Unwritten Pages

Desiree and I are in the school library. No one gives us looks here. They're all focused on their work.

Thank God. I hate being noticed and looked at as if I've committed a huge crime.

Desiree is sitting on a chair, in front of a computer. She's doing research for the Math project. I'm already finished that. Desiree and I share all the same classes, thankfully.

It's second period. This is our spare. Then we have third period together. And then fourth period.

With Arianna.

I don't know what to say when I see her.

Luckily, Arianna doesn't like spares. She takes all the classes so that she doesn't have a single spare. I'm not worried about bumping into her during any spare periods.

We may bump into each other during class change. Though I doubt it. We haven't crossed paths once during this whole semester. Arianna shares all the classes with Winter, and we take separate hallways.

I freeze. Arianna shares all classes with Winter. I wonder if a classmate will tell her. I wonder if she will ask someone where Winter is.

I don't know if she will. Though I've known her for four years, Arianna is unpredictable. To top that off, her star sign is Gemini. You can say she acts like she has split personalities. She also has mood swings. Major mood swings.

Desiree gives a sign as she copies down links and saves them in her email for a reference list later.

“You okay?” Then I pause and scold myself for being stupid. Of course she isn't okay. Other than the annoyance of a project, she also has the burden of Winter's death hanging in the air.

Desiree gives me a weak smile. “Fine. I just hate this stupid project.”

But I know that's not all that's on her mind.

“Winter wouldn't want you to have a hard time just because of her,” I say. “She'll want you to be happy.”

Desiree looks like she wants to argue, but knows better. She sighs again and I wrap my arms around her. Our eyes meet and then we're kissing. But only a few seconds in and we're interrupted.

I hear someone clear their throat. I break apart, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed to be caught like that. I hope it's not a teacher. But luckily it's not.

Fortunately, it's not another acting prying ear. It's a ninth grade boy, and he's trying to get pass us.

“Oh, sorry,” I say and move out of his way.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he walks pass us and heads for his destination, wherever that is. I watch him as he disappears behind some shelves. I wish that I could back track to that point in my life—ninth grade. Near the school end. By that time, my date with drugs were already almost over. I wasn't that addicted by this time in ninth grade.

And Winter was still alive.

I shake the thought out of my head. I can regret and wallow in sorrow later.

“That was kind of embarrassing,” Desiree says. I smirk and she blushes.

“Oh, can you help me with this bar graph?” Desiree points to the screen full of complicated math questions. With graphs and equation symbols everywhere.

“Here,” I say, as I move over towards the screen. I starts typing and showing her of ways to do the graphs. That's how we spend our study period, working on a dumb math assignment.

When the period is over, Desiree and I find a quiet spot outside of the library and eat our lunch. No one bothers us, luckily. I don't see Liane Chau anywhere. Arianna doesn't stay in school for lunch, she goes out and buys her lunch and doesn't come back until lunch is over. So I don't worry about seeing her now.

Desiree looks around as if she's afraid that someone will pop out of nowhere.

“Liane Chau,” I say, “vicious, rude, manipulative.” Desiree nods in agreement.

“Hey,” she says, “do you think Ms. Quin and Liane might be related somehow? I mean, they're both horrible...”

I laugh. Because it's true. The thought of Liane replacing Ms. Quin as the bitch teacher makes me laugh. Liane seems like a perfect candidate for this. Though I think it's more likely that she'll be some sort of reporter. Someone that spies on celebrities, maybe. Someone who digs around for dirt.

“I thought she was nice at first,” Desiree continues, “really. Even before today, when she opened the door. When I first saw her in English class, I thought she was a nice person. Like...like Winter.”

“She's nothing like Winter,” I say.

Desiree sighs. “Yeah, I know. Winter is...better,” Desiree finally says. “Liane seems like a backstabber. She's so fake too. The way she talks and all. Like she thinks she has everything, knows everything, and can get everything.”

Desiree was the type of person to look into personalities.

Now that I think about it that way...

“She wants to get some sort of status and fame out of us,” I say. “I wonder why she even asked about our relationship. Funny how I've never remembered such a...backstabbing person in this school.”

