Chapter 1
I shoved my book on German literature into my orange and black backpack. The other freshmen pushed their way into the hall, complaining audibly about the amount of homework they’d been assigned. Mr. Oden rolled his eyes and began erasing the notes he’d written on the whiteboard.
Mr. Oden was the freshman Honors English teacher. Actually, he was the only Honors English teacher, and he’d taken it upon himself to give the students more culture. This year’s theme was ‘Literature of the World’. He often joked that he wished the books weren’t already translated so we could really experience the writing in its true form. Of course, he said it often enough that I was starting to think that he was serious.
Unlike the other kids in my English class, I had lunch next, so I wasn’t in a rush. I carefully arranged all my books and papers by size before closing my bag. Larry, my brother, often said I was super OCD about where I put things. Before I knew it, I was smiling at the memory of him lounging on his bed with a copy of Sports Illustrated while I cleaned his room for him. I was doing it as a bribe, but Larry always followed through on his promises without needing an incentive. At least, that’s how I remember it anyway.
“Ms. Niko,” Mr. Oden said. His soft voice catching me off guard as I edged my way past his desk. I let out a muffled groan.
“Sir?” I caught sight of my reflection in his glasses. My smile was fading, and a scowl was quickly taking its place. I focused my attention on the bulldog-like wrinkles forming on my forehead and mentally tried to smooth them. Mental ironing failed. These days, I’d been avoiding mirrors for obvious reasons. My eyes were still bloodshot from a night of crying, and my slightly hoarse voice made me sound groggy. To anyone who didn’t know any better, you’d swear I’d spent the early part of my morning smoking a tray.
“Charlotte. May I call you Charlotte?” he asked.
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
“I just finished grading last week’s reading projects. I just wanted to say I thought yours was excellent.” He smiled. I could see his eyes moving around. I suppose he was searching my face for some kind of reaction.
“That’s nice.” I didn’t mean to sound cold and uninterested. Everyone loves praise. I do too, but it all just felt meaningless to me. The words hit me and fell through, like flour in a sifter. He reached out and lightly placed a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his palm sent a tingle through me. I shrugged him off.
It was weird being touched by a man who used titles like Mr. or Miss as a wall to avoid crossing the line between teacher and friend. Around the school, he was known for keeping at least three feet between himself and anyone he was talking to. Among the students, there was a rumor that he had once been accused of inappropriate conduct with a student.
Of course, I don’t think a stiff man like him is capable of that sort of behavior. I think he’s just a germaphobe. He once asked me to stay late to help him sanitize the desks and chairs. As far as I could tell, he was just a decent person who people hadn’t really made the effort to get to know. And he was trying to connect with me.
But I didn’t want human contact. I was perfectly content to be left adrift.
I looked into his eyes. What I saw there made me want to punch him in the face. What pisses me off more than people trying to comfort me and saying stupid things, is that look. The look of pity. I looked away.
“I mean, thanks, I guess.” He nodded and tried to hide his hand behind his back as he rubbed a sanitizing wipe over his palm. Seeing that, I let out a sort of involuntary snort. I mean, that’s just sad.
“So...listen, I just wanted to say that I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but I’m glad to see that the quality of your work hasn’t suffered.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head and ducked into the hall before things got even more awkward. I mean, that was really weird. Usually, Mr. Oden would corner me and attempt to say uplifting things. It was inevitable, of course, that he would forget the point he was trying to make and end up telling me an anecdote about my brother. And I wasn’t in the mood for another, “I remember this one time Larry...” story.
Mr. Oden was nice enough, and honestly, I did appreciate the effort. Most of my teachers just avoided looking at me and tried to give me space. I passed a senior in the hall. I knew he was a senior because he was wearing a letter jacket with the numbers ‘09’ on it. There was also the image of a swimmer embroidered on it.
“Hey,” he hesitated. “You’re Larry’s baby sister, right?”
“Yes.”
“How are you? You know, considering?”
“Fine.” He nodded and sauntered off. Questions like that piss me off the most. I mean seriously, my brother died. How do you think I’m doing? Geez! I know people are just trying to be sympathetic, but they have no idea how painful seemingly harmless questions like that can be. They cut through you as though you were butter. You feel transparent; like your pain is on display for all the world to see.
