A/N: Any comment is appreciated!
My first instinct was to go straight to Mr. Farrell's room, but considering the fact that Ms. Benson could care less that I had left, I went out into the school's courtyard. It was an early autumn day and the breeze was just perfect. I used to love when the season changed from summer to fall. It used to be my favorite time of the year. But everything is different now.
I heard a deep sob coming from the corner. It was difficult to listen to because it seemed like the woman crying was in agonizing pain. Curiosity is one of my infamous traits, and it certainly got the better of me on this particular occasion.
Following the sound of the weeping, I found a young woman sitting down on the ground against the school building. She was crushing leaves in her hand. When she saw me approach her, she looked up at me and the cries hit their climax.
I came right up to her and squat down to her eye level. Her face was very messy with smeared makeup and running mascara. She looked at me with sad, teary eyes. "I'm sorry for causing a commotion," the woman said, holding back more tears.
I read her substitute name tag, Mrs. Barley. "It's not trouble, Mrs. Barley." I said to hear in a sympathetic. If I hadn't been so sorry for her, I'd have noticed I didn't have any trouble reading her nametag.
Mrs. Barley raised her eyebrows. "How did you know my name?" I pointed to her name tag and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, yes, of course. My name tag." She rolled her eyes at herself and regained some strength.
I looked her up and down. She was very pretty. She was dressed in a burnt orange dress that went just past her knees. Her shoes were made with brown beads that matched her earrings, necklace and multiple bracelets. She also had a clip in her hair of a leaf that looked so real, I wanted to touch it. I'd never seen Mrs. Barley at my school before.
She sniffled, "I always get so sad this time of year…" she looked at the ground and around at the trees.
"Why?" I ask, feeling stupid for intruding on her personal business.
"Oh…" she grabbed some leaves in her hand and crushed them. I felt sorry for the leaves, getting smashed in her grip. "My daughter," she said after a while.
"Did she… pass on?" I wondered aloud.
Mrs. Barley laughed a sinister laugh. Her eyes darkened and she smiled, "Well, she went to Hell."
I furrowed my brow. Why would she kid about the very topic that was making her so upset? And how would she know where her daughter went after she died? "I see," I said after a while of contemplating and staring at her long fingers crush the leaves in her grasp. I suddenly had an idea. "Mrs. Barley, I'm going to see Mr. Farrell, the school counselor. Would you like to… uh, come with me?"
Mrs. Barley stopped smiling to herself and thought for a moment. "Alright, I'll go," she said, getting up off the ground and picking off the leaves crumbs that were on her dress. "What's your name, girl?"
I hesitated. Then I extended my hand for her to shake it. "Ashlyn. Ashlyn Rowsing, ma'am."
She shook my hand. It was soft and warm. She announced, "I'm Dem…" she snarled. It was a most unusual noise to come from a teacher. I've heard cackling, but certainly not snarling. "Demi," she said after a moment of thought, "Call me Mrs. Barley though. It's not as confusing."
