chapter eighteen

June days are born in relentless heat and killed in a burst of orange light along the horizon each evening. The hours are long strings that pull open the buds on every tree stretching towards the blue skies.

With every new minute June brings, the less attached I feel to my life.

As my high school career draws to a close, I fixate on my best friend who's not graduating. Pat's claps on the back and Raveena's forceful excitement wash over me like thin layers of fog, blanketing me over and over, only making it harder to see what's really going on.

I see Greyson most days. For the times I miss, we meet in the pitch-black of the treehouse. Sometimes he brings our heads impossibly close and we stay like that for hours on end, and sometimes he can't touch me. 

Greyson's always in my head. He weaves into normal thoughts, kicks me in the back of the knees when I think I might just be having a nice time with Cade at lunch or laughing at something of no great importance with a friend in class. One second I'm alright, the next a blanket drapes over me like an opaque black film.

If I'm with Cade, he asks if everything's okay. I often shut down, unable to explain what transpires in my head so often, and he lets it go.

All I know is that it should've been me that night. It should've been me.

✿

"Ember?"

I wonder how far I can bend this pencil before it breaks.

"Ember."

The wood starts to groan under my palms, straining to keep together.

"EMBER!"

Crack!

Young Mrs. Zammar is right in front of my desk, arms crossed. Today she's wearing a bright blue hijab and a matching long-sleeved blouse, and concern is written on every line of her face.

I feel the gaze of the rest of the class. Even Ace is twitching in their seat beside me.

I drop the two splintered halves of my yellow pencil onto my desk and lower my eyes. "What," I say.

"I've...been calling your name. Quite a few times."

I grip the sides of my desk. "And?"

"Ember? Is everything alright—"

"What do you want?" I snap.

Mrs. Zammar recoils. "I suggest you mind your tone, Ember, lest you find yourself—"

"No! What's so fucking important? Are you going to test me on something else I'm never going to use? A little lesson on why the colour blue is fucking sad? Do you really think I give a shit? I don't want to pretend everything is fine! Everything is not fine! Leave me the fuck alone to try and deal with it in peace!"

A few gasps, a snicker from the front of the room, then silence. Pin drop silence, with only my heavy breaths filling it.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Zammar whispers, hurt lacing her tone. "You—you cannot speak to a teacher like that, Ms. Chapman."

I'm promptly sent to the office.

I walk the halls with a dark red sheet of paper in my hand. It's been a while since I've worn the shame that comes with this small, blood-red piece of paper.

Reason student was asked to leave: Insubordination, inappropriate language, disrespect.

Time of incident: 2:26 PM

What a great way to end the day.

My face heats up as blood thrums in my temples. My running shoes land hard against the dirty tiled halls of Bridgewood.

"Ember!"

Just as I'm about to push through a set of doors into a stairwell, I spin at the sound of my name on familiar lips.

Ace Nakamura jogs down the hall in pleated pants and a white tank top, covered with a mustard short-sleeved button down, hanging open on their petite frame.

I set my jaw, leaving a hand on the horizontal metal bar on the door. Just as Ace reaches me, brushing their black strands away from their face, I say, "I'm not going to prom. I'm not dating Cade. I don't care about the student council. Astrology is fake, so don't talk to me about that either." Ace's face slackens, brows coming together, the silver ring falling on their left eyebrow. "I'm not good at talking," I continue, "and I don't fucking want to, so if your here to try and pry me open and find out what the hell is wrong with me like some fucking student works project, turn the fuck around, Ace."

By the way their feet shuffle back, a passerby would think I physically reached out and shoved them by their shoulders.

"Wow, Ember," they say, shaking their head.

"Save it," I bite, gripping the metal bar.

Ace's throat bobs. "I am much more than promposals and star signs, Ember."

I roll my eyes. "So you came out here to lay your self-pity on me? To tell me your sob story? Thanks, but I don't need any more of that right—"

"No!" Ace cuts in, voice stronger than I've ever heard it. "I came out to see if you were okay!"

"Fuck you, Ace! I don't need this fucking guilt trip shit right now! You don't even know the first thing about me!"

"Exactly!" they cry, waving their hands around. "You never let me! You never let me know you! And I'm done trying!" After a few breaths, they back up a few steps. "Have fun with Principal Lockwood," they bite, and then turn around, stalking back to English.

My knuckles turn white on the metal door handle. I clutch the red note in my left palm, feeling the paper crumple from the pressure, then I throw my fist into the door and relish the pain the spiders through my joints.

A door across the hall opens revealing an old man with a long white beard. He spots me and scowls. "Back to class," he rasps.

Don't scream, I silently command myself, closing my eyes. Don't scream. Don't. Just be calm.

"Back to class right now!"

I take in a long breath, then exhale it. I do it again, and again. And again, then I head downstairs.

By the time I find the office in the centre of the building where I'll no doubt be dealt some form of punishment, I've let go of most of the anger. I'm just left with embarrassment and flushed cheeks.

I walk in where the secretary sits, a big man with short brown hair and pinkish-white skin.

My feet shuffle towards the high desk, and without meeting the man's eyes, I gingerly set the bright red, crumpled paper onto the high desk and turn around, slumping into one of three grey padded chairs by the closed door.

After a second, the man's deep voice says, "I'll send you into Vice Principal Ningeongan's office. He'll be ready for you in a few moments."

