different. Why Kayla and not me?

The hugs end, but not the awkwardness. No one seems to know what to say. I certainly don't.

Finally, Mrs. Carter makes an attempt by taking my hands in hers. "Thank you, Taryn. I know that was not an easy thing to do."

Please, stop. I feel guilty enough.

Fortunately, Dad quietly takes control of the conversation and I get away with just a nod to Kayla's mom. "So what about that boy coming on stage like that?"

"Who interrupts a memorial?" Mr. Carter responds to my dad's question. "If something happened to his brother there are better ways to handle it."

Mom puts an arm back around my shoulder. "Do you know him or his brother, Taryn?"

I grip my purse and try to swallow past what feels like sandpaper lining my throat. I don't have the energy for this or any conversation. "I don't know, Mom, but I have to go. I'll be home soon, though." I make a beeline to the exit, the noises of the crowd only adding to the ache that pulses in my head.

I push through the back entrance into the main offices, stopping short when memories assault me. The last time I stood here was May. The last day of school. The last time things felt right in my life.

The hallway smells of fresh paint, so no surprise there's a new patch in the wall opposite the principal's office. Zeke Miller, a senior last year, put his fist through it, unhappy about his suspension for fighting. It had been the talk of the school till prom theme was announced and tickets went on sale. Priorities. Normally I'd say that with major eye rolling, but once Blake asked me to go with him that's pretty much all I thought about, too.

Zeke would have tackled that guy for interrupting the memorial if he'd been there. Thinking of the incident and the intruder's accusation forces a shudder across my shoulders. Someone named Tim is dead. But he was not in the fire. The guy doesn't know what he's talking about. The sound of footsteps coming from the school's main foyer reminds me of the echo of the stranger's boots hitting the stage and I shudder again. The guy's feelings seemed real, right at the surface. Like a brother's would be.

I really can't think about it. I have to find the student council advisor, Mrs. Ames, and tell her I won't be student body president. Even if the bylaws require it, there's no way I'm taking Blake's position. And I won't stay on as vice president, either. He'd been the one with all the ideas. I didn't think things at school could change for the better. That was all Blake.