in overalls, said as she made her rounds, dropping off the latest Buccaneer Broadcast , the school newsletter.
“Yeah,” said her friend, a pudgy junior wearing tights, short-shorts, black patent-leather ankle boots, and an inch of mascara on each clumped-up eyelid. “I was hoping she couldn’t have kids. You know, for the kid’s sake.”
“Totally,” Redhead said.
Most of the congregating among students was done in the common area between the classrooms in any given pod. Along one wall were lockers of varying sizes—larger for those who were lacrosse team members and had unwieldy pads, sticks, and gear; smaller for those who didn’t have anything they needed to store but wanted a place to linger.
It was far from status quo the first day back from winter break. Katelyn’s death gave the school guidance counselors the opportunity to go into grief-counseling mode. And while they were genuinely sorry to lose a student, it sure changed up the onslaught of “I could be pregnant” or “school is too hard and I want to drop out” sessions that tended to bunch up after the holidays.
The day back from a break marked by a teen’s death meant a seemingly endless train of sobbing girls into the counselors’ offices.
Most started the preamble to their crying jags with the same words: “I’m so upset about this. It isn’t fair. She’s the same age as me.”
Hayley, Taylor, and Beth didn’t give voice to the same concerns as others. They were sick about what happened and felt they had a genuine connection with the dead girl. Their friendship with Katelyn might have evaporated since middle school, but they still felt a keen loss.
“I hated a lot about her,” Beth said in the commons. “She had no style. She wasn’t exactly fun anymore. Still, who knows, maybe she’d have turned into someone cool if she hadn’t died.”
“There was something always a little sad about her,” Hayley said. “I feel like we all kind of dropped her when maybe we shouldn’t have.”
Taylor agreed with her sister. “I know I did.”
Beth scowled and rummaged around in her purse for some lip gloss. It had been five minutes since her last application. “You two are such goody-goodies. She didn’t want to be friends with us. She was too wrapped up in being Katelyn of the Starla & Katelyn Show . Didn’t that get canceled after one season?”
“More like fifteen,” said Taylor, not even trying to be ironic.
A junior the trio barely knew came up just then. “Sorry about your friend,” she said.
All glossed, Beth answered, “We’re devastated. We can’t talk about it.”
“Take care,” the girl said. “Sorry.”
Beth looked at Hayley and Taylor. “Did I seem devastated?” she asked. “Just a little?”
“Just a little,” Taylor said as the three went off to class.
Later that morning, the Treasure Trove espresso stand put up a small sign asking for donations for Katelyn’s family. The school principal, a petite woman with dangerous nail-gun heels, kindly told them it wasn’t an altogether good idea.
“But we wanted to help,” said the kid foaming the milk.
“Yeah,” said the girl pulling the espresso shots. “She was a soy drinker, totally organic. You have to respect that.”
“Yes,” the principal argued, “but the manner of her death …” She attempted to choose her words carefully. “Katelyn died of, because of …,” she said, looking at the big Italian espresso machine.
“Oh,” said the foamer. “I get what you’re putting down.”
The shot girl apparently didn’t. “Huh?”
“An espresso machine killed Katelyn,” the foamer said. “She was electrocuted in the tub.”
Finally, the look of awareness came to the student’s face. A light switched on. The coffee girl got it.
“Yeah,” she said, quickly pulling down the sign. “We shouldn’t collect money.”
The principal gave the pair a quick nod and walked away over the shiny polished surface to her office at the
“Yeah,” said her friend, a pudgy junior wearing tights, short-shorts, black patent-leather ankle boots, and an inch of mascara on each clumped-up eyelid. “I was hoping she couldn’t have kids. You know, for the kid’s sake.”
“Totally,” Redhead said.
Most of the congregating among students was done in the common area between the classrooms in any given pod. Along one wall were lockers of varying sizes—larger for those who were lacrosse team members and had unwieldy pads, sticks, and gear; smaller for those who didn’t have anything they needed to store but wanted a place to linger.
It was far from status quo the first day back from winter break. Katelyn’s death gave the school guidance counselors the opportunity to go into grief-counseling mode. And while they were genuinely sorry to lose a student, it sure changed up the onslaught of “I could be pregnant” or “school is too hard and I want to drop out” sessions that tended to bunch up after the holidays.
The day back from a break marked by a teen’s death meant a seemingly endless train of sobbing girls into the counselors’ offices.
Most started the preamble to their crying jags with the same words: “I’m so upset about this. It isn’t fair. She’s the same age as me.”
Hayley, Taylor, and Beth didn’t give voice to the same concerns as others. They were sick about what happened and felt they had a genuine connection with the dead girl. Their friendship with Katelyn might have evaporated since middle school, but they still felt a keen loss.
“I hated a lot about her,” Beth said in the commons. “She had no style. She wasn’t exactly fun anymore. Still, who knows, maybe she’d have turned into someone cool if she hadn’t died.”
“There was something always a little sad about her,” Hayley said. “I feel like we all kind of dropped her when maybe we shouldn’t have.”
Taylor agreed with her sister. “I know I did.”
Beth scowled and rummaged around in her purse for some lip gloss. It had been five minutes since her last application. “You two are such goody-goodies. She didn’t want to be friends with us. She was too wrapped up in being Katelyn of the Starla & Katelyn Show . Didn’t that get canceled after one season?”
“More like fifteen,” said Taylor, not even trying to be ironic.
A junior the trio barely knew came up just then. “Sorry about your friend,” she said.
All glossed, Beth answered, “We’re devastated. We can’t talk about it.”
“Take care,” the girl said. “Sorry.”
Beth looked at Hayley and Taylor. “Did I seem devastated?” she asked. “Just a little?”
“Just a little,” Taylor said as the three went off to class.
Later that morning, the Treasure Trove espresso stand put up a small sign asking for donations for Katelyn’s family. The school principal, a petite woman with dangerous nail-gun heels, kindly told them it wasn’t an altogether good idea.
“But we wanted to help,” said the kid foaming the milk.
“Yeah,” said the girl pulling the espresso shots. “She was a soy drinker, totally organic. You have to respect that.”
“Yes,” the principal argued, “but the manner of her death …” She attempted to choose her words carefully. “Katelyn died of, because of …,” she said, looking at the big Italian espresso machine.
“Oh,” said the foamer. “I get what you’re putting down.”
The shot girl apparently didn’t. “Huh?”
“An espresso machine killed Katelyn,” the foamer said. “She was electrocuted in the tub.”
Finally, the look of awareness came to the student’s face. A light switched on. The coffee girl got it.
“Yeah,” she said, quickly pulling down the sign. “We shouldn’t collect money.”
The principal gave the pair a quick nod and walked away over the shiny polished surface to her office at the
Similar Books
