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The first time I saw a reaper, I thought I had fallen asleep in class again.
Mr. Sanchez was in the middle of reaming out Clyde for not having his homework for the hundredth time this year, and mid-yell his red face turned purple and he clutched his chest. When Mr. Sanchez fell to his knees, the sight of the black cloaked figure behind him nearly gave me a heart attack. My chest burned with the sudden rush of adrenaline and my throat tingled around the scream that begged to erupt, but I clamped my lips closed.
His silver gaze peered out of the hooded darkness, staring directly at me, like he knew I could see him. His bony hand reached out and came to rest on Mr. Sanchez’s head. The rotund teacher’s grey eyes rolled back and his breath wheezed from his half-open mouth.
“Call nine-one-one!” The cry broke my paralysis and I bolted to the front of the room, trying to recall the CPR instructions I had in health class last year. Thirty chest compressions then blow in the victim’s mouth. The silent instructions replayed in my head and I went into action.
It wasn’t until the E.M.T.s wheeled the dead body of Mr. Sanchez out of the room that Julia took my hand for support.
“Nick, you tried,” Julia said.
I looked into her golden brown eyes and that’s when I knew it wasn’t a dream. Her warm hand, her soft, teary voice, cracked through my defenses and I started to shake. “I couldn’t stop him from taking Mr. Sanchez.”
“Stop who?”
I opened my mouth to speak but before the words could tumble out, I snapped my lips closed. She was already looking at me like I had a few screws loose and this would only topple that look into the realm of disbelief. I didn’t want her to think I was any crazier than she already did. I turned away, wiping my misting eyes on my sleeve.
“Stop who?” she repeated, taking my arm and swinging me toward her.
“Death, who do you think?” I snapped, my tone harsher than I wanted, harsher than I meant to be and she recoiled. “I couldn’t stop death,” I said, softening my tone and taking a deep breath to cool my nerves. “I couldn’t stop Mr. Sanchez from dying.”
Before she could speak, the PA system whined into action. “Dylan Nicholas Ramsay, please come to the office.”
Aw, crap. What does Principal Murdock want now? I hung my head, grinding my teeth together for a moment as anger wiped away any trace of despair. “I gotta go,” I said to Julia, and stepped out of her grip, trudging toward the office wondering just what Principal Murdock was going to lay on me this time. Was he going to throw that sappy sad expression at me again, the one that always made me feel like a lost reject? The look that made me feel like crap.
Mr. Murdock offered a tight smile when I entered the office. “Nick, how are you holding up?”
Jeesh, how the hell do you think I’m holding up? I just saw my teacher die. “I’m fine, sir.”
“I think you should talk with Mrs. Lambert for a spell,” Mr. Murdock said, and delivered the look I expected.
“I said I’m okay.”
Mr. Murdock raised one of his wooly-mammoth eyebrows. “I understand you were yelling the entire time you were trying to revive Mr. Sanchez.”
Shock slammed into my chest, drying my mouth and shooting tingling waves over my skin. “Wh-what?”
“A few of the other students said you were yelling at someone or something while you were doing CPR.”
“I, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I knew I was cussing the hell out of the reaper, but I didn’t realize I was swearing out loud.
“I think you should talk with Mrs. Lambert for a while.”