He continues down the hallway to his business class, and I stand in his wake, staring unabated as he turns the corner at the end of the hallway. At the last second, he glances over his shoulder and catches me slack-jawed, probably with drool on my chin. Real smooth, Thea. I snap my lips shut and pretend to search for someone else in the hall. Undoubtedly, he knows where I was looking. Definitely not at Lennox. Jocks can’t hold a candle to a well-dressed, head-shot-ready theater buff. And Gavin is exactly that.
My other BFF, Ashley, says it’s better if Gavin thinks I’m interested. Or more realistically, that Gavin knows I’m interested, because let’s be honest, he knows. She jokes guys don’t have any guts to initiate with girls these days, so I’d better let him know somehow. She also swears my fanatical crush makes our one-act play more realistic. I argue it is only realistic if the feeling is mutual—and I highly doubt it is.
Yet another depressing walk of shame to start my day. I drag myself into physics and slump into my usual seat. First task: replace the memories of my most recent male blunder with something less self-deprecating. The morning chatter still centers around Malin. An eavesdrop through the surrounding rows confirms there is nothing I’ve not already read through the newsfeeds.
Task number two: check my phone agenda before the announcements. I have a French test fourth period and rehearsal after school. So much for not thinking about Gavin. There is something thrilling about rehearsals with him, even with my epic fails like this morning. When I’m Juliet, I know how to act and can feel confident everything I say or do is scripted perfectly by someone other than myself. Some days, escaping into Juliet’s world is just easier and more gratifying than being me.
Ashley emerges through the doorway, narrowly missing the final bell’s chime. She tosses her blond curls effortlessly, not in the sexy seductive way I just botched, but still flirtatious. It’s as if she’s letting every guy in class know she sees them staring but they can’t have her. She sashays to her seat next to me with the poise of a beauty pageant contestant. It’s hard some days to understand how we’ve been friends for so long and none of this has rubbed off on me.
As she slides in next to me, I slip my jean jacket off her chair. “Thought you might be skipping with Ethan today.”
“Not with midterms in two weeks.” She pulls out her laptop. Despite coming across as every stereotype of a dumb blonde, she kills it in physics. She could probably be getting all As like Jade if she wanted to, but for her, it needs to be on her own (or Ethan’s) agenda. And as of this past year, she is determined to become a sound engineer.
She checks her phone while waiting for her computer to boot up. “Besides, we have rehearsal after school, right?” She smiles, raising her eyebrows up and down. Drama club has also recently risen to the top of her agenda.
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes. Sometimes I wonder if she joined the drama club simply to get a front row seat to my comedic weekly interactions with Gavin. However, I would like to think more of her than that. She definitely has a knack for attracting the attention of an audience. “Mind you, they might cancel it. Everything else has been canceled this week. And acting was kind of Malin’s thing.” As much as what happened to Malin has been hard to digest, I crave the normalcy of my regular routine. Extending the mourning period is not helping, but whining about it is going to sound uber self-centered.
“Well, if it is, let’s go shopping,” Ashley says with an enthusiasm only she can hold for spending her parents’ money.
You would think her flagrant disregard for the need to mourn the loss of a young girl’s life would make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I knew Malin. Not well, but more than most of the kids in our grade. She never stooped back down to the lowly school drama club level after grade nine, which probably worked to my advantage. She would have crushed it as Juliet. At least we don’t have to worry about that now.
Thea, you are a horrible person.
Phrases from the newspaper article resurface in my memory. Fell from highest point. No witnesses. High winds. Guilt piles onto me over every terrible selfish thought I’ve had. I slump down in my seat, as though the archived issues of the local news are being stacked directly on my head. Ashley continues with her plan, unaware of the load I am sinking under or her complete lack of empathy. “My mom isn’t expecting me until five, and Ethan won’t be back from Walbridge with his brother until late, so we could completely hit that consignment store you like and—”
“Must be nice to have parents who don’t care that you skip school to buy some guitar part.” I speak louder than I should and with a tone I perfected on my brother. Ethan is usually—make that always—Ashley’s first priority over her other social plans. So when her schedule magically clears and she has time for girl bonding, it is most often because Ethan has band rehearsals, or Ethan is going to a concert, or Ethan is skipping school with his epic older brother.
“They don’t know, Thea.” She swats at my arm. “His brother pretended to be his dad and called him in as sick.”
“Riiiight.” With exaggerated effort, I nod my head. Naturally, that is what all older brothers do for their younger siblings. Tom would never consider covering for me like that.
The national anthem blasts on, eliminating any chance of further conversation. Today, I welcome the distraction from our ever-present bickering. When you’ve known someone prior to hitting puberty, it is entirely possible that either history or moral obligation the glue that keeps your friendship together. At least that seems the case for us.
When Ashley first moved from Texas, she stood out like a flamingo in a flock of Canada geese. Jade and I took pity on her. As self-appointed presidents of the Newcomers Club, we welcomed her to Willow Glen Primary School. We introduced her to Timbits and trained her in the art of snow-fort building. And in return, she taught us about Frito bowls and how to tame our hair in humidity. At some point, the social advantages may have switched, but we remained friends.
I shift my attention back to my phone, only to have the announcement team blare through the PA system.
“Good morning, Ridgefield. Today is Wednesday, November 23, day two on your timetable. Here are this morning’s announcements …”
We have until the announcements end to shut off our phones. I send Jade a message to pass on my new mantra in response to her incessant requests for more information. “It was nothing. I forget what even happened. Ashley wants to go shopping if rehearsal is canceled, wanna join?” I’m going to need a buffer today.
Our principal Mrs. Henderson’s overenunciating voice replaces the usual team of students. “Good morning, Ridgefield.” She pauses longer than is necessary as if waiting for a class of five-year-olds to stop throwing Play-Doh. “In light of the unfortunate events of this past weekend, we have arranged a special assembly during third period today.” Ashley leans over and whispers to me, “Dang it. If it had been next period, I could have missed my French test.”
I peer sideways at her and refrain from commenting.
“We will be updating the entire student body on the family’s requests about the funeral and visitation and what we will be doing as a school community to offer condolences.” There is another lengthy pause, followed by a clearing of Mrs. Henderson’s throat directly into the microphone. Throat imitations trickle through the room as we wait again. “We will also be providing some brief counseling from our Guidance and Social Work departments around death and suicide prevention to help those who may be feeling personally affected.” Another pause, but this time the room is silent. “We expect all students to travel directly from their second-period class to the gymnasium.”