“I remember her vaguely,” Desiree says. “We barely had any classes together. I never talked to her. She never talked to me. You're lucky,” Desiree looks at me with jealousy, “you don't meet any of the horrible people until now.”

“What?” I'm surprised. “What are you talking about? I've obviously met some bastards in my life!”

“Don't swear!” Desiree says. I give her a defiant look. “What I'm saying is—you never had Ms. Quin for a teacher. You never met Liane. And you probably don't even know who Gregory Symons and Melinda Soares is!”

“Well, I know that Melinda Soares is the slut of the school...but I've never met her...”

“Exactly!”

“Well someone has to get the good luck,” I joke. Desiree scowls and punches me in the arm.

“Ow!” I pretend that it hurts and rub my arm. “That hurts a lot! I'm serious! It was on a bruise!”

Desiree's eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!” She lifts up my shirt sleeve to examine the 'damage'. I smirk inwardly. It's quite funny playing these jokes on her.

Desiree sees that there's nothing there. No wound, no bruise. She scowls at me. “Jerk!”

We joke around for a while and eat. By the time we finish, it's time for next class.

We start to head to our next class. Which is math, unfortunately. We leave the library hallway and start up the stairs.

“I hate math,” Desiree states, “it's hard to concentrate in class. And it's boring.”

“Hey, I like math,” I protest. Desiree looks at me as if I've grown another head. “No, really. Math is pretty...entertaining. I guess...” I trail off and Desiree shakes her head at me as if I were a lost cause.

“Hey!”

“What? What kind of person would like math? Are you sane?” She asks, “are you high?”

Then Desiree realizes that she might have hit a sore spot and she winces. She usually does the 'drugs' joke with everyone. It was just out of habit.

“It's okay. The past is the past,” I say. I'm not hurt that she's mentioned drugs. Anyways, how would I have met Desiree if I hadn't been taking them? Not that drugs should be worshipped because of that, of course. But I have something to be thankful for.

Desiree doesn't look quite comfortable yet. But she seems to let that incident slide by.

We make it to math early. Unfortunately, our seats are across the room from each other. And our teacher, Mr. Woodly isn't a teacher that will tolerate seat changing near the end of the school year.

Mr. Woodly looks up briefly from the board which he is writing the lesson on to see us. He nods a greeting to us.

“Hello, Miss Lilian and Mister Campbell,” he says before working on the board again.

“Hello,” Desiree says. We part as Desiree makes her way across the room and sits there. I approach a desk on the other side of the room and sit down.

I see Desiree reach in her bag and take a book out. She opens it to a page and starts reading. All of a sudden, it feels like ninth and tenth grade again. Seeing her from across the room reading a book.

And all those memories include seeing Winter alive.

I have to get them out of my head.

I'm not much of a reader, so I don't have a book like Desiree. Whereas Desiree is a bookworm. I don't really know what to do, so I just flip through some English notes from earlier.

A few minutes in, the desks starts to get filled and soon, the class starts.

Mr. Woodly reviews our project (the one Desiree is struggling with) and he shows the class mine since I've finished it and handed it in already.

For one self-conscious moment, I feel a bit embarrassed about it. But then I think: why should I be embarrassed of it?

Everyone looks my way for one second. And then murmurs start. A week ago, they wouldn't have even remembered my name or my work. But now? It seems that everywhere I go, I can't escape the name Winterlyn Evaline Lawly.

And I feel angry. Again, for one moment. Angry at Winter.

And then the attention turns away from me as Mr. Woodly goes on about the criteria of our final project. I feel the anger ease until it's nothing. Not even a spark.

As Mr. Woodly goes on teaching us, I try to pay attention. I can see from the corner of my eyes that Desiree is struggling. I'll have to give her my notes later. And maybe explain everything to her.

Before I know it, math class is over.

Most people are out of the class quickly. I stay behind a bit and wait as Desiree packs her books. Mr. Woodly prepares the board for the next class. The stuff he writes down looks considerably easier. Then I see a short girl walk in. A ninth grade class—it figures.

“Dumb math assignment,” Desiree grumbles as she puts her books in her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Come on,” she says. “Art.”

I can tell she also means: Arianna Hawks by the tone of her voice.

