My knees buckled and my hands trembled as I reached for the door to the school. An invisible weight came crushing down on my lungs as I gasped for air.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked with urgency.
“Crystal, you look sick. Are you okay?”
I paused, unable to move or speak because I was afraid I would collapse if I did. The truth was, I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
“Crystal,” Emma prodded, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I blinked a few times and finally caught my breath. My voice was hoarse and barely there.
“Yeah, I think I’ll be alright. I just have a weird feeling.”
Once I found my legs, we entered the building. The commons took on a different role today. Instead of everyone seated at tables waiting for the bell to ring, most were crowded toward the far end of the room. It was quieter than normal, too, as if a tragedy had just taken place.
“What’s everyone doing?” I asked in a near whisper as I stood on my toes to get a better look.
“I don’t know,” Emma started, but she cut off.
“Oh, yeah. Remember the fundraiser they’re doing today for Olivia Owen? They must have started already.”
Now that Emma pointed it out, I remembered yesterday’s announcements reminding students about a fundraiser in memory of Olivia. I knew Olivia’s story. In a small town of 3,500, everyone knew about Olivia’s tragic death that happened last year.
I approached the table where the crowd stood and moved to the side so I could see. When I got a clear view, I saw two girls sitting behind the table, Kelli Taylor and Justine Hanson, the co-queen bees of the school. Athletic, beautiful, straight A students, these girls were pretty much the poster children for perfection. In front of them sat boxes of candy bars they were selling for the fundraiser.
Informational flyers and pictures of Olivia scattered the table. There was even a large framed photo of her junior volleyball picture taken just weeks before her death. She stood with a confident stance in her number 17 volleyball jersey with the ball resting on her hip. Her blonde hair was straightened, and her dark brown irises made her eyes appear larger than they should. She looked more like an angel than a student.
It’s sad, I thought,that she didn’t live long enough to finish the season—or even to graduate for that matter.
I grabbed one of the flyers from the stack and began reading.
Fundraising for Burn Victims: In Memory of Olivia Owen
By Justine Hanson
Olivia Owen was once a loving daughter, student, and athlete. She was a straight-A student who set an example for her fellow classmates by becoming an active member of the student council and the community service club. Her athletic abilities surpassed those of her fellow junior-year volleyball players despite her asthma, and if she would have made it to the end of the season, she would have undoubtedly claimed the title of MVP. Olivia was a spectacular human being, volunteering when she could, helping the community with things like the Peyton Springs Halloween Festival and the Fourth of July Parade.
But more than anything, Olivia was my best friend. I knew her and loved her like a sister, and it pains my heart each day to know that her life was cut short at only age 17. When Olivia forgot to blow out a candle before she fell asleep, her curtains caught fire, and she suffered an asthma attack before she could escape the smoke or find her inhaler. I can’t imagine the physical pain she must have endured that night.
Because of this tragic tale, Olivia’s family and friends decided to honor her life by helping raise money for other burn victims and their families who have survived house fires. Today, on the anniversary of Olivia’s death, we ask you to contribute by purchasing one of our fundraising products (candy bars, baked goods, and other donated items) or by simply dropping $1 into one of our donation jars located throughout the school.
Olivia’s mother and her friends thank you for any and all contributions, and we hope to continue raising money for families like Olivia’s. Thank you, and God bless!
“What’s it say?” I jumped. I didn’t realize Emma had followed me to the table.
“It’s just a flyer explaining the fundraiser,” I told her.
Olivia’s story was sad. I felt like I couldn’t just leave the flyer there, one that told her story to the world. I wanted to contribute in some way, but I didn’t have any money on me, so I simply folded the paper up and slid it in my pocket, hoping that would show I cared.
The thought of death crushed my heart, so I kept my eyes down, avoiding gazes so I wouldn’t tear up. I didn’t know Olivia that well, but since we were both on the volleyball team—although she was Varsity when I was on the freshman team—I’d spoken to her a few times.
I blinked back tears as I thought of Olivia’s tragedy. The whole idea of death brought a lump to my throat and resurfaced memories that I thought I’d gotten over. Emma rubbed my back to comfort me because she knew the subject of death was a touchy one.
As I stared at the floor, afraid to look up for fear that tears might start falling, an invisible force—something unknown willing me to look—pulled my chin up. My gaze fell upon the empty hallway to the right of the commons area where students hadn’t yet been released to roam for the day.
