The Suicide Project

Chapter 3: Carrying Out The Plan

  "You want me to help you fake your death?" Mr. Lambert says in disbelief. He looks plain out shocked, and slightly angry too. I pace back and forth in front of him 

 "Yes, I want you to help me make people think that I committed suicide," I say. "I'm calling it The Suicide Project." 

"But why?" he asks, then remembers what happened this morning. The horrible bullying with May and Natasha. I give him a look and he understands. 

"You also said that it had to AFFECT the world around you, not necessarily help them," I continue, backing myself up. "This is great because obviously no one will know. It's perfect!"

 "What about your parents?" he asks, not shooting down my idea just yet. 

"Them too, they have hurt me just as much as the kids around me." I stare at him straight in the eye, and he looks almost puzzled. 

"Wow, you feel really strongly about this, don't you?" 

"More then ever." I am serious now. 

Mr. Lambert drums his fingers on his desk, debating about what to do. I nervously stare at him, my eyes pleading him. Now it's his turn to pace and he walks back and forth in front of his desk, frowning, deep in thought. 

 "And where would you stay and be during all this?" he inquires.  

 "I'd come back to school under a different name," I say. "And different looks. I want to see how everyone would act. If they would react."

"Alexis... I don't think it's a good idea," he sighs.

"Why not?" I sudden ask boldly. I never felt so free. So... powerful. Mr. Lambert looks shocked at the tone in my voice, but I can also see the frustration on his face, trying to think of reasons for me not to do this.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," he says. "You could get in trouble. And I could get in trouble." 

"Please, let me do it," I beg. "I want to show them. I want to see if anyone really cares. Please!"

Mr. Lambert looks at me. "Alexis, if you do this, you know that you will be taking the consequences that come with it as well, right?" I bite my lip. He has a point there. But then I switch back to my thoughts and I know my decision. I look at him.

"Yes, I know, and I still want to do it," I say. "And, can I stay at your house?"

"What? My house?" Mr. Lambert frowns. "Do you know how much trouble I'd get into if I kept a student presumed dead under my roof?" 

"Please! I promise that I won't let you take the blame!" 

"Alexis, this could affect my whole career as well as your future," Mr. Lambert says. "I'll be in trouble for supporting the idea of this." 

"I promise I won't screw anything up. Everything will be fine in the end." 

"How can you promise that?" Mr. Lambert asks. 

"Please," I whisper. I see Mr. Lambert stop moving and my eyes soften. "I want to see. I want to see how the world will react if this happens. If the death of someone that nobody cares about will actually make an impact to others. Maybe I'll see people who do care. Maybe I won't. That's the point of this project." 

"Alex..." Mr. Lambert is struggling. "Fine. You can. I won't help you with this project except for giving you a place to stay and switching your name to your fake name."

"Deal," I smile. "I'll go home to pack my things. I don't have much anyway."

"Ok, actually, I might as well drive you," he says. "But no one should know about this."

"Of course not," I say. "That ruins the whole point of the project."

Mr. Lambert drives me home to gather the few things I have. Just my clothes, toiletries, the few prized possessions I have. I don't even have a suitcase. Just a small purple colored wheeled backpack. I pull on the handle. I guess it's a Pullman, but not really a suitcase. I take one last look around my room before putting my only coat on, slipping in my shoes, and running down the stairs.

My parents are hunched over on the table, asleep. Pools of alcohol are everywhere on the kitchen floor and I look at them, disgusted. I put the suicide note on the table for them. It explains about how I couldn't take it and ran to jump off a cliff where no one would ever find me. I sneak out of the house back to Mr. Lambert's car. His eyes widen in surprise at the meager amount of things I carry. I shrug at him and get in the car.

  "Remember, I'm providing food and shelter. The rest is up to you," he reminds as he drives away from my house. I nod and look back at it one last time. 

Being in a car is exciting. You zoom by the world quickly and it feels as though you're flying. Rarely have I ever been in a car, it's on foot almost always for me, to the grocery store or even to a store about five miles away. So sitting in the car and relaxing on the comfortable seats is wonderful. I lean back as I stare out the window, watching the world go by in smeared colors.

We finally pull up at a simple two story house. It's painted white and the window shutters and roof are painted red. It looks like a simple, rather stereotypical American house. He looks at it with pride. 

"It's not much, but home is home." 

"Are you kidding? It's amazing!" 

I let him lead me inside, where he points to the guest room. It's much better than my old room which was the attic. It has a nice full bed and a blanket on it! Yes, a real blanket! It has it's very own bathroom attached! Wow! This house must be a mansion! 

"I didn't know teachers earned this much," I gape at him as I rejoin him downstairs at the dinner table. 

He laughs. "Oh, this isn't much. Trust me, this is nothing." 

I shook my head. "I don't think so at all."   

  He smiles. "Thank you. And dinner is served." He places a plate in front of me. I recognize the dish in front of me, but I then realize I've never eaten it. I sniff it curiously. It smells great but I'm still wondering what it tastes like. 

"It's chicken pot pie," he says. 

"I know what it is," I say. "But..." 

 "Ever tasted it?" I shake my head no. He smiles. "Try it. It's delicious." I hesitantly take a bite and my eyes widen. It's amazing. Creamy potatoes, chicken and carrots fill my mouth. The crust is crunchy on the outside but doughy on the inside.It's great. I'm surprised that I haven't eaten it yet for a quick dinner. 

 "Did you make this?" I ask, taking another bite. 

 He shrugs. "I didn't make the crust. But the actual pie I made." 

"You were right." I feel the bite slither down my throat. "It's delicious." I quickly devour the whole thing. I haven't had food all day. Mmm... it's so good. 

After dinner, Mr. Lamber sends me up to my room. I still can't believe that I have the whole room to myself. It feels like the room for a princess, with its own actual bed and a closet as well as its own bathroom. I fall into bed, still in my clothes.Pajamas aren't something necessary for me. As long as I have soft pants and a comfortable shirt, I'm fine. The bed feels wonderful. I'm instantly enveloped in silky sheets and soft pillows. I immediately fall asleep, snuggling deeper into the blankets and bedding. Tomorrow is when I change my appearance and make my personality different. 

Today is the last day that I am me.