As we leave the class room, I decide to tell Desiree about Arianna.

“She doesn't know. Arianna probably doesn't know that Winter is dead. Unless some of her classmates have already told her, I don't think she knows.” Unless Winter's parents have told her, I think, feeling guilty about it all over again.

“I'm not surprised. But I guess we'll have to tell her if she doesn't know,” Desiree says without looking at me.

“I...don't feel comfortable telling her...” I trail off, thinking of yesterday, again.

“Then I'll tell her.” Desiree doesn't look uncomfortable. “She has to know sooner or later. It's not like we can sugar coat it or make it easier by waiting it out.”

“Makes sense,” I say after a while of silence. Together we head towards Art class. The dreaded art class. Desiree likes visual arts. She's quite good at it. But all she's interested in drawing is anime characters. I only signed up for art because I had to pick a creative class. I had finished my sciences already. I hate all the creative subjects. I just signed up for art for Desiree, Arianna and Winter.

I know it may seem like I have no friends that are guys in my life. That's not true. I just like hanging out with the girls more. They're...funnier. Easier to get along.

Plus, most of my friends are the sporty types. Desiree, Arianna and Winter loathe sports. Though I'm not sure why. They're great exercise, really. Not that I've joined any sports team. And I don't have P.E this semester since I’d already finished it last semester.

Art class is all the way across the school from the math classroom. I find that strangely relieving. But I know I'll have to face Arianna soon. We can't drag on forever. As a matter of fact, I'll be seeing Arianna in less then ten minutes.

Unfortunately, art is one of the classes that I'll be sitting near her. Our desks were close together, a square really. Winter and Arianna in the first row. And Desiree and I in the next column. I don't like sitting in the front, but I did it just so I could talk to them.

I know that I sound a bit...girly. Not that I would talk about makeup or nails with them. Winter hates makeup. And Arianna only wears eyeliner.

We talk about celebrities, class mates (sometimes), and just... You know, stuff. Usually, Desiree and Winter can talk for days about their favourite books. Arianna might talk about a sport game once in a while—anything she finds interesting. But other then that, sports is off Arianna's list.

During the walk, Desiree and I strike up a conversation.

“So did you get the math project?”

There's a pause. “No, not really. You? Oh wait—you already finished it.” Desiree gives me a fake glare.

I shrug. “I thought it was easy.”

“That's for you to say, you math lover. I honestly don't know how you can stand all those numbers without your head swarming.”

“Math is actually pretty fun if you think about it,” I protest, even though I know I won't win this argument. It's like Desiree and I with art. I can't possibly understand why she would like such a horrid subject. But to Desiree, math class is my art class. Something we both loathe.

“Fun and math, do not and I mean it, do not go together. Ever. Unless there's a not in between those words.”

“I hate art,” I say.

Desiree gasps. “What?! How can you hate art? It's like a good book! A magical way to escape the world. Just remnants of scattered imagination—”

I cut her off. “Those are pretty creative words. It sounds like when you were describing this book you were about to read. What was it called again? 'Midnight'?”

Desiree gives me a scowl. “It's not called 'Midnight'. It was a vampire book. I thought it was going to be awesome, because everyone kept gushing about it. But I quit after the first seven chapters. Absolutely boring and plot-less book.”

“Actually, I think there's a plot.”

Desiree gives a short laugh. “Yeah. I heard. It sucks.”

“Exactly! You might think that it's amazing. Or you might feel that it's amazing, but to other people, it's terrible. We're all different!”

“Differences attract,” she says, before giving me a quick peck on the cheek.

“Yeah,” I smile. “They do.”

Then I realize that we're directly in front of the art class. My energy saps immediately. Does Arianna already know? Is she crying? Will she be mad at me?

Desiree looks at me. We've stopped at the front door.

“Come on,” she urges. “The look in your eyes says that you're thinking. And they say that you're over thinking things. Come on, let's just get it over with. There's no sugar coating... Death.”

I can see that Desiree looks a bit traumatized. So I hold her hand and we walk into the class room.

We're on time. So we don't have to wait long for others to come. And we're not late either, so no one stares at us as we enter. Or—at least, not that many people.

