No one is texting or talking anymore. Even Ashley is silent and appears a little stunned. This is real. Malin Porter chose to end her own life. My stomach churns, and the words come back again. Fell from highest point. No witnesses. High winds. But now we can’t blame the wind. So who can we blame?
Lydia, a girl who rarely speaks, whimpers from the rear corner of the classroom, and the silence is broken. A commotion of opinions and stories erupt. Ashley is poking my arm, and her high-pitched voice reaches through the other conversations. “Do you think she jumped? You said she was—”
“I know this is traumatic news for all of us,” our physics teacher, Mr. Singh, interjects into the collective chatter, “but we need to be respectful of Ms. Porter and her family.”
“So, does this mean she did kill—?” blurts Nish, the class’s outspoken know-it-all.
“Let’s wait until the assembly before we make any assumptions, Nish,” Mr. Singh says. He scans the room slowly and pauses near Lydia’s desk. “If anyone is unable to remain in class at this time, the Guidance department continues to be available.”
A dozen sympathetic expressions sweep to Lydia.
She shakes her head while wiping away the remnant of tears. Despite how upset many of us are, no one dares to miss Mr. Singh’s class if they require an A. And for most of the kids in this class, it is get an A or face possible death by parental disapproval.
“Then, let’s get back to the basic equations for velocity.” His voice continues in finely crafted sentences that, on most days, I can follow and take valuable wisdom from. Today, I use them to help tune out the much less pleasant sound of my own voice shrilling inside my head. At least I can rely on Ashley to take in the collective meaning of his lecture today. She seems to have it much more together than I do.
CHAPTER SIX
Second period flies by, and before I know it, I’m traveling to the gymnasium with the rest of Ridgefield’s student population. Through the hallways, the air is stagnant, dense with tension. All that can be heard is the shuffle of feet and the occasional whisper among friends. Ashley and Jade are waiting up ahead by the awards display. Ashley seems to have recovered her normal pep since the announcement this morning. With no further signs of grief or resentment, she waves me down with her usual finger flaps. Although she has lived in Canada since she was nine, she still holds to many southern customs. I wonder if hiding one’s emotions is one of them. Jade, on the other hand, slumps more than usual and wears an expression more appropriate for a funeral. In fact, it’s the exact expression she had at Grams’ funeral.
I can’t help but travel back in my mind to her ceremony from this past summer. The moan of a single bagpipe lowering her coffin into its grave barely overpowered Dad’s weeping. Not only Jade, but many of the somber faces and downcast postures entering the gym could’ve been amongst the mourning crowd that July weekend.
When I get to them, I grasp Jade’s arm, much like she did for me that day. “You okay?”
“She’s fine, right, Jadey?” Ashley examines her nails. “Just a little bummed about her French test mark.”
Jade glares at Ashley. “Thanks, Ash. Yours wasn’t stellar either.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a French connection like you do.”
“Having an aunt who visited Quebec for a year doesn’t help. Especially given that she’s back in Beijing.”
“Let’s drop it, ladies. Malin trumps your French tests.” I grab Ashley with my other hand and move back into the procession of people entering the gym.
It’s rare to see the dividing walls between the three court-size gyms stacked away. The result is a soaring columned void across the front, filled only by the school podium stand and a lineup of administration. They wait, pressed single file against the cinderblock wall. The usual scent of rubber and athletic mats has been replaced by the dust hanging in the air, stirred up when the custodians pulled out the long benches for seating. We find an empty section of paint-chipped wood near the back of a bleacher just as Mrs. Henderson marches toward the microphone. She is joined by our two VPs, the head of Guidance, and a striking middle-aged man with a perfectly tailored suit. He’s familiar, like an actor from some old James Bond movie Dad forced me to watch, but I can’t place him amongst our small-town population.
“Hey, do you know who the guy in the suit is?” I ask Jade. Her father works at city hall and knows almost everyone in town.
“I think he works at the hospital, maybe on the …” She hesitates. “Maybe he’s on the board?”
Mrs. Henderson buttons her black suit jacket and tests the microphone with her acrylic nail, sending a loud thud through the gymnasium. She pauses for the grumbles to subside.
“Thank you all for joining us today,” she begins in her high-strung voice. She clears her throat. “We ask that you turn off your phones and devices and refrain from speaking to your neighbors until the end of this assembly.” Pause. “Mrs. Walters from Guidance will be sharing an update from Malin’s family.” Throat clear. “We have also invited Dr. Kowalski from the hospital’s mental health program to speak with us regarding positive grieving and early signs of mental illness.”
“That’s where I know him from.” I lean into Jade. “He works at my mom’s hospital.”
“Lucky her.” Ashley flips her hair as if the well-dressed man will notice her amongst the crowd of students. “So, what, he’s like a doctor?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, he can pick my brain apart any day.” Ashley stares him down like a cheetah ready to pounce.
A rush of laughter escapes from Jade, and I stifle my own outburst. “You are disgusting. He could be your dad,” I mumble through my covered mouth.
Mrs. Henderson clears her throat again and scans the gymnasium to hush the whispers and other inappropriate noises. I square my shoulders to show I’m now going to be serious. Ashley and Jade take the hint too.
“I know many of you have been wondering about the nature of Malin’s unfortunate passing.” Mrs. Henderson grips the microphone. “We will never know all the details of what transpired the evening of her death. However, the family does wish to share that Malin was suffering from mental illness and had been engaging in risky behavior leading up to that evening. They hope through her death, something positive can be taken and learned that will help save other students from traveling down a similar path.”
The whispers elevate to a murmur across the room.
Ashley frowns. “What does she mean by risky behavior?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Probably drugs?”
“Does it matter? She was sick and now she’s dead,” Jade says with a flat pitch.
Mrs. Walters takes over the mike and shares the family’s request for the funeral and wake the following Saturday to be attended only by family and close friends. A special commissioned performance will be held at the town theater in the spring, with proceeds going to the Mood Disorders Awareness Group. Student involvement is highly encouraged at all levels of the production.
“You guys should do that.” Jade nudges me in the shoulder. Ashley shakes her head. “Nah, I didn’t know her at all. But you should, Thea.”