by T. A. Kunz
The animosity I’ve been holding in my soul over the past few weeks has all but faded away, replaced with uncertainty and regret. The idea of Lori committing suicide just doesn’t make any sense. I’m even having a hard time believing she accidentally overdosed. And why did she lie to Donovan about having depression?
Something doesn’t feel right. Trent has to be involved somehow.
“How you holding up?” A familiar voice wades through my thoughts.
I shake from my daze and see Donovan standing there. I haven’t seen him since that night. He looks kind of like how I feel. His hands are stuffed in his pockets with his shoulders slumped forward. The slight bags under his eyes accentuate the dreary expression on his face.
“I’m not really sure how to answer that,” I reply. “It all seems unreal. I keep thinking that soon I’m going to wake up.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean.” His voice quakes a little. “It’s okay not to know. I don’t either, to be honest.”
“This is uncharted territory for me, you know? Probably for most of us,” I say, returning my gaze to Lori’s memorial.
Donovan’s arm drapes over my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder and there are no more words. We just stand there staring at Lori’s locker, which resembles one of her many social media walls full of fun pictures. If I had any tears left to cry I would, but it seems as if I’m all tapped out.
A commotion rumbles through the hall. We both look and see students moving to the side, making way for the sheriff of Haddon Falls with a couple of deputies in tow.
“Those are the deputies from Saturday night,” Donovan says. “I wonder what they’re doing here.”
“I don’t know. Hopefully it’s not more bad news.”
My eyes drift back to Lori’s locker. Out of my peripheral vision, I see someone in a black and red letterman’s jacket approaching. Trent’s voice smashes into me before I can turn and look at him. My entire body tenses.
“I know you hate me and I’m the very last person you want to see right now, but I wanted to say … I’m sorry.” His posture suggests he’s being forced to stand there, like a sniper has his sights set on him, threating to shoot if he moves.
Flames of anger slide up my cheeks. Donovan’s grip tightens on my shoulder. “I think it’d be best if you just left, Trent,” he says before I’m able to muster any kind of words to tell Trent off. I’m at a complete loss for what to say.
“I get it,” he says, taking a step back.
I rip away from Donovan’s arm and drop my stuff on the ground. The loud sound doesn’t even faze me. “I don’t think you do, Trent. I don’t think you understand that my best friend is gone now because of you.” I poke my finger into his chest. He just stares at me, not saying anything. I prod him harder a second time. It seems to trigger a reaction. His face reads a little more irritated. “You’re to blame, you asshole! This.” I point to Lori’s locker. “Is your fault.” My voice shakes, and I guess I’m not as tapped out as I thought because tears begin to stream down my face. “Just get the hell out of my face. I can’t stand to look at you,” I shout, and then turn back to face Donovan.
Someone takes hold of my wrist. I ball up my free hand into a fist, hauling off and swinging at the person behind me. It connects, hard, and my hands shoot up to stifle the horrified gasp that leaves my mouth when I realize who I just hit.
Harrison.
He stands there massaging his jaw, just staring at me. Trent stands off to his side, a look of surprise mixed with amusement on his face. The surrounding crowd seems just as stunned as I am at what just happened.
“All four of you, in the principal’s office, now,” one of the guidance counselors, Mrs. Walsh, booms from behind us. She comes to stand by our little foursome, a stern look locked on her face. With an insistent wave of her hand, she gestures us to follow.
It’s feels like a shame march as everyone parts for us, all staring. Whispers roll throughout the hallway, making me feel worse.
Why did I have to be such a hot head back there?
I can feel Harrison’s eyes on my back as we keep walking single file. Guilt doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. There’s no way he deserved all the rage I put behind that punch. It was reserved for the asshat beside him.
“Is all of this necessary, Aunt Helen?” Donovan asks from in front of me.
Huh, I didn’t realize she was his aunt.
“We have a zero-tolerance policy for violence on campus, Donovan,” she replies. “Considering the circumstances, this is all more than necessary.”
Her response strikes me as odd.
“What do you mean by that?” Donovan takes the words from my mouth.
She moves ahead of us and opens the door to the front office. She steers us inside and doesn’t answer his question. “Take a seat. One chair apart from each other, please,” she instructs.
We all drop down into our respective spots like children in time out, complete with a disapproving huff from Trent at the end.
“I can’t afford to get in trouble like this, Mrs. Walsh. I need to play in Thursday’s game to impress a scout,” Trent tosses his weak plea at her.
“Well you should’ve thought about that, huh?” she replies and then moves over to the desk of the principal’s administrative assistant.
Trent grumbles and slumps back into his seat. “I can’t believe this crap,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Will you please shut up?” says Harrison.
“You know what, Harrison? It’s your fault we’re in here anyway. You’re the one who made me go apologize to that psycho down there,” he says, and I find myself consumed with the urge to smack him again.
Did Harrison really make him do that?
“Donovan, please come with me,” Mrs. Walsh says.
