'Hey! Alex!' I shout. He wasn't in school yesterday - I think he had an audition or something. Does he know? He can't possibly not know. But if he doesn't... Should I tell him?
He stops. Turns. Sees me. What's his expression? I can't tell.
'Oh. It's you.'
Why does he sound so disappointed? I'm not that bad, am I? I thought he at least sort of liked me. Heck, I'm fit, aren't I? So why doesn't he notice me the same way the other guys do?
'Are you... okay?' I ask awkwardly. What do you say to someone who's just lost their girl? I want to tell him she was a bitch anyway, and not to waste any tears over her, but much as I hated her, I can't bring myself to hurt him. I can feel my anger ebbing away as I look at him. He looks so lost.
He shrugs. 'Meh. You?'
He wants to know how I am! It's an effort to keep my voice level as I say: 'About the same.'
There's a pause. Don't you just hate them? I have to say something. Anything!
'Do you know about...?'
Damn. That was the one thing I shouldn't have said. Not when the look on his face shows me he knows exactly what happened.
'I'm sorry,' I lie. 'I know you liked her.' Forcing the words out is like biting off my own tongue. But what do you say in this situation? You don't just ask a boy out the day after his girl dies. She was a bitch, but I have respect for the dead. Even if it's scanty.
He nods sharply, once. Then - he's gone.
Everyone's talking about it. If Vanderson wasn't popular before, she's famous now. Is that what you have to do to get noticed around here? Kill yourself? It says a lot for the society of today, doesn't it? If it works so well, I might just try it.
I don't see why everyone is making such a fuss. It kills me, all these people who ever even spoke to her - probably wouldn't know her if she mugged them - and they're pretending they care, walking around dewey eyed. The teachers speak in whispers, and give us suspicious glances every five minutes, as if we're all about to start sawing at our wrists. Stupid way to go, anyway. Much simpler to get run over. Much easier to drown. Slit my wrists? No thank you.
I might be able to understand if Vanderson had actually been a nice person. But she was such a damn bitch that I'm almost... glad.
There. I've said it. Scratch my eyes out.
At least it might make them notice me.