Sarah is thrown back into an ugly past when her old best-friend-turned-enemy kills herself. With the help of new smiles and old glares, she learns that some things just won't stay dead until you make peace with them.
I can't say I normally pay attention to these things. I would like to say I do, that I'm listening, but I'm not, and I'm pretty sure that I'm joined by the rest of the school in this likely unintended behaviour.
Well, maybe not so unintended.
It didn't matter though, because that day everyone was listening. Even those twins Rebecca and Chelsea, who often earned glares from teachers and students alike for their constant chatter, were solemn and alert as the school waited.
Everyone's eyes followed the school principal, Ms Nancy Northbridge, as she walked to the erected podium that stood small and dismal in the centre of the gym. Her heels clacked on the linoleum floors, each sound the countdown tick of the big reveal.
Ms Northbridge, usually so bright and overly enthusiastic about education and privileges, wore her lips in a grim line.
I felt myself begin to get the uncomfortable feeling I got whenever I anticipated bad news, or a confrontation. I sank slightly in my seat, the usually quiet groan of the plastic chair now a painful beacon of attention. Several heads whipped back and stared, and I looked ahead forcefully as the principal stepped up to the podium.
"Girls and boys," her voice boomed, filling the empty gym with what was already a resigned tone, one that told everyone that what she was about to say was not good. As if on cue, the whole school tensed.
"I'm afraid I have some devastating news to share with you all. Clara Aitken, one of our upper sixth form girls, died last night."
I don't know what I expected from everyone at that point. Maybe I thought everyone would break into chatter, instantly speculating as to what happened. Instead, their silence deepened, grave and sobering in the brisk morning.
From there on, Ms Northbridge's speech is forgotten to me. All I could think about was Clara's face, her smile, her sociability. And then, as though I hadn't known I was thinking it, my eyes found them in the second row.
Thea was slouched in her chair, running fingers under her red eyes to collect the tears. Eliza held a bunched fist to pressed lips, but her eyes brimmed with tears as the principal continued. Abbey rubbed her hand on Lola's shaking shoulders, and there beside them sat Clara's empty seat.
I wasn't the only one looking at them, however. It seemed as though Ms Northbridge's speech wasn't nearly as important as their reaction. I tore my gaze from them as my heart began to thunder in my chest, palpitating rapidly. I looked around the gym at everyone else and watched them closely. They too wiped at their eyes, or sat deep in their chairs with arms crossed like mine, listening on with internalised thoughts.
I heard Ms Northbridge say something about counsellor help, and then we were gone. The whole school seemed to drag themselves upright and down the steps in a sluggish march.
In the corridors the whispers began to boil, starting out with a hushed exchange between a few friends, growing until I was swimming in it.
Did she kill herself? Yes, wanker, Northbridge said so. Weren't you listening?
How? Maybe she hung herself? I think she drowned. You can't kill yourself by drowning - nobody can do that. Yes you can!
Maybe she shot her face off. I reckon she slit her wrists.
Imagine that!? Coming home to find her like that...
I was swarmed with the gossip as suddenly as being dumped by a wave - out of nowhere, and impossible to escape. My feet tripped slightly as I saw them ahead of me, and I looked desperately for a way around: they took up the whole corridor as they cried and comforted one another.
Realising that going around them was not a good idea, I lingered behind their slow pace, waiting for my chance to break for my locker. I folded my arms and lowered my head, hoping they wouldn't look back.
As I walked, listening to their sobs and moans, a sickening pool of fear gathered in my stomach.
Was this my fault?
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