The Truth About Kian

05. I used to roll the dice

:: C H A P T E R  F I V E | I USED TO ROLL THE DICE ::

Teenagers who are considering suicide may talk about suicide or death. They may distance themselves from their friends and family, or they may give away treasured possessions or lose interest in school and sports.

 It was early morning in the journalism lab and I was alone, feverishly working on my feature. It was in the awkward brainstorming stage, and the little information that I had gathered about Kian showed in the stilted feel of the article. I had plenty of facts and experts' opinions about teen suicide — but not much about Kian.

 I hated to admit it, but I was stumped.

Even after interviewing several of his teachers at St. Benedict and approaching a few of his classmates for comments, I didn't understand why Kian had killed himself. According to them, he had been upbeat in the weeks before his death.

But a happy person doesn't usually want to kill himself, right?

Meg marched into the room and immediately noticed me huddled in the corner. "Hi, Reed," she said, dumping a stack of papers on her desk. "How's that feature coming?"

"It's coming," I replied absently.

Meg smirked when she caught a glimpse of the nearly empty screen on my laptop. "It doesn't look like anything's happening,"

"Well, it is," I retorted, but even I felt like wincing when I looked at that screen.

"You better have a draft on my desk Monday or I'll give the assignment to someone else," snapped Meg. "And I don't think your record could handle that sort of thing."

I bristled. I knew I could do justice to this feature — much better than some Inheritor on our staff who would only write about Kian as St. Benedict's star athlete. Meg wasn't going to take this away from me.

"I can understand Kian far better than you or your friends ever could." I spat through gritted teeth.

"Really? Just because you are scholarship students and so misunderstood?" Meg folded her arms across her chest and glared at me. "I mean, I know that St. Benedict likes to support charity cases, but they're kind of pushing it with you."

My fists clenched and I could hear the blood pounding in my brain. Forget about playing nice. "Money is the only reason that you're editor here," I spat out as I stood up in front of her. "A comatose wombat could do a better job than you!"

She straightened, colour rising in her cheeks. "Finish the feature, Reed," Meg hissed. "Then pack up and leave."

"I'm pretty sure you can't kick people off the paper for mouthing off," I said with a dry laugh. "But you've already tried haven't you? And guess what? I'm still here."

Her right hand hit my left cheek with a dull smack, and I gingerly touched the tender skin.

"Wow, it's not like you haven't tried that before either," I said as I stepped back, willing myself not to hit her back. For someone who spent most of her time avoiding conflict, I was feeling pretty violent lately. "I'll finish the feature, but don't you dare try and get rid of me."

Meg gave me a filthy look before she stalked out of the journalism lab. Taking a couple of deep breaths, I dialed a number on my phone.

"Hello? I'm sorry to bother you, but my name is Reed Elliot and I go to ... I mean, I went to school with your son. Could I ... could we meet?"

 ***

"Are you sure that you want to do this?" Jules asked as we pulled up in front of the well-kept, split-level house.