Phenomenal.

✿

Vice Principal Ningeongan, a lean man in his seventies with wrinkled, fawn-brown skin, greets me with a welcoming smile. I sit, he sits, then an unidentified amount of time transpires in the large, clean office. I'm not sure what he's waiting for, but he has that red slip in front of him, and something pulled up on the computer to his left he occasionally glances at.

Maybe he'll see my tenth-grade record and assume I'm still just a disgruntled high schooler without direction, someone who deserves a harsh slap on the wrist and more red ink on their file.

I point to the large, heavily detailed map of Nunavut on the wall behind him. "You're from a school in Iqaluit, right?" My voice is shaky, recollecting the time he introduced himself during an assembly a year ago. But I'm sitting here buying time with money I don't have.

Vice Principal Ningeongan is pleased. He smiles, musing with the black hair gelled back on his head. "Yes, yes, that's correct. Have you ever visited Baffin Island, miss...?"

"Chapman," I mutter, bouncing my knee.

Mr. Ningeongan glances at his screen and nods. "Right. Miss Chapman."

"I haven't," I tell him, "but it looks beautiful."

"Indeed, it is." A faraway look clouds his dark eyes.

A few moments transpire without a word. I can just make out the secretary's loud typing down the hall.

"Graduation is coming up," Vice Principal Ningeongan begins, eyes on his screen. He shakily picks up a pair of bright yellow reading glasses and sets them on the tip of his large nose. He tilts his head up, peeking through the bottom of the lenses. "Right around the corner, actually," he muses, pursing his lips and nodding appreciatively.

I lower my eyes and fiddle with my fingers in my lap over the black sweatpants I threw on this morning. That, paired with an oversized dark grey hoodie, doesn't really plead my case for being the straight-edged student I am now.

"You can bring three guests to convocation," Ningeongan informs me, typing something into his computer in a distracted manner. "Rehearsal is on the same day, fourth period. You have...Chemistry at that time, correct?" He stares at me over his glasses. I reluctantly nod. "Gown rental is twenty dollars, and you'll pick up your cap after rehearsal, but keep it in your locker so you don't forget it at home." When he looks at me again, expectant, I nod.

Ningeongan leans back into his computer chair, swivelling to face me. "Are you looking forward to graduation?"

I clear my throat and say, "Yes, I'm excited."

"Miss Chapman, how about we talk freely." Ningeongan raises his hands, palms up. "It's just you and me."

My brows come together. "Aren't I here for suspension? Or detention? Or...something?"

He leans forward, takes the dark red slip and holds it to his glasses. "Inappropriate language... disrespect..." Then a croaky laugh bubbles from his lungs. "Insubordination? Lama Zammar loves her big words, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," I breathe through a forced laugh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

"Well, this—" he holds up the slip "—is pretty damning. What do you recommend? Foot clubbing? Torture? Burned at the stake?"

"Are you—are you joking, or..."

He clears his throat and takes off his glasses, setting them onto the barren desk between us. "Yes. I guess my humour has shrivelled up over the years, hm?"

I just gape at the ground with wide eyes.

The mention of torture and pain has me reeling slightly.

Thanks again to a call from Detective John Hope, I overheard some things about the ongoing case involving the three teens and the two men. I didn't hear everything John mentioned to Pat, but I heard enough. Child pornography. Statutory rape. Trafficking of children. Both men had a horrifying history.

Guess it's not like the movies where the bad guys are always caught, and the good guys get redemption. 

I have dreams about finding my way to Greyson to kill those two men myself. And, in my dreams, I do it. Always. I do it happily, without flinching. Over and over.

Ningeongan says, "I think I'll let this slip be lost to the abyss that I call my trash can," and then he crumples up the red paper, much like I did, and spins in his chair to shoot it into the corner of the room where a bright blue plastic recycling bin lives.

He misses. He misses by a lot.

When Vice Principal Ningeongan turns back to me, I simply ask, "Why?"

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands over his blue dress shirt. "You and I both understand this was a one-time occurrence, correct?" I nod. "And by the look on your face when you came in here, you already understand the mistake you made, correct?" Again, I nod. "So, I don't see the need for useless punishment. Detention only makes angry students angrier, I find. But don't let it happen again, hm? You're on track to graduate top of your class. I don't think you want anything staining your record here, do you?"

"No," I tell him honestly.

A few moments beat on without a word, before Vice Principal Ningeongan says, "It seems you've come a long way, Miss Chapman."

I shift, twisting my mouth. "You've read my transcript."

"I have," he agrees, "and I see that this is your fifth year here at Bridgewood."

"I didn't have a choice," I tell him.

"Of course," he says, voice soft.

My palms scream again as I try to maintain composure. "Are we done?" I ask, failing at a calm tone. "I don't want to take up any more of your time."

"How are you, Ember? Really. It's my job to make sure my students—"

"Fine. Now can I go please?"

"Just know my office door is always open. Feel free to—"

I bolt up from the chair, run out of his office, away from the secretary, and away from everything all the time.

Better days are on the horizon. I know that. It's just hard to see the horizon through the tsunami waves sometimes. But they'll come. They have to.

I bide my time and wait. It's all I have left to do.

So. We're at the point where I'd like to hear your thoughts on Ember. Tell me right here.

-Laurel-