Whitmore Prep

Chapter 33

        There is no class the next morning.  I don't know if they happened or not. Just... no one went.         Honors and normal kids alike. We just stayed in our rooms, not even coming out for breakfast.
        I hear something now. Banging? It's all muffled by my pillow. I don't know. I hear the door open. Ash. She sits on the edge of my bed, nudges my leg. "Hey. They're holding an assembly."
        I don't respond. Not a word. Not a movement. Ash stands. Hits me with a pillow. "Get the hell up. You will not do this. You will be strong." Her voice is rough. Cracking.
        Don't move. Can't move. I don't really know the difference anymore. I'm in a spiraling hole, and I'm not sure where it's going. The darkness is swallowing me, surrounding my every thought. My every action. I want to scream. I want to let every inch of tension leave me. But the second I open my mouth it fills me. The darkness invades me, stuffing my lungs. I can't breathe.
        Suddenly bright light fills everything. I feel a sharp sting across my face. It's so disorienting. I don't know what's going on.
        Then I feel it again. The sting. It's worse than the darkness. I see her above me. Ash? She has one hand bunched up in my shirt. The other is lifted behind her, her open palm ready to swing again. Her tears fall hot on my face, the only tears I've ever seen her cry.
        "Stop this." She demands, her raised hand falling beside her.
        "I can't" I breathe, my shivers shaking every inch of my body.
        "You will." She gasps. Then she is gone.
                                                                                    ~~~~~
        I don't remember getting up. I don't remember leaving my dorm. All I know is that I'm in the auditorium. The wall is cold against my back. I didn't bring a coat. I didn't even change out of my pajamas.
        Parker lands against the wall next to me. His hair is sticking up randomly, greasy. The permanent bags under his eyes have deepened, the bruises bringing out how pale he is. He looks as bad as I do.
        He doesn't look at me. We don't say a word. We just wait.
        Headmaster walks onto the stage, wearing a full black suit. Unlike all of us, she looks composed. "As all of you may know... there's been an accident." Her voice breaks, the composure cracks. I hear someone in the audience sobbing loudly. "There will be a funeral at Whitmore Prep. The first in ten years." Headmaster keeps her head high, tears streaming reliantly down her rouged cheeks.
        "Elise was a bright, quiet, young girl. She did not deserve this." Headmaster turns abruptly and leaves. We stay there. Sitting. Standing. Crouching. Whatever position we have found ourselves in we don't move from. Slowly, one by one, without saying a word, they leave. No one leaves together.         No one says goodbye.
        We just drift.
                                                                                      ~~~~~
        There is no class the next week. No one knows how to deal with grief. We're broken. Some go home, to their families, to their friends, to God knows where. They leave.
        Some have their parents come and get them. Ash's parents show up the first afternoon and pack her bags without saying a word. Her father has a grave look on his face, having to hear every grieving teenager.
        I don't leave the room much. Only when my stomach feels like it's about to fold in on itself do I go to the Dining Hall. Other then that I stay in my bed, curled in the same darkness that suffocated me earlier.
        The nice thing about Ash is that she wouldn't take this. She kept me functioning. But with her gone, I have no one to hold me together.
        God knows I can't do it myself.
        The funeral is on the Friday after her death. Parents come to campus for support. So do classmates from her old school. The parents of the classmates from her old school. It was packed.
It's taking place in the auditorium, still too cold to have it outside. It's packed.
        Mom and Georgia didn't come. They would have had to have taken Jerome. They didn't know what to tell him. So they stayed.
        Parker's parents obviously didn't come. But it seems like everyone else's did.
        "Thank you for coming today." Elise's mother squeaks into the microphone. She's blonde and petite, just like her daughter. She's also as quiet as a mouse. Just like her daughter. She talks about her life, her life goals. I can't take it all.
        I rest my head on Parker's shoulder, who is staring into space, a glassy look in his green eyes. I look around at the other mourners. Students wipe at their eyes with tissues, some sob silently into their hands.
        I see Headmaster in the front row, her back turned to me. She is sitting tall, ridged, like she's trying too hard to not fall apart. Next to her is a man I don't recognize. He squeezes her shoulder with a tan hand, a gold band shining obviously on his ring finger.
        I focus on that for the next half hour. People come and go at the podium, sharing fond or funny memories of Elise. But all I see is that hand on Headmaster's shoulder, holding her together when she cannot.
        After it is over, people start to leave. They greet each other somberly, exchanging hugs or handshakes. I watch them all, not moving. Parker doesn't move either, his eyes as glassy as they were before.
        I wait until there are few others in the auditorium. Then I stand myself. I squeeze Parker's shoulder, as the man did for Headmaster. He turns his head up towards me, his eyes still unfocused.
        "Come on, let's go." I whisper gently. I don't need to be very loud, it's dead silent. Ironic words to use after a funeral.
        Parker stands. I take his arm and lead him towards the exit. Poor Parker. He's been the worst of all of us. He was the one to find her, after all. All that he's done since then was sit in his room. He didn't cry. He didn't eat. He didn't do anything, just stare ahead. Rolland had to help him get dressed this morning.
        I spot Delilah still in her seat, a blubbering mess. There's a box of tissues sitting in Adrian's lap. Or what I assume is his lap. He's invisible.
        We're a wreck. The only one that seemed to hold together was Ash. In fact, she was the only one able to keep all of us together. And now she's gone. I can't believe it.
        My breath hitches as I remember waking up, all of her stuff gone. Not just her clothes, books, or things that can fit in a suitcase. Everything. Bedding. Posters. Even the soap in the bathroom.
Who's going to hold us together now?
        Parker and I float to the exit, my arm linked through his. His hands aren't in his pockets, the default place for them when they aren't holding mine. Instead, they hang by his sides, limp. His hands are especially pale, the blue veins tracing a map under his skin. Pumping the last reminder that he's alive. 
        Headmaster stands at the exit, speaking to every person who passes, student or not. Next to her is the man, who looks the best rested than anyone here. He obviously didn't know her.
        "How are you doing, Ms. Hark? Mr. James?" Headmaster asks tenderly, forcing a small, caring smile.
        "We've been better." I admit, answering for the two of us. Parker obviously isn't going to.
        "Honey," Headmaster turns to the man, motioning to us, "This is Parker James and Clementine Hark. Ms. Hark is one of the newest Honors students in the school."
        The man steps forward, holding out a hand for shaking. I shake it. "Nice to meet you."
        "This is my fiancé, one of the founders of the school." Headmaster beams through the thick bags under her eyes.
        "Oh! That's cool," I try to show enthusiasm, even though I'm half asleep right now, "So are you Mr. Whitmore?"
        "No, Madame Whitmore was a colleague before her passing. I only wish to be as amazing as she was." He explains, trying to look humble. I nod along. "The only thing I can do is this." He looks around, and then opens the palm of his hand, revealing an orange.
         "A Clementine for Ms. Clementine," He smiles, not so humbly this time, holding out the fruit for me. I stare at it. I don't move a muscle until I look up at his face. Really look at his face for the first time.
        "Jamie Ramirez?" I ask cautiously. He nods, looking confused. His eyes are round and brown, the same as mine. His lips have the same soft slant. His skin is darker than mine, showing off his Hispanic heritage while it's only half of mine.
        Holy shit. This guy is my father.