Never Be the Same

Never Be the Same Two

Two

                Beck had managed to make it through half a day without the world blowing up and the ground crumbling to pieces beneath his feet. He was rather relieved that the world hadn’t ended, but he knew he still had an entire afternoon to kill.

                The lunch bell rang and Beck lingered in his chair as all the other students raced to be the first one out of the room. He all but shook his head as the hoard got stuck in the door frame.

                “Beck, can I speak to you for a moment please?” Mr. Harper, an old balding man that towered over the school at a whopping six foot six, sat behind his old, wooden desk with a newspaper open in front of him and his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His ironed white button up and his dark green tie, paired with his professional suit jacket made him look far older than he really was.

                Casting a look to his class mates who were free to gorge on shitty cafeteria food Beck slowly lowered himself onto one of the desks at the front of the room. He wasn’t surprised when the elderly teacher didn’t look up from his newspaper once while speaking.

                The history teacher cleared his throat. “How are you feeling Beck? A Mister O’Neill stopped by to pick up your work for you while you were incarcerated. I presume now that you’re back you’re feeling fine and dandy but one cannot simply assume things…,” he lifted a brow behind his wire-framed glasses.

                “I’ve been better sir, but that’s really to be expected,” he ran a hand over the back of his neck as his eyes lingered on his worn tennis shoes. “If that’s all, sir, then I’ll see you tomorrow…”

                Beck stood to his full height – six foot two – and pulled his bag up by the strap only to freeze when he looked up.

                Mr. Harper’s eyes had left the black and grey newsprint only to land on him. “If that were all I had to say, son, I would have asked you before the start of my class,” his seemingly dull brown eyes caught the magnified light through his glasses and glistened. “I wanted to speak to you about the young lady you were with before your accident on the football field.”

                The vice from before clamped around his heart again painfully. “Young lady?” he croaked, reaching for the collar of his shirt to try and get a bit more oxygen to his lungs. The temperature in the room suddenly sky rocketed. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

                “Adrianna McDoom; the name doesn’t ring any bells?” there was amusement in his aged voice as he obviously watched Beck squirm. When he got no verbal response his pale lips curved up in a small, satisfied smile. “You were involved with her before the accident, no?”

                He felt his throat tighten as he stared at his teacher, almost like he was trying to swallow around a brick. After much effort, he managed to croak out a feeble ‘no’ as he nodded his head. Part of him was expecting Mr. Harper to utter something far-fetched, something that was going to knock the wind from his lungs. Another part thought that Mr. Harper was going to express his condolences about what happened.

                Beck wasn’t sure if he’d braced himself for what came next.

                “It’s a shame what happened to her, falling from the bleachers,” Mr. Harper turned his eyes back to the newspaper he was still holding in his hands. “It’s rather hard to believe that she fell rather than was pushed, what with the railing lingering far above her waist…”