Chapter 2: You rest in peace, Evans

Whenever someone says something that seems so shocking and outrageously absurd, it's almost instinctual to accuse them of tricking you and to walk away in disbelief.

It's like something monumental doesn't just happen while you were sleeping.

If the person who's locker is next to mine turns to me one morning and says, "Man has landed on mars," or, "The cure for cancer has been discovered," or, "The president has been assassinated," I'd definitely doubt them at first.

Similarly, if they were to say, "Sharpay Evans is dead," I'd laugh and tell them that April Fool's Day is a long way off.

So, this morning, my locker neighbour turns to me and says, "Sharpay Evans is dead."

I guess you already know how I reply.

She was very succinct in delivering the news. Yes, very curt. Just "Sharpay Evans is dead" and then she leaves me to take from that what I will.

My hearty chuckle and lame attempt at a joke does nothing to make her want to speak to me ever again. I'm sure of it.

It's not until she leaves and I pause for a moment to let the buzz in the hallway fill my ears, retelling the horrible news like an echo.

"Did you hear? About yesterday? About Sharpay Evans?"

"I can't believe it! Oh, my God, how?"

"I can vividly remember her sitting beside me in Government class just hours before!"

Fuck. I'm heartless. Aren't I?

Who was I to go around last night thinking of her abandoning me and calling her a bitch?

I should have been admiring her exemplary personality traits she demonstrated while we were still friends and blocked out the past few years of my life.

Hope her family's all right.

Come to think of it, I often notice Ryan's head bobbing through the crowd in the mornings because of his colourful hats. Today I haven't. But people aren't talking about him, and I guess that's a good thing because it means he's still here.

Today continues, although some believe the world has stopped turning because a person as eccentric as Sharpay could never leave us.

There was a PA announcement made by our principal, Mr. Matsui, to commemorate Sharpay, which was nice.

They mentioned a book they'd keep in the library where people could go at lunch or during free period to sign as a way of sending the Evans' family their condolences. Which is also nice. Or else Ryan would be bombarded with 'I'm so sorry for your loss's from people he doesn't even know.

I suppose I'll go after school or something.

Also, we were reminded that guidance counsellors are always available and that please do not hesitate to talk to one because they are here to help you!

I learned she's getting a page dedicated for her in the yearbook.

It would've happened even if she were still here, anyway, because Sharpay Evans had many links in the yearbook club. She would have fought for a double-page spread, though.

Look at me. I'm becoming one of those 'this is what they would do if they were still here' type people.

Well, admittedly, I know what I wouldn't do if she were still here: talk to her.

Ah, regrets. Gotta love 'em.

After the final bell rings, the school clears out pretty instantaneously except for a few who like to linger or who have activities like sports or clubs to attend to.

I fit into the former. I walk, so I don't need to catch the bus or anything.

Plus, I still need to sign that book.

I make my way to the library, passing some of the varsity basketball team on the way. Looks like there's a practice.

When I reach my destination, I see that the book is conveniently located right at the front, near the check in desk.

And luckily, Ms. Falstaff isn't present at the moment. I wouldn't want our creepy librarian to breathe down my neck as I'm trying to think of heartfelt words.

The book's already half full, I remark, as I ponder what to write.

I can't help but look at the other comments on the page. For inspiration, that is.

Some general ones that have been repeated are:

"Our lives were made better because we knew you."

"You will always have a special place in our hearts."

Wait. Who the hell wrote: "You rest in peace, Evans." ? They didn't even sign their name.

God, those are all horrible. So generic. I want it to look like I actually knew her.

Which I did.

For a while.

Anyway, there are also the sweetest anecdotes and more personal notes in here, too.

A feeling crawls up my spine. Shame. And then panic.

I don't have a clue of what I want to say. I'm looking for something memorable and meaningful.

So I let my heart guide me …

… And it leads me nowhere.

Ugh, I'm never depending on it again.

I settle with "You could light up a room and your smile reminded me of sunshine. You'll always be a star. - Gabriella Montez" and grimace after rereading it.

But it's true. She was popular so everyone grinned when the showed up and she did have those pearly whites. And I'm almost certain she was interested in the drama club. Maybe she even wanted to be an actress, so the star comment fits.

I can't write the honest truth, right? Because then I would say, "I wish I'd known you better," and everyone would tsk and go, "Yes, you should have known Sharpay Evans better. What's wrong with you? Who calls a dead girl names?"

There's no point in regret now.

If anything, I'm supposed to walk away from this promising I'll seize the day and never take life for granted again.

And get to know as many people as I can before they die, too.

With no time to waste, I scamper along home, rushing down the stairs as fast as I can.

I'm just about to pull open the doors when it suddenly swings open by itself, flying in my direction.

Wow, door, I had no idea you were so happy to see me.

It bashes against my forehead. (Yes, that'll do wonders for my IQ.) I'm propelled backwards and my heel slips.

In case you didn't know this, trying to grab hold of thin air does nothing for you.

The cold floor breaks my fall.

And to my horror, I start losing consciousness.

Wait, is that someone calling my name?