Pieces of You

Chapter Twelve

Author's Note:

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Jamie | After

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'I literally can't believe he didn't bother to show up.'

Sky snaps open her history book with way more force than necessary, slapping it against the hard, plastic table and making me flinch. Her green eyes narrow on the substitute teacher who talks to Principal Davies outside our class, pink lips stretched into a long, straight line.

Sky wears the same expression she often gives me when I'm on the phone to the pizza place – I'll have a large Hawaiian please, with extra pineapple on top. Pineapple on pizza, in Sky's eyes, is akin to making out in the church's basement (don't ask) and, according to her, her judgement is always (always!) right. And those eyes are a stormy sea of judgement as she stares at our current teacher, who is clearly not Mr Henderson.

I'm secretly glad that, for once, her narrowed eyes aren't pointing at me.

I shuffle in my seat, following her glare outside. The two teachers talk quickly between each other, their brows sharp and shoulders tight. The conversation looks urgent and, judging by the way they keep interrupting each other, it looks like they're arguing.

Sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by my classmates who are all too happy for this extra break, I try to make out their words between the glass door. It's immediately pointless, though: their lips move too quickly and hand movements from Principal Davies cuts out my sight. Either way, their conversation balances the fine line between professionalism and outright yelling at each other in the hall.

I turn away, sighing.

It's scary what one missing girl will do.

Fear is in the air, lingering like dust, and we're all breathing it in.

Students who have known each other for years have suddenly forgotten they've grown up together, poisoned by the distrust hovering in halls and exchanging narrowed glares filled with suspicion. Even those who never get involved in gossip have changed; I've noticed them since Blaire disappeared, leaning against walls or sitting at the back of class, attention on their phones but ears on the whispers hissed through Chanel-caked lips.

Gritting my teeth, I roll my eyes over the class.

None of the others seem as annoyed as Sky with Henderson's absence – they're distracted. Most stand around the tables, talking to each other in hushed whispers. Only Sky and I sit at an actual desk, surrounded by my half-empty notebook, Sky's number two pencil and my favourite pen. Judging by the monotonous chatter and cell phones ringing every other minute, I think we're the only ones who have actually noticed Henderson's absence.

I take a deep breath, turning to Sky.

Looking at her, she seems fine. Her hair is curly and red as usual. She wears her favourite jumper from Forever 21 – a knitted one her mom gave her last year for Christmas. If anything, she's wearing a little more lip gloss than her normal dose and the sweet hint of daisy I get whenever she flicks her hair tells me she's got a new perfume on.