The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy 1)

I hate it.

My homework sits untouched in my backpack, I barely drink, and I don’t eat all day. Mom runs to the store and returns with ginger ale and saltines, but I can’t even stomach those.

As shitty as I feel physically, guilt wracks me for that too. My stomach is in knots, my heart thuds painfully in my chest, and my skin feels alternately chilled and flushed—but I feel all those things because I’m alive. I’m not the one who died last night. I survived.

And I ran. We all did.

On Monday morning, I’m a little delirious from lack of sleep—I did doze off a few times overnight, but every time I did, disjointed dreams assaulted me until my eyes flew open again.

Mom doesn’t want me to go to school, but I insist I can handle it. I need… something normal. I need to verify the world outside still exists, that some things have continued as usual even if nothing about me feels the same.

Lincoln is downstairs waiting for me, and even though I don’t want to ride with him, I don’t have the energy to fight about it. We drive in silence, and I don’t fiddle with the radio dials like I used to. Tension fills the space between us, expanding inside the confines of the car until I swear I can feel it pressing against me like a physical force.

He glances over at me once, and it looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. His hands just tighten on the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearms standing out like ropes.

As soon as we walk inside the large, white front doors of Linwood Academy, I wish I’d followed my mom’s advice and stayed home. I’m not sure who finally did report it to the cops, but Iris’s body was found, and everyone is talking about it.

No one seems to know much, but I hear from several people that she was hit by a drunk driver, so that must be what the cops are assuming.

The cheerleading squad huddles together in the hallway, the younger members sobbing and the older members—people like Savannah—consoling them with quietly shell-shocked expressions. Savannah and Iris had the weirdest on-again, off-again friendship I ever saw, but the redhead has dark circles under her eyes and is more subdued than I’ve ever seen her.

Trent looks… sick.

He looks exactly how I feel—like he wishes he could turn himself inside out somehow, tear the world down and rebuild it into something that makes sense again.

I sit through my first period Poli Sci class, staring at the whiteboard without really seeing it as a fresh wave of doubt cascades through my mind.

Could we have done more? Could we have saved her somehow?

Maybe she wasn’t really dead yet. The man in black seemed satisfied when he checked the body, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe if we’d just called for help right away—

The thoughts churn in my head as acid rises up my throat, and by the time the bell rings, I snatch up my backpack and run to the bathroom, barely making it into a stall before vomit rises up my throat.

There’s hardly anything to barf up—I haven’t really eaten in a day and a half—but that doesn’t stop my body from trying. A cold sweat covers my skin as I heave and shake, and when I finally press up to stand, my knees are wobbly. But I feel a little better somehow. The emptiness helps.

I get through my next two classes in a blur and plead period pain in gym class, sitting off on the sidelines as the other kids run laps around the indoor track. At lunch, I don’t even bother heading to the cafeteria. My body feels weak and lethargic, but even the thought of eating makes my stomach twinge again.

Instead, I head outside and make my way under the bleachers, ducking low to settle into my favorite spot. The late October air is chilly, and I didn’t even bother with a jacket, but I don’t really care right now. I close my eyes, breathing deep and trying to settle my heart, to keep each beat from hurting so much.

It’s not really working, so I slip off my backpack and dig into the bottom of one of the side pockets, pulling out the little plastic baggie I have stored there. I roll a joint and light it, and the first drag hits me hard. My system is so wrung out and empty it feels like I have no defenses or barriers anymore.

Resting the joint in the crook of the scaffolding beside me, I reach into my bag again for my phone. My fingers shake, and for some reason, tears burn my eyes again as I tap out a text message.

ME: Hey Dummy. I miss you. Just wanted to tell you that

She’s probably in class right now, so I don’t expect an answer. But a moment later, her response pops up.

HUNTER: Fuuuuck I miss you too. How’s Fox Hill?

I start to type a half dozen different responses and delete them all. Finally, I write the closest thing to the truth I can say.

ME: I think I hate it here

HUNTER: Noooo! why? I thought ur mom’s new job was great?

ME: It is. I’m glad for her. I just… miss Bayard. And you.

HUNTER: Yah :( Same girl