People stare at us because they know us now. Whereas, if you backtrack before Thursday, no one would know our names. Or if they did, they would barely remember us.

I see Arianna sitting at her desk. Winter's desk is empty. I stare at that seat. It feels odd without her sitting there. For some reason, I always think she'll walk right through the door with a late slip in her hand and plenty of binders.

Arianna is doodling on a scrap piece of paper. I can see that it's a full out sketch of something. With complicated lines and features. Unlike Desiree and Winter, Arianna likes drawing the real life kind of art. She sketches people for fun. She's excellent at it.

Arianna doesn't notice us. Not until my shadow falls across her desk. She quickly hides the paper and looks up.

Arianna has chestnut coloured hair and green eyes. But her hair is a darker shade of red than brown. To me, she kind of reminds me of a sly little fox. Adding up to that, she always has a mischievous gleam to her eyes or a smirk on her face.

At first, I had thought she was an evil little bitch. But that was when I first met her. Appearances deceive, as I have learned. Take Arianna Golding and Liane Chau as an example.

She smiles brightly at us. No one can smile like that after they know that Winter is gone. Even Desiree's smiles aren't the same. She probably hasn't heard of Winter being dead yet.

“Yo! It's the cute little couple! How are you?” No one can speak with such enthusiasm either. It's obvious now that Arianna doesn't know that Winter's gone.

“Perfect,” Desiree says and tries for a bright smile. Though it falls a little at the end. “How are you, Ari?”

“I'm excellent,” Arianna says. “I got a surprise for you guys. I'll give it to you after class.”

Desiree and I take our seats behind Arianna. Arianna takes out her paper and starts drawing again, though I'm still not sure what it is. She makes no attempt to talk to us anymore. She's too focused.

Our art teacher, a first year teacher, Ms. Loreen talks about the techniques of shading. It makes me want to fall asleep. But seeing the look on Desiree's face is almost priceless. It's as if she's absorbing every word Ms. Loreen says like a sponge.

I tell that to her and she frowns at me. Mainly because I say that every single class. It's probably getting old.

Winter always laughs at this joke. I look over at her desk, forgetting that she's gone for a moment. I'm smiling, but when my eyes reaches her empty desk, the smile drops from my face. Luckily, Desiree doesn't notice.

Ms. Loreen then gives us sheets of paper. Then we have to shade in an orange or something. I groan inwardly. I look at Desiree, who is shading the orange with enthusiasm. I frown, but start it anyway.

There's about ten minutes of silence before we're all done. Ms. Loreen collects it and starts pointing out flaws and things you should do when you're shading.

This class is so damn boring. Creativity classes shouldn't even be a requirement. I wish I could have just took another science. Maybe Chemistry?

The class stretches forever. And even worse—Ms. Loreen doesn't give us any free time. She just keeps on talking and talking. And nobody interrupts. It's so annoying. I'm glad that I never have to take this class ever again.

I don't understand why anyone would take this class unless they had to. I guess it seems better out of the three that are offered at my school. Music, Drama, Art. I hate singing. I hate acting. I hate doing art. Okay, well I guess I hate all of them. But in art, at least I don't have to sing or act.

Finally, class is over and school is dismissed. Four classes and school is already over. It never fails to amuse me, ever since I started high school in ninth grade. I had at least eight subjects a day in middle school.

But our classes are over an hour long, so logically speaking, it makes sense.

The class starts to dispatch. I pack my stuff and wait for Desiree.

“Alright guys!” Arianna pulls out the piece of paper she was working on. “Surprise!”

I take it from her hands and she beams at me. “Do you like it? What do you think I need to work on?”

It's amazing. Really. It's a sketch of the four of us. Me, Desiree, Arianna...and Winter. Desiree and I are holding hands and smiling brightly. Arianna is sticking something on my back. And Winter is laughing as she watches Arianna. The sketch makes my throat tighten. It's beautiful, really. But seeing Winter...alive in this picture...

Desiree looks at me. She doesn't seem to notice my expression. “Can I see?”

Before I even answer, Desiree is looking at it. Her expression is joyful at first, but then her eyes seem to get shiny with tears.

Arianna's eyes widen with surprise. I guess we surprised her, then.

