Wednesday - November 22, 2017 - 6:56 a.m.

The day began just as the others had this week—in a dreary, dismal fog. I awoke just before seven from another restless night of fading in and out of consciousness, never remaining asleep for more than an hour at a time.

With every ounce of my hollow being, I dragged myself into the shower, dried my hair, and slipped into fresh school clothes—seemingly simple tasks that had become surprisingly grueling, borderline impossible for me to accomplish.

In light of all that had happened over the weekend, my mother had insisted I show up to school on Monday morning, as if nothing had changed at all. She refused to afford me one day to grieve in the comfort of my own home, one day to let the nauseating truth sink in. My dad had tried talking some sense into her, assuring her that I deserved some time to myself, away from the impending chaos at school. It would do her good, he'd told her last night at dinner as I'd eavesdropped from the steps. As usual, his rational advice was overshadowed by her ruthless thirst for control. Even the death of my best friend wasn't enough to thaw her frigid heart.

As irritating as it was being grounded, the prospect of solitary confinement now seemed like heaven compared to the halls of Chamberlain High. I could barely stomach the thought of hundreds of curious eyes that would be swarming me the next few weeks, hungry for the juicy details of Saturday night.

The first period bell blared like a bullhorn as Olivia and I made our way into the jam-packed gymnasium. Just as I'd forecasted, every pupil in the room narrowed in on us as we strolled over to join Brandon and Axel in the front row of the stands. Principal Reed was stationed at the makeshift podium in the center of the basketball court, shuffling some papers and straightening his burgundy tie.

Although we were facing front, I could feel the stares of the others piercing my back like syringes. Normally I had little trouble blocking them out, but today they were frustratingly impossible to ignore.

"How's Sam?" Olivia whispered to Axel.

"I wish I knew myself. He hasn't returned any of my texts since he left the hospital yesterday. I even called this morning and offered to treat him to a complimentary Grand Slam at Denny's—that always gets him out of a rut."

I let out a sardonic chuckle under my breath. Your girlfriend's sudden death was a little more than the average 'rut.'

"Thank you all for being here," Principal Reed announced to the crowd, maintaining a solemn expression.

I couldn't help but snicker at his meaningless gratitude, as if this weren't a mandatory assembly. Two-thirds of the crowd were glued to their phone screens, the other third gazing bleakly out the window, probably wondering when this tedious eulogy would be over. Their lack of interest didn't surprise me in the slightest. To them, Hazel had been just another face in the hall.

"As I'm sure many of you are aware by now, we are gathered here this morning to honor a fellow student of yours: Hazel Bryne."

Her name floated in the air, a sharp pain piercing my chest.

"In the early hours of Sunday morning, Hazel was the victim of a fatal car accident. She was immediately rushed to Mercy Hospital, and she passed away in treatment shortly thereafter. It is with a devastatingly heavy heart that I send my deepest condolences to her family, as well as anyone who considered her a friend—many of whom are here right now."

His eyes dripped with remorse as they trailed to the four of us.

"This has been a heart-wrenching tragedy, not just for our school, but for all of Chamberlain. Hazel was an ambitious young woman with a bright and promising future ahead of her. Whether on the football field or in these very halls, Hazel's vibrant spirit was an irreplaceable asset to our school and community, and should be remembered as such."

He reached into a small cardboard box beside him, pulling out a handful of multicolored index cards.

"As part of our unwavering commitment to keep Hazel's presence alive and well within the halls of Chamberlain High, I invite each of you to jot down a brief memory of Hazel, perhaps an interaction you may have had with her, or some other aspect of her that you will hold in your memory. We will hang these on our walls to ensure that, although Hazel is no longer with us, she will never, ever be forgotten.

"In addition, I hope that this horrific incident can serve as an essential reminder of the dangers of driving under the influence. For your own sake, as well as that of those around you, never be afraid to make the right decis—"

Olivia shot up abruptly. "I WASN'T DRUNK!"

Her voice amplified in a never-ending echo that sent a shiver goosebumps up my back. Principal Reed's eyes widened in a dumbstruck gaze as Olivia stared daggers at him, her arms shaking with rage. I reached for her hand, but she tugged away the second I made contact.

"I wasn't drunk," she repeated. Her voice was calmer this time, though it retained a distinct edge of dissent.

