Beverly Castle stood at the entrance to the Harbor Hills cemetery, which just so happened to face Hills High.
She wasn’t there for the graveyard, though. Not this time.
It was a cruel thing, to build a school across from a cemetery. Or vice versa. She glanced at the street sign, which stood like a scarecrow just yards away. Tugging her brown leather messenger bag closer to her body, she read the name. Schoolhouse Street. This was no chicken-or-the-egg conundrum. Clear as day, the school was here first. Made no sense to her why anyone, old-timey or not, would come along and decide it was a good idea to throw down rows of headstones just yards away from schoolchildren. This was the first time Beverly had had such a thought. On previous trips—either to the school or to the cemetery—she’d been too distracted to think up the question. Making a mental note to follow up one day—endless potential stories knocked around in her head—she sucked in a deep breath and let it out to the count of five. Coping strategy. It didn’t help.
Sunlight shone down brightly, and thick, late-summer humidity relaxed her loose waves into a limp sheet of brown hair. August in Harbor Hills was no different from July. Except for its proximity to fall, of course.
School would begin in just weeks. By then, Beverly knew she wouldn’t have the nerve to enter the double doors. The same ones Kayla had stalked through for the one-and-only year of her high school career.
Beverly sealed her lips into a thin line and shifted in her boots. Even if it was hot and sticky, August didn’t feel much like summer anymore. At least, not to Beverly. For that reason, she’d opted for black boots. Sensible ones that hit just below her knees and boasted modest, square heels. Jeans that hadn’t fit the year before now hung loose at her waist and disappeared into the leather sheaths of the boots. She’d used one of Tom’s belts to keep the jeans in place. On top, Beverly wore an airy blue blouse. That way she wouldn’t sweat too much once inside.
A car passed by, too fast and too red, and Beverly found herself uselessly annoyed. With the world, but also with herself. She left her car in the gravel parking lot of the cemetery and crossed the street. The gravel lot was a straighter shot to the front office than if she’d parked in the visitor spots at the south end of the school building. At least, this is what Beverly told herself.
She came to Hills High on assignment. A piece for the paper. Teacher Turnover at Hills High. But another, more comfortable story sat on her very own street, just three houses up.
Even so, she’d promised her boss she’d come. She’d interview Principal Darry Ruthenberg, and she’d promise to keep things upbeat. Then, she’d get out of the school and would never go back there. Not ever again.