“What's wrong? Is it so bad that you're crying?” Arianna's tone is light, but I can hear the worry and alarm in her voice.

“No...” Desiree trails off.

“Arianna, let's get out of class and we'll talk,” I say. Arianna looks at me alarmingly. When I call her by her full name, she knows that something serious is up.

The wheels seem to be turning in Arianna's brain as she thinks. Her eyes widen. “This has to do with Winter, doesn't it?”

Has she already guessed? That was fast. I open my mouth to say something—anything. But Arianna has me beat to it.

“Don't tell me. She has cancer,” Arianna says. Even as smart as she is, she would never think that Winter committed suicide. She would never think the unthinkable.

When we don't say anything Arianna's expression falls. “I can't believe—! This can't be happening. Why is it always cancer?” Arianna is ranting. I flinch. Because the word 'cancer' is a weak spot for Arianna. Arianna's close cousin had died of cancer. Her grandparents have died of cancer.

Arianna starts to leave the class room, I can see that she's trying not to cry. I know it's going to be even worse when I tell her that Winter is dead.

Desiree starts after Arianna with a shaky look on her face. She may have been confident earlier, but now she seems as if she doesn't want to tell Arianna the truth—the real truth.

But I know that one day, she'll have to face the truth. Facing the truth of Winter's death is kind of a requirement for her friends. It's not like we can just erase her from Arianna's mind.

“Arianna!” I call after her. We're out of the class room now. Arianna is furiously wiping at her eyes, though there's nothing there. Not yet, anyway.

“What?” Arianna stops and turns at face us. Arianna's usually not a serious type of person, but she has emotions. One of them is grief.

“Winter doesn't have cancer,” I say without thinking. Arianna looks at us with confusion. Then she narrows her eyes.

“Are you joking around with me? It's not damn funny!”

“We're not playing around with you, Ari. You know we'd never do that with something serious,” Desiree argues. Arianna gives Desiree a look I can't decipher.

“What's so serious that's going on? Does it involve Winter?”

“Did you call Winter's parents yesterday?”

Arianna looks at me. “Yeah. Why?”

“What did they say?” How does Arianna not know that Winter is dead if she called Winter's parents? Did Winter's parents lie or not answer her?

“They said she was away. Then they hung up on me after a few seconds,” Arianna recalls. I close my eyes. Did they find it too painful to tell anyone? Did they find the truth too painful?

Didn't someone tell me that the first stage of grief is denial? I'm sure that that's what Winter's parents are going through.

“She's not just away,” Desiree says softly. Arianna stares at her.

“What do you mean? Did she go on vacation somewhere? I mean—move somewhere?”

I think about it for a while. “Technically speaking—I guess you can say that she's moved somewhere.”

Before I can continue, Arianna says, “okay! Someone tell me what the heck is going on here!”

I don't think about. I say it in my plainest voice. “She's dead.”

It takes a few moments for Arianna to comprehend what I just said. Even then, she doesn't look like she wants to believe it.

“What?”

“She's dead, Arianna,” I repeat. It sounds like an echo in a dark room.

“Who?” Though I'm pretty sure Arianna knows who, I say her name. I see Desiree swallow from the corner of my eyes.

“Winter's dead, Arianna. She doesn't have cancer. She's gone.”

Arianna gives a short laugh. But it's soft laugh without any humour. I can see a little bit of fear in Arianna's green eyes. She doesn't want to believe what I'm saying. Denial.

“You're lying. She wouldn't be stupid enough to get caught by some psychopath of get run over by a car. She's not that stupid.”

Of course Winter's not that stupid. I know that. Winter wouldn't get herself easily killed.

But who's to say she wouldn't find a way to get herself killed? And take that blame all for herself too?

“She's not stupid at all,” I say but I'm cut off by Arianna.

“Then she's not freaking dead! Stop lying! This isn't funny at all!”

“Ari,” Desiree says. Arianna's eyes flicker over to her. “This isn't a funny matter.”

“She committed suicide,” I say. “On Thursday night. Five days ago.”

Arianna stares at us as if we've gone crazy. I wonder if we have gone crazy. Speaking this nonsense?

“It's time to face the truth, Ari. Winter's gone. She's dead.”