A string of soft giggles erupted across the bleachers, followed by whispered side conversations and less-than-discrete pointing in our direction. Olivia's eyes widened with shock as they turned back to the crowd, as if she were just now becoming cognizant of her surroundings. She whipped back around and opened her mouth slightly, as if to say something more, but no words emerged.

Angry tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed her bag and stormed out the gym doors.

I didn't chase after her, and a part of me felt like a lousy friend for not doing so. I couldn't fathom the frustration that must result from being accused of your best friend's death, especially by those who didn't know the whole story—the true story.

The rest of the day passed in an incomprehensible blur. My mind remained locked in a perpetual standby mode, unable to retain any of the useless information my teachers pelted at me. Every single period, I couldn't rip my eyes from the empty chair beside me, where Hazel had been only three short days ago. This vacancy was enough to induce prickling tears, which I stifled with all of my being.

In Chemistry, Mrs. Murphy summoned me to the front just before we began our fractional distillation lab.

"In light of the circumstances"—I could tell she was trying not to choke on her words—"we'll have to find you another partner. For today, why don't you work with Bernadette?"

Bernadette Mills was easily the smartest girl at Chamberlain High. She was only a junior, but had tested into senior Chemistry and was creaming the hell out of us all. She was a nice enough girl, mild-mannered and reserved, though there was a distinct condescending air about her only picked up through personal interaction.

She completed pretty much the whole lab herself, adjusting the transformer voltage and jotting down temperature changes as I sat idly by and observed with hollow eyes. Even when I tried to offer a sliver of input, she didn't seem to acknowledge it. Could I really blame her? I was nothing more than the airheaded cheerleader she'd gotten stuck with, too ditzy to be of any valuable assistance.

I nearly fainted with relief when the fifth period bell dismissed me into temporary freedom. As I made my way towards the front doors, eager to spend my lunch in solitude under the bleachers, I glanced to my side and noticed that people had already began stringing up their colorful notes about Hazel. I paused just before the exit, scanning a few of them with curious eyes.

I didn't know Hazel that well, but she seemed like a very sweet girl. Sending positive vibes to everyone in her life. – Marlene Dauber

I'm really sad that I never got the chance to know Hazel better. Her smile could brighten up a room, liven anyone's day. Rest in peace. – Emily Seibel

The frown I'd been sporting since I'd woken up took a slight upturn as my eyes continued to skim the multicolored cards of kindness.

Hazel Bryne had one of the best racks in the entire school, second only to Allison Masey. Smoking hot body in general. A solid 8.5. Her phenomenal ASS-ets will be missed.

I'll never forget the time I was hitting on Hazel at Kristen Malcolm's sweet sixteen. She didn't know what the word 'illiterate' meant. I swear to God, I'm not making this shit up. She made her numbskull boyfriend look like a Yale Ph.D. candidate!

Hazel was nothing but the token popular bimbo. I guess every school needs one. Looks like Cassie Angeles and Olivia Williams are accepting applications for their bitch squad!

My blood began to boil with indignant rage. I re-read these back a couple times, running my fingers over the ink, thoroughly convinced I was misinterpreting them—hopefully imagining them altogether. The cruel words were as real as day, each one sucker punching me right in the stomach. I noticed that the authors had decided to remain anonymous.

Without hesitation, I ripped these three cards off the wall and tore them up, letting the shreds fly away in the breeze as I pushed through the front doors. My appetite had all but vanished, quelled by the heinous comments I'd just witnessed. There was only one place I wanted to be right now.

On this particular day, the Chamberlain cemetery resembled more of a front-lawn Halloween display than a genuine burial site, thanks in part to the naked, spindly trees and murky overcast. It was situated in a vacant, fenced-off corner of Franklin Park, only a few feet away from the swing set and monkey bars. Why the city had chosen this particular venue for a cemetery was still beyond me.

Whenever I came here with Brandon to visit his dad's grave, I was always taken aback by the striking lack of maintenance. I assumed the city would have the decency and respect to spruce it up every now and then, but clearly that was wishful thinking. The faded, cracked tombstones were as horribly slanted and decrepit as the last time I'd been here, slowly becoming engulfed by a web of puke-brown weeds. The engravings on some of the stones were nearly illegible. It truly was a perfect representation of the eternal dreariness Chamberlain embodied so well.

