The Blank Face

The Rough Beginning

             "Ready for the test, Miss Sara?" I flinched at Christy's question, and she jumped from behind my locker door. She beamed with her typically bubbly disposition. "Geez, so tense," she frowned as I caught my breath. "Sorry, I was up all night studying. I'm a little on edge, and this lousy weather isn't doing anything for my mood," I mumbled as I stuffed notes and textbooks into my backpack. "Clearly," Christy chuckled. She linked arms with me as we headed toward the lab. It was her way of cheering me up, and she knew it always worked.

               She stopped at room 311 and opened the door but didn't walk in. I ran straight into her and looked up, confused. Her brows were furrowed, her breathing quick and shallow, eyes unblinking and intently fixed forward into the classroom. I shifted my eyes and slowly turned my head, half afraid to see what had made cheery Christy so grave. In the dark classroom, the little bit of light that filtered onto the floor through the blinds illuminated a pair of sneakers, bottoms facing Christy and I, which were connected to a pair of limp legs; the rest was blocked by a dark figure. A flash of lightning flooded the room with light for two seconds, revealing the figure to be the school janitor, Ed. His piercing eyes gleamed below heavy brows, and he was glaring directly at Christy and me. We both gasped loudly and jumped back out of view. My heart pounded hard as I backed into the wall. Mrs. Bruges noticed the commotion and squinted down the hallway, tapping two other teachers and motioning them to follow her.

                "What's going on?" she asked loudly, shooing students out of the way as she made a beeline toward us. I stared wide eyed at the lab door, and Christy just pointed, stuttering, "I don't...something...I don't know." Mrs. Bruges tore the door open without hesitating and flicked the switch. The other teachers filled in with her, blocking my view. "What—" I heard her ask loudly before being cut off by a low, quiet voice, most definitely belonging to Ed, the only man in the room. Mrs. Bourgeois appeared suddenly at the door, "Call an ambulance," she ordered. It finally registered that she was speaking to me as she raised her eyebrows and shouted, "Now!" I jumped and threw my bag to the ground, rifling through the pockets, groping for my cell phone. I dialed 9-1-1 and immediately heard the stern operator, "9-1-1 what's your emergency?" "Uh..." I wasn't even quite sure yet. "What is your location?" she asked calmly. "I...I need an ambulance," I finally mustered. "Thornberry High. There's a student on the ground and—" On the ground I could finally see who it was. The school's quarterback, Jason Bruges, was sprawled out with something leaking from his mouth. "Hello? Are you still there?" came the persistent voice. "He doesn't look so good," I whimpered as my eyes welled, my throat getting tight, my chest burning. He was so still.

             My mother rushed to me as I walked through the front door, pulling me into a tight bear hug. "Oh, honey, are you okay?" she asked softly. I frowned, confused, and she held my shoulders at arm's length. "They called me from school, dear, after you had to call the ambulance," she said, her face filled with sympathy. "I'm fine," I offered quickly. "Have you heard anything from Mrs. Bruges?" My mother wasn't a crier. She was tough as nails. But her face fell and her lower lip quivered. Jason was gone, she didn't have to tell me. Only the pain of losing a child could make my mother break down. I collapsed on the couch, mind racing. Ed, or Mr. Ed as the teachers instructed us to call him, kept running through my mind. His face, so grave and menacing, glaring at me from that dark room. I'd wake with a start the next three nights, sweating and gasping for air, those glinting eyes haunting me. He had something to do with Jason's death. I just knew it.

                My friends were silent as I placed my tray of food down at my usual spot. The typically jovial girls with explosively loud voices barely managed to crack a smile as I started into my french fries. "It was poison," whispered my friend Kate to me across the table, barely audible. Her eyes were big and sad, very out of place next to her high ponytail, bright ribbons, garish makeup and glittery cheerleading costume she was wearing because of the pep rally after school. She wasn't your typical cheerleader. She was the captain and pretty much the sweetest person in the entire school. An A+ student with a squeaky clean track record and a rich, Charitable family. "Malathion," she said a little louder. "Sounds like suicide." "What—" "It kills bugs," my friend Meagan interrupted before I could ask. Meagan was terribly shy but had a hilariously dry sense of humor once you got to know her. She wasn't making any jokes this time, though. I'd never considered suicide, mostly because it made no sense. Jason was handsome, popular, and had already nabbed a full-ride football scholarship to his chosen university. The kid had everything.