The In Between

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Tara

My mom turns off the ignition. “Do you want me to go in with you, sweetie?’

Mom hasn’t asked me that since she dropped me off for kindergarten.

“No, it’s okay,” I sigh. “I’ll be okay.”

My heart speeds up as I see kids getting out of cars in groups of two’s and three’s, walking together, some of them laughing, a few clutching cups of coffee. I don’t know what I expected, but the sight shocks me. It seems impossible that the world just goes on doing its thing, as if time hasn’t stopped, been split in two. Everything has changed.  Nothing has changed.

Except, of course, it has changed for everyone here. I know that. And it makes me dread walking through the heavy glass school doors even more.

 “Okay,” Mom says reluctantly. “But if you feel weak or experience any dizziness, I want you to go right to the school nurse. I’ve already spoken to her. I can get here in fifteen minutes.” She looks at me doubtfully. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

I gather my things and open the door.

“Tara?”

I stop, the door hanging open. There’s a slight chill in the air. She looks at me with glassy eyes, filled with some kind of longing. I guess none of us will ever feel truly safe again. “I love you,” she says finally. 

I take a deep breath. “I know.”

“I’ll pick you up at 3:15.” 

“You don’t have to do that. I can get a ride home with someone, or walk.”

“I know you can. And you will. Tomorrow. Today, I’ll pick you up.” 

There’s no point in arguing. She’ll just park herself outside the school until I show up anyway. 

I can feel my mom watching me as I walk toward the steps, where Gabby is waiting for me. We haven’t seen each other since the funeral.

“Hey, there,” Gabby says with a mixture of hope and concern that is different from any way she has ever spoken to me before. Even my best friend doesn’t know how to act around me. To be fair, I don’t know how to act around her, either. I don’t know how to do this.

Gaby lifts my backpack right off of me. I open my mouth to protest.

She shakes her head. I get it. She wants to do something.

“Alright.” I slide my arm out of the strap and let her take it.

“I called,” she says as we begin walking. “A lot.”

“I know, Gabby. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t talk. I still can’t, not really.”

She nods. “Okay. But when you can…”

“I know.”

She holds the door open for me and we walk into the crowded halls of Heron High, where I’m pretty sure every single student and teacher is hyper-aware of my presence.  They part like the Red Sea; no one looks me in the eye, no one says anything.

“This is worse than I thought,” I mutter as we make our way to the stairwell.

“I know. Tara, I should warn you.” 

“What?”

But I see it before she can get the words out. Justin’s locker has been turned into a shrine, covered in handwritten notes, drawings and photographs. One large poster board reads, “Justin Westcroft, We Love You 4 Ever. Never Forget.” His team jersey is hanging from the locker handle.