The picture hanging above Ms. Rich’s head is crooked. It’s a huge thing, a pretty beach picture that I think she took herself, but the black frame against the stark white walls makes it even more obvious that the frame is askew.

I wait for her to start whatever she wants to say. I think about telling her the picture is crooked—I probably should. It would’ve been the first thing Ruby mentioned, but I don’t.

I don’t want to be here. But it’s not about me. It’s about Ruby. This isn’t the first time Ms. Rich has pulled me from class to talk to me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. How many times has it been now? I’ve stopped counting, each day blends into the next.

Ms. Rich smooths down her floral dress. It looks like something my grandmother would have on her curtains, but I definitely wouldn’t say that, either.

“Feel free to reach out, myself and all of the staff are here for you, Violet.” Ms. Rich says. Her voice is carefully soft.

I nod because that’s easier than talking. If I keep nodding, she’ll let me leave, and I can go back to class.

After a silence that seems to stretch through the minutes, emphasized by the ticking clock on the wall, Ms. Rich lets out a sigh and starts scribbling something. She hands me the paper, an excuse note, and waves me out.

“Seriously, Violet, we’re here for you. If you need to talk, I can help.”

I don’t want to talk about what happened.

Not to anyone.

I avoid looking at that pity look in her eyes as I pull my bag from the floor and take the note.

“Hand that to your teacher and be sure to come back if you need to,” she opens the door for me.

Nod again.

It’s not like I came here on my own in the first place, though.

I take one last look at the crooked picture and let the door shut quietly behind me.

Unlike Ruby, I always enjoyed school. Studying, learning, reading— I loved them all, but now… it feels suffocating.

Like the lockers are a straightjacket. The fluorescents are a little too bright, and the roof feels as if it’ll cave in on me at any moment.

And there are too many people.

There are whispers everywhere I walk; they probably aren’t talking about me, but I feel the weight of their words regardless. Sometimes I catch people watching me out of the corners of my eyes. But again, it could be my imagination.

Ms. Rich keeps calling me out of class out of pity disguised as concern.

But I don’t want to talk about how Ruby died.

The school has been encouraging everyone to talk to Ms. Rich, although I have no clue if anyone has.

We’re a school of over a thousand. Just because Ruby was popular doesn’t mean everyone knew her, or even cares that she’s gone. Not as if their lives have completely changed by her death.

I can hear cheering in a class down the hall. I don’t look in as I pass.

It was a Friday night that Ruby died, technically Saturday morning because her time of death was around 3am.

All of my teachers are constantly checking on me. No generic greeting, simply a carefully crafted solemn look to hide what’s most likely judgement, add in a well-meaning pat, and then the question.

Are you okay?

How do I respond to that? Because the answer is no, but I’m not about to have a breakdown or anything. No, I’m fine. I’m definitely fine. This is life now.

And I’m fine with it.

Totally fine.

I was always content to be the side character, to live in Ruby’s shadow. Ruby craved attention and I was okay letting her have it.

I pass by Ruby’s old locker. Someone in the teaching department thought turning it into a mini memorial for Ruby was a good idea. They did the same thing when Kenneth’s cousin Haven was killed a few years ago.

A photo of Ruby’s smiling face is plastered on the top, and below people have written goodbye messages. My first day back, they encouraged me to write something too, I spent over an hour reading everything that everyone had written, surprised that most of it was actually nice.

People telling her goodbye, that they loved her, people complimenting her. James drew a picture of a bird taking flight right below her portrait, and Hailey decorated the sides of the locker with curling vines and flowers. The artwork mixing with the words gave it a strange sort of beauty.

I could see the paragraph written by Kenneth. I don’t think Brie or Samson wrote anything though, and I didn’t either.

When I get to class, I stare at my feet, feeling the heat of stares. I was never meant to stand out this much. I wonder if Jasper is getting this much attention at work.

During class change, I see one of Ruby’s best friends, Brie—former best friend, best friend? Well, I guess she’s still her best friend, it’s not as if being dead changes that, does it?

No one ever addresses these kinds of things. When someone loses their spouse, they become a widow, but what is the term for losing a best friend, a sister?

Am I sister-less now? Will people refer to Jasper and me as if we never had a third sibling?

Brie sidles up next to me as I grab my books from my locker.

“There’s a party tonight,” she says. Her eyes are blood-shot with dark circles underneath them. I wonder if she’s sleeping well. I know I’m not.

Thirty-eight days. She’s been gone for thirty-eight days.

The funeral was closed casket, so it took a while before it really sunk in.

But now there’s no denying it.

She’s gone.

There’s an emptiness that’s wrapped around me like a blanket. She’s really… gone.

She’s not waking me up in the mornings to drive us to school. She’s not filling the house with her music and laughter. She’s just… gone.

I want to say something mean or to ignore Brie. Instead, I slowly shut my locker and stare at her. It’s not as if I’m angry at Brie. She wasn’t there… that night.

I’m not sure if Brie and I would even be considered friends, though. I was always the tagalong. Ruby’s Little Shadow. But she’s the only one of Ruby’s friends that still tries to talk to me. Well, her, and one other person… but I don’t want to talk to Samson yet.

And other than Ruby and her friends, I didn’t really talk to anyone else. Funny how it never bothered me before. The whole not-having-friends thing.

“So…” I let the word hang in the air between us. Ruby was the partier, not me, and she knows it.

Not that Ruby partied often, but she was a social person, and if people were gathering, she wanted to be there.

“Thought you… might,” she swallows and turns to look at her nails.

Brie always has nicely painted nails that she changes every few days, but right now, they’re chipped, and it’s clear she hasn’t repainted them since the black she had for the funeral. “Thought it might be a good… uh… distraction.”

A distraction.

Yeah, I like the sound of that.

***

Dear Ruby,

Ms. Rich, you remember her, right? The school guidance counselor. She said I should write you letters, write what I’m feeling… thinking…

But I have nothing to tell you.

Well, one thing.

I hate you.