4

I don't think it's realistic for the school to not cancel for the day when someone has just been ran over.

But that's the way it went. There's no easier way to put it. I just can't believe it happened.

I woke up in the nurse's office, with two policemen waiting for me, and one approached me. I barely had my eyes opened, but they were eager to get this out of the way.

"Hello," he said. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"How would I know?" I muttered, still feeling dizzy. I can feel a massive headache creeping in; most likely a vein can be popping out of my head if my hair wasn't in the way.

"Do you remember what happened earlier today?"

"Aren't you going to tell me who you are, sir? My mom said never talk to strangers."

He smiled, almost chuckling, "I'm Officer Peterson, and that's my partner Waters over there."

"Tom," he said, "if you'd like."

I smiled at Tom, apparently not being bothered by this day, not one bit…I wish I wasn't so suspicious, but—

"Can you tell us what happened to her?" Peterson said, giving me his full attention now.

"You mean with Lexy?"

"Is that who she was?"

"Yeah, Lexy Collins. Why? You weren't able to…"

"Your friend was heavily damaged by the impact of the bus. Normally it wasn't going fast, but your friend's face hit the edge of the bus so hard that, well, we weren't able to trace it back to who she was. We couldn't find traces of who she was; there were no IDs, driver's license, nothing. What you told us is helping us so far.

"Do you think you could tell us anything that could have lead this to happen? We want to know if this may have been an accident, or a simple mistake, or she did purposely—anything that can help explain what happened there."

"Well," I began, "she seemed sad. I met her at the library and she cried onto my shoulder. When we walked backed to school, I told her that she was not on the sidewalk anymore. It happened so fast that, I'm guessing here now, I blacked out. I don't remember much about what happened."

"And if we put you on record for your statement, can you back it up?"

"I logged my library card on the computer. Maybe that can help prove I was at the library. I even have my library card with me. I got a receipt as well to the time I was there." I took both items out to show as proof.

"Do you possibly know anyone that can account on your visit to the library?" Tom asked.

"Yes, Dolores Filcher. She works at the front desk and knows me well."

"All right, and if we bring you back for further questioning, can we count on you to have given us the full truth?"

"I don't see any reason to lie when someone just died right in front of me." After a while, they let me go back to class…I don't know why school wasn't canceled or stopped, but it's anybody's guess.

I went to Science and soon found out that rumors spread faster than anything imaginable. One side said I pushed her into the bus; however, the other said I did nothing about it and let her die.

No matter which side, it still doesn't help lighten the mood or get a good grip on what's realistically possible, rather than these people judging so quick to pin me as a murderer or a saint (don't know why, but go with it for now) and simply accept it without rhyme or reason, instead of asking me what happened.

I got all this from Ana, who was a very good friend of mine. I mentioned her earlier, and she at least didn't make me feel like I was public enemy #1, but rather feel sorry for me—at least, that's why I think she's acting this nice to me.

Our teacher, Mrs. King, who was a very good teacher, having such high enthusiasm with a good balance of control and free reign as you can get, was addressing the elephant in the room—moi.

She talked to us about how we should take the time to see this as an opportunity to feel at peace with ourselves, as we are now alive and how life can easily be taken away from us—and then she lost my interest when I found out this was just clichéd bullshit, even if it was technically true. Life can easily be taken away from us in the blink of an eye. Still, I rather just have a normal day than a philosophical one that drags on like I'm in a pretentious film about purpose and choice.

Still, the fact that Lexy died didn't change the fact that today was Friday, and Friday meant we had a short quiz.

It's only ten easy questions, but I usually bring a book and it's not the case today. But it didn't matter. I was too busy thinking about how Lexy just died, and yet it made me forget about the letter I was trying to figure out who gave me it…until I reminded myself of it—

"All right, ten minutes, all are multiple choices—then pass it to the person next to you and let them grade it in pen. Pen, I remind you, so none of you can change your answer."

Idaho raised his hand and said, "What if we write our answers in pen, too?"

"Then use a different color."

He raised his hand, again, and said, "What if we don't have another color?"

"Are you seriously trying to start something?" she barked.

He stopped dead on, but it didn't help either with the quiz. I finished it in two minutes and just rested my head down on my arms, looking at the blank board, hoping to get some sort of enjoyment out of it.

After a while I felt someone poking my head and saw a piece of scrap paper that was blank. I grabbed it and flipped it to see a message:

Are you okay, Carrie?

No, I'm fucking peaches of the land of gummy-world, bullshit, or whatever realm of children fantasies. I don't know, so I just wrote back that I was fine and went back into my original position of acting stoned.

I got another tap on the head and saw another piece of scrap paper that said:

I care, Carrie. You can tell me anything.

I wrote back:

I know, Ana. I appreciate it.

But now it's not the right time to ask.

Before I knew it, time was up.

"All right, pass it to your neighbors and remain quiet so I can give you the answers, which I don't think you need, considering I let you use your notes."

Fuck me. I forget about the notes.

I graded Ana's paper and she got an eight out of ten. Looking back on my paper, I should have gotten at least a three out of ten, actually. She didn't hand it back, just yet, but knowing the answers I just wrote a couple minutes back, I only got two or three right for that whole quiz.

Jeez, I really have to get my head in the game.

I signed my name in pen to show that I corrected her paper and if I messed up on something, it's me who's to be blame, as if I hadn't had enough trouble today.

Ana passed me back my paper.

Nine out ten was the score I got. I looked at my answers and I did do some wrong which was supposed to be six out of ten, not nine.

I couldn't help but think how lucky I was to have her as a friend. She even figured out a way to softly erase some answers and barely made the original visible and the corrected answer there.

I don't know if she did this because she was sympathetic or took pity on me, but I'm glad I got the score…

Then again, it brought me back to the letter. Girls usually write in cursive, and the handwriting didn't match the same one, but it started bringing questions I should have just left very well alone.

She looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, thinking it was polite, and started to believe I was getting paranoid.

But what the hell, I can let it slide.