Apart from the overarching air of death, it depressed me to no end reading the names of the unfortunate souls who had never made it out of this pathetic excuse for a town. I couldn't even fathom spending the last days of my life here.

I sauntered over to Hazel's freshly chiseled headstone, knowing it was only a matter of time before hers fell into decay like the rest of them. Apparently this town wasted no resources on you once you were rotting away six feet under. To hell with your damn memory.

Hazel Victoria Bryne

Beloved Daughter And Friend

June 25, 2000 – November 19, 2017

I ran my fingers across the hard, ice-cold stone. Each word felt like a razored thorn piercing in my skin.

The tears snuck up on me, streaming from my eyes in buckets as opposed to the usual dainty drops I could easily suppress. The truth was sinking in to its deepest degree yet. The numbness that had plagued my body since Saturday night suddenly dissipated, replaced by the harsh, burning throb of reality. My breath diminished to short, convulsive gasps for air, all sense of stability draining from my legs. I let myself collapse into the grass, clutching my face in my hands as it began to burn with indignation.

She was really gone.

The girl who had welcomed me with open arms on my first friendless and frightening day of middle school; the girl who had stayed up until two in the morning helping me master the art of scorpions the night before the State Cheer Invitationals; the girl who had shared her top-secret makeup hacks that would keep me looking my best for the rest of my life.

The girl I'd just seen a couple days ago—gone forever.

I'd never been particularly afraid of dying. In my opinion, it seemed rather pointless to fear passing away, because death always had the last laugh. It was the swiftness, the spontaneity of death that really made my skin crawl, how it could creep up and snatch you away in an instant—no final wishes or last goodbyes.

Was this some sort of cruel joke? Karma, perhaps? If it was the latter, I'd done more than enough in the past few weeks to deserve a misfortune of this magnitude. Maybe this was God's plan, to which my parents attributed every little thing they couldn't seem to make sense of.

The more I pondered this over, the more I realized that searching for an explanation was a fruitless endeavor. It wouldn't bring her back.

The cold blades of grass brushed against my face and I laid my heavy head to the ground. I always felt like an idiot crying in public, though I supposed here was the most appropriate of all places to so. Besides, the secluded cemetery afforded me a good amount of privacy.

Suddenly, I felt the light pressure of a hand falling gently onto my shoulder. When I looked up, I was staring directly into Zara's smoldering topaz eyes.

I tried to speak, but all of the words evaporated from my tongue. Surely my face must have conveyed what my mouth was incapable of at the moment.

The warm fleece of her sweater felt like heaven against my skin as she pulled me into her arms.

This hug was substantially longer the average one—lasting nearly five minutes—though she never once tried to pull away or wriggle free. She kept her arms locked tight around me as I stowed my face in her neck and let the last of my tears flow onto her shoulder. Breaking free of her hold seemed like an impossible feat at the moment.

After I'd cleared the final trace of anguish from my system, she helped me to my feet and led me over the colossal oak tree just outside the entrance to the park. For a while, we sat against the trunk in silence, her eyes fixed on me while my own remained glued to the opaque sky above us. I was still trying to muster up the strength to produce words without first choking on them.

"How long did it take?" I asked finally.

She turned to me with a puzzled expression.

I took in a deep breath, doing my best to ward off any intervening tears. "How long did it take for you to get over your brother's death?"

A look of understanding flashed in her brilliant eyes. "I told you—I still haven't gotten over it." She slid her soft hand firmly into mine. "You never fully get over something like that. You just learn to accept it, to reclaim your happiness—to start living again."

She gently brushed a few stray strands of hair from my face.

"Life doesn't wait around for anyone—it just keeps rolling. But the nice thing about life is that it's malleable. You discover new things, meet new people, learn to accept that the past is permanent. As soon as one door closes, another one's opening just around the corner."

I was amazed by her nonchalance, how she spoke without a hint of despair in her face.

Zara's words continued to ring out in my head as we headed out the black gates of the cemetery, hand in hand, back to her humble abode on Burdette Street. The deep despondence of Hazel's death didn't seem nearly as severe as it had only a short hour ago.  I could help but stare giddily at Zara as we made our way back, reveling in her comforting presence, thinking not about what I'd just lost, but how immeasurably grateful I was for what I'd gained.