There they are. Jennie's hockey team, a few classmates, family. Some embrace each other, or hold hands with each other. If I'm right, they're all crying. It looks like the audience of the Titanic movie. It makes me sick.
My eyes go to Jennie's coffin in front of the room. I fantasize how she looks like, with her full pink lips, smooth skin and red dyed hair. She is so beautiful, even now, when she's dead...
Two days ago her mourning advertisement was in the newspaper. How can they distort the truth like that? The moment I read it I put a lighter under the newspaper and watched how it caught fire.
The funeral director announces the following speaker: an uncle. I put a sad look on my face. My eyes are swollen due to the lack of sleep and my hands are shaking. It looks very convincing. But what I actually feel is anger.
Jennie's death wasn't suicide. It was murder. How can nobody understand that?
'Listen to me!' I would like to shout. 'I know what really happened!' But I stay quiet. I make myself as small as possible and make sure nobody pays attention to me.
There's no room for mistakes. This plan has to work. No matter what.
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