𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 | 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞

¹⁴ | The fancy lawyer

ɢᴜʏ ɢᴇʀᴍᴀɪɴᴇ

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 sixth period, I get called down to the main office along with Averman. We walk down the halls in hushed whispers about what this could be about. He immediately thinks it is about Charlie, but I think someone might have died. As horrible as it sounds, I know the layers of grief and sorrow hidden in voices. It was there, just now, when we were told to see the Dean. It was there, too, when the nurse told us my dad wasn't going to make it. It was there, on the phone with Mrs. Hall the night Jesse died. I know it, better than anyone, perhaps. I just hope that I am wrong.

When we open the door, everyone is standing in there, too. I think we might be last to get here. Maeve has her hand on Russ' shoulder. It doesn't feel good in here. My eyes flicker between my friends and the Dean.

"Well," he starts. "Now that you are all here, it comes with great misfortune and my deepest regrets to inform you that your friend, Hans Olsen, passed away early this morning. I have dismissed you all from your classes and activities for the rest of the day to allow you the time to process this heavy information."

No one spoke, all eyes staring back at him, mouths agape. Hans Olsen passed away early this morning.

I was no stranger to this feeling, but it hit me like a bullet all over again. More death. Here we all are, touched by more death in just two years. It is not right.

"I understand how this is a difficult time for all of you and how this news will bubble old memories and feelings from the passing of your teammate, Jesse Hall. I urge you all to spend the rest of the day collecting fond memories with each other of Mr. Olsen. There will be a funeral service held early next week. I am very sorry for your losses."

We leave the office together, all of us. I am walking in slow motion, it feels like. Ahead of me, I see Connie and Luis holding hands. I am happy that they have each other now. As I am moving, I think about my dad. I recall memories of him teaching me how to ride a bike or play catch. I try to remember every moment I spent with him, but I was so young and it is so long ago, that only my deep conscious will be aware of them. I remember my father, and that is all that matters.

I think of Jess, too. I think of how I still talk to him every day. I ask him for advice. I tell him about the bad parts of my day and the good parts. I tell him that he is my best friend still, most often. I remember being his roommate and his bus buddy. I tell him how those were the best days of my life.

And now, I think of Hans, as well. I think of the first time I met him. I was 11. Bombay had just started coaching us. The first time I walked into his store, it smelled of pine cones and old cologne. It still smells like that, the last time I went over. I thought of the pranks he loves to pull on each of us. Cutting off a finger sharpening skates. Having a heart attack. He is morbid, but he is the happiest person I think I've ever known.

Losing someone--it is the worst thing life can put you through. Losing someone who didn't deserve it, though--someone who had more life in their pinky than some have in their entire existence--that is just cruel. Beyond cruel. It just doesn't feel real.

An earthquake began to erupt within me. My body trembled, using every muscle to fight the lump in my throat from growing. I stopped walking--I think I gave up on that a long time ago. It was really only a minute ago, but that's the thing about death. One minute feels like forever, but years feel like just seconds. I let my forehead fall to the cold metal lockers in front of me. It made the heat of my face fade. Everything is fading all the time, it feels like. Why doesn't anything ever just stay?

I felt her presence behind me before I could physically feel her. I fucking hate how that happens--how she's all I know and think about and want.

Slowly, like she's scared that her fingertips will break me, she reaches for me. First, just my hand. She laces her fingers through mine and my blood rushes faster than before. I squeeze her hand--or at least try to. I feel too weak to do anything, like the last six years of war are finally catching up to me and I just now realize that I can not continue the fight. I think it's starting to catch up to her, too, because next, she's pressing against my back. I feel her shaking, maybe she's crying, or maybe she's scared that it is over. Maybe it's both.