I was walking down the 2nd floor corridor. I had come to morning study, and in March the sun was still asleep, even at this hour. I walked to my locker across the campus and put my backpack away. As I did so, I heard several noises. The slamming crash of my locker door, my own tired yawn and a bloodcurdling scream. I ran full tilt towards the sound, down a small flight of stairs and through the library. I emerged, and saw everyone in the school hunched over the limp form of Max Collins, my fellow student at Amber Middle. He was more than asleep.
We were dismissed from school that day, and that night was a strange one. My parents wept uncontrollably, yet they hadn’t known of Max’s existence until his demise. The next morning, I came to school to be greeted by several local police cars. I opened the large double doors, went past the front desk and a large portrait of Max, and entered the Auditorium. The principal was speaking.
“Today will be a special schedule, officers Morrison and Berkley will be interviewing each and every one of you today about the unfortunate passing of Mr. Collins.”
I shook my head with anger. They treated it like he had died of some infectious disease when we all knew somebody had bludgeoned him over the head with a large metal pipe. I silently greet my friend Josh, and sat beside them.
Josh was a relatively quiet kid, his glasses and thick British accent placed him in the Nerd category. But unbeknownst to most, his martial arts and video games skills far surpassed my own, and he was more curious than intelligent.
“Hey”
“Hey, pretty crazy, huh, a death at Amber?”
“You seem to be taking it rather lightly”
“I barely knew the guy, I have nothing to grieve about.”
I was about to tell Josh exactly how I felt about his strange lack of compassion when the principal continued, and I never got a chance.
“I assure you there is no need to worry, the authorities have been working day and night to find the perpetrator of this hideous crime...”
As the subject shifted, my focus did not, and I sat thinking. I was nervous for the interview, I had only seen something this dramatic on television. This little airport town was in a bubble of
suburbia and a semi-decent public school system. I tried to force Max out of my mind. This was a foolish mistake, for his empty seat in homeroom was next to mine.
Max had moved from Palo Alto several months into the year and lived in the nicer part of town. His parents were kind, generous and loaded, so Max’s allowance was often seen falling out of his backpacks in wad of tens a week. We were together in homeroom, so we became acquaintances. Borrowing pencils, greeting in the hall, but friends was not exactly the word.
After homeroom, I walked to English. Girls that had treated him like scum and declined his invitation to the prom were crying into each other’s shoulders. One of the major bullies at out school, Dwight Cederholm, wasn’t crying. He and his cronies laughed as our English teacher, Mr. Thompson tripped on an outstretched leg. He was one of the more mysterious teachers at Amber Middle, tall, pale and sickly. He was short-tempered but gullible. His clumsiness didn’t stop his small classroom from being filled with chachki and delicate light fixtures. Most of the space was taken up by two large cardboard boxes. On top of them were several leather jackets and a purple bandana. Oddities such as this were never questioned, but they always appeared.
“Mr. Henry Atherton?”
The slimmer of the two officers, Berkley, stomped into the cluttered classroom.
“Have him back by forty five please.”
As the officer led me outside, Mr. Thompson fell over and broke a lamp. Cederholm and his cronies laughed.
