Last Days Alive

Monday. School. People.
Three things I did not want to face as I crawled out of bed that morning. I began the mundane tasks of school days whilst worrying about what was to come. How would people react around me? Would they leave me alone? Would they crowd around me, blubbering about my loss? Dear God, I hope not.
I blundered down the stairs, half-dressed and majorly needing cereal. I poured myself a large bowl of Captain Crunch, mumbling incoherent ‘Good Mornings’ to my Mom and older brother Sam.

I sat at the kitchen counter, eating slowly. I did not feel sad or on the verge if tears. Just depressed, lonely and slightly stressed.
“Hey, Michi,” My Mom smiled as she glided into the kitchen. As per-usual, she had already made herself up- her blonde bobbed hair styled and gleaming, her skin radiant as if she had been on holiday- and the latest fashionable clothes from an unknown designer hanging from slender frame. She placed a small, delicate hand on my forehead. I winced as her fingers touched the sore lump on my head.

“You’re awful hot, Michaela,” She said, her thick southern drawl becoming worried.
“Are you sure you’re not ill? Maybe you shouldn’t go to school today…” I waved her hand away, annoyed.
“I’m fine, Mom. I have to go to school sometime, might as well get it over with.”
“Okay,” She said, moving around the counter. “But if you get sick in class, I’m not picking you up.”
“Yes, whatever. Anyway… what about you?” I asked, not interested. “Which designer you wearing today?”

Mom grinned; happy I was finally talking about fashion. She gave a little twirl, showing off her magnificent garment.
“Rufus Noire. He is absolutely divine. Don't you think?" She spun again.
"Yep. Yep. Divine."
"Amy!" Thank God.
My Dad called Mom, walking into the kitchen with his arms outstretched.

He, like my mother, enjoyed wearing lustrous clothing- having a whole closet devoted to his suits. Today, he looked magnificent as ever, his deep brown tangle of hair and cloudy blue eyes matching his dark Armani suit pleasantly. A small silver nametag was pinned on the lapel of his suit, reading ‘Mr. Hart’.
He wrapped my mother in his inescapable arms, hugging her tightly.
“Morning, Dad.” I said around a mouthful of cereal.
He turned to me, smiling.

“Good morning, Michaela Ann Hart.” He broke away from Mom, ruffling my long, dirty blonde hair with his hand. I grimaced.
Many times, I had asked him why he refused to call me by my first name, and he had always said:
“I chose it, so I may use it as I please.” It was often very annoying.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.” I said, batting his hand away jokingly. He chuckled.

“Whatever. Anyway, I have some news!” He pulled my mother closer, snaking his giant hand around her waist.
Mom giggled. “What news?”
Dad took a deep breath, looking as if he was going to burst.
“Just say…”
“I got a promotion!” Dad yelled, beaming.
He was a low-end fashion photographer, mostly shooting for catalogues and billboards. A promotion meant that he moved for catalogues to high-end fashion, shooting for magazines such as Elle or Vogue. This also meant we would have to move again.

The problem with two fashion-obsessed parents, is that they expected you to be just as infatuated as they were. Unfortunately for them, Sam and I were not the type of children who took an interest in fashion. I was a vintage-retro nerd, and Sam practically lived in his football uniform. Not exactly what they were expecting, then.

“Omygosh yay!” My mother screamed, jumping into Dad’s arms.
“Congrats, Dad.” I tried, but he ignored me, turning to my beaming mother.
They leant into each other.
“Oh, hey, no! No parents making out while children are in the house! Ew!” I hastily leapt from the table, gathering my things and leaving for school.



My feet dragged on the linoleum floras I loped down the school corridor, my sneakers occasionally squeaking. I was given a wide berth by the students, each one not daring to look me in the eye. I sighed. Wishing that everything could go back to normal was pointless. From here on inwards, things would be different. I had not figured out whether I liked different yet.

I reached the door of my lesson, lightly pushing it open so I could peek in. The small cupboard of a Spanish room was filled with students; hanging around, sitting on tables, talking to friends. I knew that as soon as I walked into that class, everybody would be silently staring. I closed the door, hesitating. I really didn’t want to be the centre of attention.
All of a sudden, the door burst open, startling me. A person stepped out, breathing a sigh of relief. Josh.

It was seriously weird how he and I kept meeting like this. I shook my head.
His ochre hair was tousled, cute little tufts sticking out here and there. He was dressed in a simple jeans and t-shirt ensemble that clung to his tall, lanky build in all the right places. Josh’s sharp gaze interrupted my staring, making me realize I was standing there ogling like an idiot.
“Uh, hi.” I tried, raising my hand to wave- which only resulted in me dropping my books. Great.

We both stared at the pile of textbooks before I moved, my cheeks glowing bright crimson. Slowly, he bent down to help me. An awkward silence ensued, my face becoming more hot and flustered by the minute. Why was I reacting like this? We stood at the same time, arms full of textbooks.

“Sorry, that was pretty stupid… Uh, thanks Josh.” I smiled sheepishly at him.
“S’alright.” He mumbled, trying not to look at me.
I opened my mouth to say something- anything to keep small talk- when I was interrupted by the sharp whine of the bell.

“We should probably… uh… class?” I said brilliantly. As if.
“Uh, yeah. Here you go.” He thrust the remaining books into my hands, quickly sliding back into the room. I closed my eyes, shoving the books into my bag. What was the matter with me?! Reluctantly, I followed him in.

Spanish wasn’t too bad. Everyone had already been told to shut up, which was a plus, but still I had to deal with the constant staring and hushed conversations. They probably thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of class. If things carried on like this, I most likely would.
I half-swivelled in my chair to get a look at the clock. Only ten ‘o’ clock! Half an hour more of torture before a break, even if for only fifteen minutes.

I slouched, defeated. My tired eyes were drawn from the clock on the wall, to the person sitting under it. Why had Josh come outside? I scrunched my face up, annoyed at my stupidity. Josh was Kyle’s brother. He was probably getting as much scrutiny from people as I was. He had come out for a break. In addition, I was there, another reminder of his brother. God! How idiotic could I get? And I tried to have a conversation with him… probably the person he wanted to talk to least.

I opened my eyes, staring at him. Was he a changed person, now that his brother was gone? Josh was bent over a textbook, seemingly unfazed about the small conversations of Kyle being thrown about the room.
“Miss Hart, if you would kindly take your eyes off Josh and return to your work, por favor.” Ms. Lester said, agitated.
Sniggers echoed around the classroom.

At the sound of his name, Josh looked up, surprised. His gaze went straight to me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I quickly turned away, trying to save myself from more embarrassment,
“I was… the clock… looking at the… clock.” I blew out a long breath. I really didn’t need everyone thinking I was in love with Josh. I mean, he did help me last night after the fight, but that didn’t mean I wanted to go out with him. I already had my chance at love- and I blew it. How could I not think Kyle’s death was my fault? I shouldn’t have left him alone that night. But these were things I could not take back.

Kyle was gone, everybody thought I was hitting on his brother, I was failing Spanish- but I had to stay positive and doubt-free. Unfortunately, my life doesn’t always turn out how I want it to.