There are different kinds of guilt; the kind that drowns you until you feel worthless, and the kind that fires your soul to purpose...
...there's also the kind that cuts through your neck until it feels bone, but by then it's too late to feel anythi...
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The school quad was busier than usual. Students mingled and chatted to each other in all corners. The cafeteria was virtually empty due to the surprisingly good weather, but every time you'd look at the cop surroundings it would put a damper on things. Most things. Camille noticed some charismatic burn-outs taking the attention right in.
She sat at a lunch table at the centre of the quad, accompanied by Mea, Olivia and Travis's energetic joker friend Alec Cortez. He had his baseball cap on back to front, which flattened his slightly overgrown black hair. His tanned Mexican skin seemed darker when he was wearing his white baseball uniform. And right now, he had a wide grin on his face.
"All I'm saying is that there is plenty of other hot eye candy in this school. What is one less girl gonna do?" He said, without effect from recent events.
Camille shrunk up her nose, "What's with people being unsympathetic. A girl is dead. A girl we all know...knew."
"Cami, sweetie, we're not unsympathetic. We're realistic." Olivia sat upon the lunch table like she was a model posing for some sexy swimwear catalogue. And why not? She had the look. She slurped some of her iced coffee. "Natalya was grade A evil straight from the vodka bottle, and I'm sorry to say that karma's a bitch."
"Natalya definitely was a bitch" Mea piped up from eating from her bag of Doritos.
Camille had always wondered about the lack of emotional condolences in her social group. But it had been long enough to get used to it. It still didn't mean that she would like it or be any different. She had always been the one with a conscience. The one to tell them when they take it too far. In other words, the odd one out. But she didn't feel like that too much. After all, she was the one who was dating the football captain. I remembered 'was' this time.
Yet she still watched Travis as he threw the ball across the quad to Olivia's understandable crush Ethan Stanley. Ethan was, in Olivia's words, an All-American teenage heartthrob. His clean-cut jawline was sharp and gorgeous, which gave every girl the 'feels'. Again, in Olivia's words. He ran towards the ball in his letterman's jacket which hugged his arms and chest to perfection. If Camille was in Olivia's head, she was sure she was imagining Ethan running towards the ball in slow motion with dream like lighting they used in the movies.
