Ocean and Atlantic

I know the instant I enter school that it’s going to be a day of hell. The second my mother helped me out of the vehicle and pushed me into the building, I felt the little hope I did have crash around me.

Everyone stared.

I guess it didn’t help considering the wheelchair, boot and battered face, but they all knew what happened.

As she stopped, embarrassingly enough as it already was, at my locker, she leaned down and took my face in her palms, her eyes staring into the depths of my own. “Remember what I said. I’m just a phone call away.”

“I know.” I was agitated.

I was angry at the doctors, at the wheelchair, at my mother for being so damn hovering. I hated what my life had sudden become.

“Please, Mom…” It was a bitter plead, one that had her reluctantly retreating without the kiss I knew was just itching to get out and plop itself on my forehead. Instead, she simply settled with adjusting my bangs before waving and backing away, disappearing amongst the students wandering through the halls and staring openly at me.

With a sigh, I struggle to reach up to spin the dial of my lock, but I manage.

I pull out all of the books I need for the day to spare myself the time and embarrassment of having to go to my locker in this monstrosity and result in being late to class.

Just as I slam the tin door shut, Laura Laswell rounds the corner down the hall and walks directly toward me. I want to turn and escape, but I can’t. I know exactly what’s coming and I don’t even have the mechanisms to run from the disaster heading my way.

She was a nice girl – a bit too nice for my tastes. She devoted her time to church gatherings, community service projects, ran student council single-handedly and had a sparkling clean image. Our personalities just didn’t click.

“Schulyer!” Laura cries, before frowning. “I can’t believe you’re here!” Her eyes are wide and sad, filled to the brim with pity.

“Yeah, me either,” I mutter under my breath, hugging my backpack to my chest, preparing my route away from her.

“I’m so sorry about Nova. We all were thinking about you and her here.”

I want to roll my eyes, but it hurts too much in my chest so I simply stare and start wheeling my way through the crowding hallways. Laura takes it as an opportunity to do some philanthropy. She takes the handles and carts me towards my first class – which, unfortunately, happens to be hers as well.

“Thanks,” I mutter. It’s sarcastic.

As we make our way through the corridors, everyone glances my way. I resist the urge to bury my face.

I am that girl.

I am the dead girl’s best friend.

I was the remainder of a tragedy.

That was what I would be known as for the rest of my life to these people.

We pass by John. By the time he looks up, we’re already too far away from him for it to be a casual kind of run-in conversation.

I don’t want to talk to him.

But the look in his eyes as we meet each other’s gazes tells me that he feels the exact opposite.

And I’m afraid all over again.

Laura keeps chattering away until Mrs. Taylor starts her lesson, but not before she stops beside me and rests her hand on my shoulder. She smiles softly at me and says, “It’s good to have you back, Schulyer.”

I rest my head on the makeshift table the school has set up for incidents like mine for the rest of the class.