Donovan flashes me an unsure look before following her down another hall toward the guidance offices. My leg bobs as I grow restless. I roll the hem of my shirt between my fingers as my mind floods with thoughts of Lori and the events that led me to this very moment. It seems like we’ve been sitting here for ages, and there’s only so many things on the wall to look at to pass the time. At my height, I can barely see over the receptionist’s counter while seated in this chair, so there’s that.
The door to the principal’s office swings open and the sheriff and two deputies file out. Their presence causes uncertainty to spring up within me. I wish I knew what they were doing here.
Does it have anything to do with Lori?
“Trent Blakemore, could you come in here, please?” Our principal, Mrs. Grayson, beckons.
He shoves himself away from his seat and trudges over to her office before disappearing behind the closed door.
Now’s my chance. I have to say something to Harrison.
I tap on the chair between us, hoping to get his attention. He ignores me. I clear my throat to drive home the point and tap again.
“Quiet, please,” Gloria, the principal’s admin, calls out.
Not the person I wanted.
“Sorry, Gloria,” I say.
Harrison laughs under his breath. I snap my head to face him. “It’s not that funny, okay?”
He nods with a tickled expression. I huff and collapse back against the chair. There’s a tap on the seat between us and I swivel my head to look at him. He isn’t even looking at me. I think he just tapped on the chair for the hell of it.
Is he mocking me?
He faces me while showcasing a hesitant grin and taps again.
“Yes?” I whisper.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Oh, so now you want to talk?”
He nods. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, fine, ask away.”
“Do you lift weights?”
“What?”
“I mean you’d have to, right? With a left hook like that? It was really impressive.”
A small laugh escapes
me. “That was your question?”
He shakes his head. “How’s your hand?”
I’m the one who punched him and he’s worried about my hand?
“Surprisingly well, considering what it hit,” I reply.
He trails his fingertips across his jaw. “Yeah, this here cuts diamonds, so you must be pretty tough.”
“Okay, that was extremely corny,” I say, but I can’t help but giggle again.
“Ah, but it did its job. You laughed,” he says, his grin shrinking to a pleased smirk.
Gloria clears her throat. “Second warning, you two,” she says.
We both toss our apologies her way before flattening back against our seats.
Screw a third warning. I need to apologize to him.
We both start to speak at a low volume at the same time. I’m surprised he’s willing to risk getting in trouble just to talk to me. He has more to lose than I do since he’s an integral part of the football team.
“Me first,” he whispers.
“But I want to apologize,” I argue, just as quiet.
“Okay, apology accepted. Now me,” he says. “You were right. I’ve screwed up when it comes to Trent. I should’ve done or said something. I need to be better. So, all I need to know is will you forgive me?”
“Thank you for saying that.” I take in a delicate breath and then release a contented sigh. “And yes, I forgive you.”
“Good,” he says. Then his expression becomes thoughtful. “And for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry about what happened to Lori.”
“Yeah, I think that’s the common consensus.”
“Indeed,” he agrees with a deep sigh.
A bout of silence falls between us as I lean my head back against the wall. I can’t believe I went that long without thinking about Lori. And I’m conflicted, to say the least. Up until Harrison mentioned her, I’d been distracted for the first time since the waves of sadness began bombarding me that night. Huh, this is the second time he’s done this for me. The first time was back at Sophia’s party.
Maybe he’s more than just a mere distraction from my problems.
Donovan
I’ve always considered myself a great keeper of secrets. In fact, my small group of friends back home used to refer to me as their therapist. They all came to me with their problems, maybe because I’m also a pretty good listener or because I’m just quiet and unassuming.
No matter how big or small the secret, I’ve kept tight-lipped about them all, sometimes to a fault. There was even one time back in fourth grade when one of my good friends confided in me that he peed his pants during a field trip to the aquarium. I kept watch while he cleaned himself up and then helped get rid of the evidence so the rest of the class, including the teacher, were none the wiser. To this day, I have yet to utter a single word of it to anyone. I haven’t even brought it up to him again.
Flash forward to now, and I’m struggling not to break all of my rules regarding secrets. I was just sworn to secrecy. If I were to divulge this sensitive information, I could get quite a few people in real trouble, including my aunt, though I’ve been assured the truth of this matter will be revealed once all the details have surfaced.
I’d asked my aunt how she learned what she shared with me. She said she overheard the start of the conversation when the sheriff first arrived. She had decided to step out of the principal’s office after she heard more than she cared to know.
That’s how I feel right now. Like I’ve heard more than I want to know. I leave my aunt’s office and close the door absently behind me. My mind races. At first, I thought she was going to ream me for being involved in the altercation this morning, but it quickly turned into a secret meeting that couldn’t be held around anyone else. Heavy is my heart, and heavier is my mind at the prospects of what this information means.
I wish I didn’t know these details.
I wish I’d heard about this along with everyone else.
When I reach the main office, the bank of seats is empty. No Drea, Harrison, or Trent. Relief comes over me. Now I don’t have to try and hide anything from them. I’m most concerned about keeping this from Drea.
