Mornings were bad for me. I had to leave the security of being depressed in my room to put on my happy-faced shell that would get me through another day. My parents didn't notice how depressed I was, all they, and everyone else, saw was a seemingly happy girl who was always smiling. There had been inquiries about Anthony's death, especially directed at me because i had been there. Mechanically, I stuffed my toast into my mouth and headed out for school where I would become the class clown, as it were.
Everything seemed to remind me of him. His locker had been right next to mine, number 52 with the code 4-6-2. His school worked lined classroom walls, flaunting his varied talent. Ducking around a group of year sevens, I walked to the IT block to find my friends.
Tutor time began quickly and I massaged my tired eyes as the hideous, reoccurring nightmare I had envisaged last night burrowed back behind the lids. I stood with my rugby-playing best friend on an island in the middle of a fast flowing river. It had been his idea of fun, to get to the island. Half way across, he had taken my arm to help me swim across, he was much stronger than me. I was shivering, he stood over me, hands on hips smiling his smile that seemed to laugh on its own.
I shook my head. Now was not the time to remember him. But I would never let myself forget him. We all knew tomorrow would mark exactly a year since he died. Everybody loved Anthony. The head teacher would give a whole school assembly about the dangers of the water which would be followed by a two minute silence. Time had not eased his passing, especially not for me.