Evidence of Foul Play

Chapter 2- Paige

Inside the building was a large hallway filled with people and lockers. Names were written on the outside of the lockers, but since I only knew 'my' first name, it took me a couple of minutes to find mine. The name on the front of the dull gray locker spelled out 'Paige Parker' in white letters. What a dorky name. I thought wryly. There was no lock, thankfully and when I opened the door I saw that there was a stack of books at the top and a schedule taped to the door. I hung up my book bag and glanced at my classes. It was Wednesday, right? Ok. First period, AP Lit. Room 125 with Mr. Brown.

I grabbed what I assumed was my literature textbook before grabbing my notebook from my bag. Then I set off to find my class. I had to go down two hallways, around three corners and into a new wing of the school before I finally found room 125. I paused at the door, swallowed, then pushed it open.

I took approximately two steps into the classroom before I stopped dead in my tracks. Jonathan was sitting not ten feet from me, in the front row of desks. I stood there awkwardly, staring at him before I realized everyone was looking at me. I blushed, then sat next to him while keeping my head low. When Jonathan had recognized me his eyes widened and something like relief had spread across his face.

I had about a billion questions I needed to ask him, but at that moment the teacher walked in. They would have to wait. The teacher, who I could only assume was Mr. Brown, entered the room and crossed to his desk. He shuffled some papers around before finding the one he was looking for. Sliding his glasses onto his nose, he began to read off names.

"Stacey Abrahams."

"Here."

"Samuel Christchurch."

"Here."

The names blurred as my mind reeled. Delayed reaction from dying, I guess.

"Paige Parker." I jumped in my seat, startled. Someone snickered.

"H-here." I stammered, blushing furiously once more.

"Jonathan Summers."

I expected Jonathan, my Jonathan, to be the one to answer him; however, a spotty guy with greasy black hair drawled in a clearly bored tone "here."

"Glad to see you decided to join us." Mr. Brown replied sarcastically. It was clear that ‘Jonathan’s’ lethargic attitude was nothing new. "Zoe Viandier."

"Here." A petite girl with black hair pulled back in a french braid spoke up.

"Maximilian Watson." Beside me, Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"Here." He said with a sigh.

"Charles Zimmerman."

"Here."

Mr. Brown put away the list and addressed the class as a whole. "Now, let's get class started. I assume you have all completed your papers on Elizabethan England?" My heart skipped a beat. I dug through my things until I found a folder titled: AP Literature. I opened it, and staring back at me was an essay titled "Elizabethan England: Shakespeare, Sonnets, and Swords." I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. I had a nasty habit of obsessing over grades.

In the back of the class, Jonathan Summers raised his hand. "Yes, Jonathan?"

"I forgot to do it."

Mr. Brown sighed. "Three weeks. You forgot every day for three weeks even though I reminded the whole class every day that it was due today?"

"Yeah." He mumbled, studying the frayed corner of his textbook. I sighed inwardly. Some people just didn't care.

"Fine. Those of you who have completed your papers, please hand them forward. Mr. Summers, see me after class."

Five more papers found their way into my hands before I handed the whole pile to Mr. Brown. He tucked them away into a folder and turned to the board. Picking up a marker, he wrote in big capital letters the word THEATRICS. I smiled to myself. I knew this.

"Alright, kids. Who can tell me about this subject?" Jonathan and I raised our hands.

* * * * *

After English, I had a quick succession of classes. French IV, AP Calculus, and Physical Education. The only class I had difficulty with was PE, because although I was fast, I had absolutely no endurance or upper-body strength at all. I spent the period struggling to keep up with the rest of the class and my arms felt like they were melting off my body. Screw my life. (Lives?)

After PE, the entire junior class channeled into the massive cafeteria for lunch break. I grabbed a tray, got some food and scanned the cafeteria. A large variety of tables and seating arrangements filled the huge space. I finally spotted Jonathan, er, "Maximilian" sitting at a tiny table equipped with two chairs. He waved me over, and I sighed in relief.

When I sat down, the first thing I said was "I'm so sorry."

The first thing he had said when I sat down was the exact same thing. Our voices overlapped each other which sounded a bit freaky. "Why?" He asked me, giving me a strange look. I returned it. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything until I did I cleared my throat before finally managing to speak.

"It's all my fault. It's because of me that you're... dead? What on earth would you have to apologize for?"

"For not saving you."

"But..."

"Shh, no buts." He was deadly serious, staring me in the eye. "I won't have you blaming yourself for my death. You'll destroy yourself, Thea. I know you."

"And you can't possibly blame yourself for not saving me."

"But..."

"Remember, no buts." I took a bit of my chicken salad sandwich, but found I had no appetite. Glancing back at him, I saw that he had a stubborn set to his jaw, letting me know further debate was useless. I tried a different tactic. "So, Maximilian. How has your day been? Nice name, by the way."

He gritted his teeth. "Max."

"Fine. So, 'Max', how has your day been?"

"Don't. Ask."

"That bad, huh?"

"I woke up to some drunkard yelling at me to get up. Needless to say, I got dressed at the speed of light and sprinted out the door without even eating anything. I'm famished."

"Who knew the dead needed to eat?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Sorry, not funny." I said, my fake smile slipping from my face instantly.

Max shook his head. "I don't think we're dead. At least not in the physical sense. It's so confusing."

"I don't even know what we're doing here. Hell, I don't know anything."

"What happened to your hair, by the way?"

My hand instantly jumped to my head, not used to the feeling of it. "I don't know!" I replied, upset. "I woke up and it was gone!"

"I wonder why... I mean, there must be a reason."

"Says who? Is there really a reason behind this whole thing?" He was silent. "I mean, I'm definitely dead, and you are too. Yet we're here, alive, and struggling. Is this some form of twisted punishment or something? You haven’t killed anyone recently have you?”

He shook his head. "Have you even figured out where 'here' is?"

"No clue. For all I know, we're on fucking Mars." I said, resisting the urge to hit my head against a wall repeatedly.