If I don’t see her, I don’t have to lie to her.
“They’ve all been sent back to class,” Gloria says, startling me from my thoughts. She rips off a piece of yellow paper with gibberish scribbled all over it and hands it to me. “Here’s your hall pass.”
I take it from her outstretched hand and say, “Thanks,” before heading out.
The hall beyond the office is deserted with everyone in class. The stillness of the silence spikes the hair on the back of my neck, and I shudder as my mind reflects back on the conversation I just had with my aunt.
The shrill squeak of my sneakers echoes in the hall as I pick up the pace to my locker. I can’t get there fast enough. The dial on my combo lock spins between my fingertips. I don’t want to be caught in the hall by anyone, regardless of whether I have a pass or not. I somehow input the wrong combo and my locker fails to open on my first attempt.
Damn nerves.
I draw in a deep breath and focus. My input this time is more methodical and it pops open. As I reach for my books, a folded piece of paper lying on top of them catches my eye. I open it. There’s only one line of text. A simple message.
Hi Donnie.
“What the hell is this?”
I flip it over to inspect the back to see if there’s any indication of who put it in my locker or if there’s more to the message, but there’s nothing. A shiver travels down my spine and stalls at my lower back.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?”
I peer around the locker door and watch as Deputy Owens approaches with another officer right behind him. My body freezes in place. I forget how to speak. My words become jumbled in my head and refuse to be relayed to my mouth so I can express them. I crumple up the strange piece of paper and toss it back into the locker before pulling out the hall pass just in case.
“Hello, Mr. Walsh. Didn’t recognize you at first,” Deputy Owens says.
I retrieve a couple of my books and shut the locker before facing him. “Guilty as charged,” I respond, but then regret the poor choice of words.
They both chuckle. “How are you doing?” he probes.
“I guess okay, all things considered.”
It’s ridiculously hard to chat with them while knowing exactly why they’re here, as they don’t know that I know. I wish I could just stuff myself into my locker right now and slam the door.
“Glad to hear it,” he says with a kind smile. “All right, get to class, mister.”
It feels strange to be called mister by someone who looks only a few years older than me.
“You got it,” I reply, moving past them and heading to my class.
All eyes dart over to me when I enter the classroom. That’s the first thing I notice. The second thing I notice is Lori’s empty desk next to mine. It’s oddly unnerving having this many sets of eyes locked onto me while I move toward the teacher and hand him my hall pass. I almost want to take a few steps backward just to test if they’d all follow me.
Mr. Foster’s somber eyes meet mine. “Please take your seat, Mr. Walsh,” he says, motioning to my desk. “And please let me know if you need anything.”
It was nice of him to offer, but all that did was give ammo to the rest of the class. Whispers flow through the room at a low hum, like a muffled swarm of locusts. I don’t need to hear what they’re saying, I already have a pretty good idea.
“Settle down, class, and resume working on the even problems on page fifty-nine in your textbook,” orders Mr. Foster.
I slide into my seat and attempt to block out the continued murmurs around me. I open the book to the page he mentioned and turn my notebook to the next blank page. I’m poised with my mechanical pencil in hand and ready to write, but then my eyes wander over to the empty desk beside me. I imagine Lori sitting there making a goofy face because she’s
bored to tears over Mr. Foster’s lecture. She’d always doodle in her notebook and write little messages to me. She’d swivel the notebook to face me, but not so apparent as to give away that we weren’t paying attention.
In this moment, I find myself compelled to write my own message to her. My hand trembles with each passing letter I write, making my writing look unlike my own. I finish the message, and as my eyes read over it, a sigh escapes my lips. I keep reading it over and over again, but the words still seem surreal.
Who killed you, Lori?
Drea
There was a time when I couldn’t wait for senior year so I could have a free period. I worked hard for it. Now I’m dreading it more than anything because that means I’ll be alone with my thoughts. It’s not that I’d prefer social interaction, it’s just that my current state of mind has easily become my worst enemy.
It doesn’t help matters at all that battling for a spot at the forefront of my mind is the ridiculous act of chivalry Harrison apparently displayed during his talk with the principal. I knew something was up when he left her office and flashed me the smirk to end all smirks accented with a suave head nod. The way he said, “You’re up,” also had my suspicions on high alert.
He’d done something. I was sure of it.
To my complete and utter surprise, he’d thrown himself on the sword for me. He demanded the detention reserved for me be doled out on him instead. He’d taken complete blame for what I did. My actions.
Why did he do that?
Ultimately, the principal dropped the whole thing entirely because of the current atmosphere around campus. A part of me suspected the reason was she didn’t want to deal with the fallout from giving our school’s star quarterback detention before the big Homecoming game on Thursday. She did, however, give me one hell of a firm warning about violence at school right before she strongly encouraged me to take part in the grief counseling being offered. I guess it also helped that it was both mine and Harrison’s first disciplinary visit to the principal’s office.
