September 7th

Dear Stones, (I know you want me to write “Dear Kacey,” you obnoxious counselor woman, but to me she was “Stones,” so that’s what I’m writing.)

When you left, life went on … unfortunately. It’s the first day of school and, even though I played the “dead friend” card and told my mom that I wasn’t ready to see anyone yet, she made me go. The first day of every school year has always been awkward, but this year was especially awkward … super awkward … awkward of epic proportions.

Normally, I have you to hang with. Normally, we go together. This year, my dad drove me and, as soon as I stepped out of the car, I knew it was going to be a bad day. You know how movies always have that dream sequence, where someone dreams that they go to school naked and everyone is looking at them—pointing at them—whispering about them … Well, I wasn’t naked, but it felt a lot like I was the one in those dream sequences.

We had that first-day assembly in the theater and, when I walked in, I swear, everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me at the same time. Then there was a lot of whispering. All I wanted to do was scream, “YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT?” But I didn’t. I just stood there like an idiot, pretending like I didn’t know everyone was staring at me while I looked for a place to sit.

I looked for Drea—I don’t know why. Familiar face, I guess. She was sitting right in the middle of everyone, and I know she saw me. She looks different this year. She straightened her hair, and I’m pretty sure she’s wearing more makeup. I heard that her parents gave her a lot of money after you left, to help her deal or something. She got money and I got therapy. Lame.

Anyway, as I was standing there looking like an idiot, I felt my phone vibrate. It was a text from Loren: Come sit with me. Far left, second row.

 

Me: Hey.

Loren: Hey.

Me: Thanks for saving me a seat.

Loren: Well, you looked kind of awkward standing at the front.

Me: Yeah, it felt like everyone stopped and looked at me when I walked in.

Loren: They did.

Me: Oh. I really hoped I was just imagining it.

Loren: You didn’t. It was weird. But, whatever, it’s their deal, not yours … How you been?

Me: Okay. You?

Loren: You know … hoping this year isn’t going to totally suck.

Me: Me, too. Sorry I’ve been kind of …

Loren: Nonexistent?

Me: Yeah.

Loren: I heard your parents made you go to a psychiatrist or something.

Me: Yep … a counselor.

Loren: What’s the difference?

Me: I don’t know. I don’t have to lie down on a couch or anything.

Loren: What do you do there?

Me: Talk. And she makes me write stuff down.

Loren: Like what?

Me: Just … stuff. (I didn’t want to tell her that I was writing to you.)

Loren: How’s that going for you?

Me: It sucks.

Loren: It would. Did you get your course list?

Me: Yep. Here.

Loren: Cool. Looks like we’ve got English, Math, and Spanish together.

Me: Cool.

 

It was the first time that I’d talked to Loren since the funeral. She messaged me a few times on Facebook. I just didn’t feel much like talking. I think she’s a little pissed that I haven’t talked to her in a while. It was nice of her to save me a seat, though.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful—besides all the staring and whispering as I walked down the halls. I’ve kind of started getting used to it. I kind of have to.

Hasta luego.

Sticks