Second chances

Cherri

Its late November.

The cold nips at my shoulders through the thin black sweater I'm wearing. I wouldn't even call it a sweater, its more of a long sleeved shirt. I'm only wearing my "not- sweater", black jeans, and worn out converse. I left my jacket, scarf, and mittens in my locker. I don't need them where I'm going.

I hold my head down as I walk through the campus, I feel like I have a sign taped to my back or a billboard above me with writing saying  I'm gonna kill myself. I lower my head in shame.

"Darcie!" I hear someone shout, I turn my head, they look disappointed, their mouth curving into an "oh" as they move backward.

I feel my eyes well up, this is exactly why. I'm not my own person anyone, I'm just " Darcie Elkson's little sister". I'm not " Cherri Elkson" like I used to be, I'm the knockoff Darcie.

I don't realize I'm shaking with frustrating and anger, which I guess could be mistaken for shivering. "You'll get used to it," a teacher says, she's talking about the cold.

Another reason, no one remembers that I'm used to it, that I lived here since I was 7 through 15 and moved back to New Jersey for one year to sort some stuff through with my sister, no one remembers me.

I look both ways before I yank open the west doors to the bell tower. The way that it's set up its that there are 4 different sets of double doors in the cardinal directions, all having different sets of stairs that lead up to the top of the bell tower.

I climb up the west side ones, clenching a letter close to my chest. A suicide note.

I burst through the doors lettering the cold enclose me one last time the wind spreading my auburn hair through the air.

I walk over to the edge of the bell tower, the 3rd-period bell already, no ones really outside except for the few that are scurrying to class.

I think about my third-period class, Mrs. Lottman's probably taking roll, calling my name a few times before writing a check next to it on the roll sheet.

My toes are on the very edge of the ledge and I realize how exactly how high I am off the ground.

I sit down and swing my legs over the edge. I stuff my note into the back pocket of my jeans and look down summoning ask the courage I require.
I pull myself up and look down once more.

Crack, I jump a bit in the air in surprise. I look over, expecting to see Ms. Simon, the guidance counselor, having one have on her hip and an eyebrow raised, but it's not, its a boy.

Crap.