Victoria crosses her arms over her chest and turns her head to face forward. Her jaw is clenched and her cheeks are just a little redder than normal. Good. Let her wallow.
I hug Wills and kiss him, and then sit down between my boys as Astor looks away from me and turns his attention to the caskets lined up before all of us.
There’s still a part of me that misses Astor, but we’re so beyond that now. It’s thanks to him that Dana survived that night at all … but still, he went back to Victoria. After everything, he always goes back to Victoria.
I thought he was stronger than that, but I guess I was wrong. So here we are, and here we stay.
Music swells around us, and I take the boys’ hands as we all suffer through the pain of saying goodbye to our classmates and friends. It’s an extra-long funeral as it’s really three in one, but it does come to an end, and everyone mills around refreshment tables that have been set up in another tent.
It’s the first funeral where I actually sit through the whole thing. It’s messy and beautiful and just desperately, desperately sad. This is not a celebration of life. This is an attempt to piece together something out of a mess that cannot be pieced back together.
Afterwards, standing in the forlorn crowd, I notice a subtle shift happen all around me.
Between the hugs, tears, and glazed-over eyes that stare down into the fruit punch wishing it was something stronger, my classmates are making an unspoken decision.
I’m standing with my boys as they talk to a good-sized group of our friends. Victoria and Astor stand at the opposite end of the tent, holding their own sort of court … but it’s smaller than usual.
It’s a surprise to me that so many people in the school seem to have migrated out from under Victoria and Astor, and over to Wills, Blair, and me so quickly. Up until a couple weeks ago most of these people wouldn’t even talk to me, now they’re standing here like old comrades.
It’s as if we’re on separate sides of something bigger than this tent, bigger than this funeral, and those around us are making a conscious choice between the two.
It might not be common knowledge that Victoria started the fire, but it’s like they can sense something’s wrong. She was supposed to be their leader, but she didn’t protect them. So, now, naturally they’re looking for someone who can.
And who better than the three people who openly defied her?
I’m a little surprised when I see Laura Brighton coming up to me too. Her eyes are red and swollen, which is no surprise. She’s been hurt more than most by these deaths, so her pain is not unexpected.
Alisha Kane, laying in the white coffin that’s covered in pink roses, was her best friend. The two of them were always at Victoria’s side, but not today. I would have expected her to be there now, beside Victoria where she always is, but she’s headed to me. Normally I’d want nothing to do with her, thanks to her past antics tormenting me. But knowing that she’s devastated, I take the upper hand and offer her a hug.
Laura doesn’t hesitate. She buries her face in my neck and begins to weep. I just hold her tightly and Wills rubs a hand over her back to help comfort her. When she can breathe again, she looks at me and Blair hands her some tissues to dab at her tear-stained face.
I’m surprised she came to me for comfort, but her next words surprise me even more.
“We’re both so sorry for the way that we treated you.”
Even Blair and Wills look surprised, but she forges on.
“Alisha’s gone now, so she can’t say it, but I know that if she had the chance, she would have wanted to. She would have wanted you to know that she’s sorry and that she never really meant any of it.”
Laura looks at me with her soft brown eyes and I can see that they are brimming with regret as much as tears, and I hug her once more as I speak quietly in her ear.
“It takes a big person to own up to it when they’ve done something wrong. Thank you for the apology, Laura, it means a lot. I’m sure Alisha knows you’ve fixed this for the both of you. Thank you.” I let her go and give her a small smile. She smiles back a little and nods at me.
Dr. Baxter, our principal, picks up a microphone and begins to spe
ak again. He said some unexpectedly heartfelt words during the funeral, but now he’s addressing all of us informally as we stand around him.
“I want everyone to know that all of the winter finals have been cancelled. The faculty and staff recognize that the trauma of this tragic event is more than enough to affect the abilities of our students.”
He goes on to explain that they’d made arrangements for trauma and grief counsellors to be available any time, day or night. For the first time in their extensive history, the school grounds will remain open for the entirety of break for anyone who feels the need to stay and process what just happened.
I don’t know about anyone else, but all I want is to get away.
He goes on, his voice even more dry and emotionless than usual. “For those of you traveling home for winter break, the counsellors will be available via the telephone or video calls. Please use this service if you feel you need to; grief can be quite difficult to get through. There will be a candlelight vigil on what would have been the last night of classes, but otherwise we shall see you all in January. The staff and I wish you all the very best.”
Dr. Baxter sets the microphone down and hasn’t taken two steps before someone stops him to talk. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to look up into the face of Eli Hamilton.
I didn’t expect to see him here, but I guess I should have. He was there that night. He lost someone too.