Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Two

I don’t remember sitting through Mrs Levi’s English class, but I suppose I must have, because next thing I knew the bell was ringing again and I was getting up, returning my untouched exercise book and pen to my bag, and marching out the door through the throng of movement and chatter. If Mrs Levi had noticed me not working—and she should have since her eyesight wasn’t that bad yet—she didn’t say anything. No one had said much to me since I’d got back to school. Mount Eden College ran entirely on the gossip combustion engine—snippets of half-heard stories went in, powering the community, and out the exhaust pipe came bullshit. By now, everyone knew what had happened, what I’d done. But they didn’t know about Ella, not yet. I’d spent four years with these people. I’d never felt more isolated from them.

An empty space moved with me through the crowd of students in their white and blue and grey uniforms. It suited me fine. Some kids split off to go to other classes, but I followed the main group to Physics. I didn’t even bother getting my book out this time. I just stared at Mrs Dean’s handwriting on the whiteboard and tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

There were a lot of things I didn’t know about Ella. I’d found that out a couple of months ago. Hell, maybe I’d never really known her at all. We’d been going out six months before I found out about the drugs. She wasn’t using anymore, but she’d been in deep when she was thirteen or fourteen, bad enough to need a fresh start at a new school. Was that it? Had she started using again? Or was it something else? How many dark corners were in her soul?

While Mrs Dean blabbered, I looked around at the class. A couple of the old crew were in Physics with me: Jeremy and Dave. And I knew I knew her better than either of those arseholes. Jeremy was pretty bright, a football player, decent looking. The sort of guy who was good at a lot of things but not great at anything, which still made him better than me at pretty much everything. He glanced up from his book to see me staring at him. His eyes narrowed. I looked away.

Twenty minutes before the end of the period everyone started pouring out of the neighbouring classrooms. After Mrs Dean told the class which problems in the book were for homework, we filed out and joined the throng of bodies crossing the quad to go to the special assembly.

My gut was doing flip-flops again, even though I’d already spewed everything in my stomach. Before, Ella’s death was just words on a yellow piece of paper. But now they were going to say it, and that made it real. I wanted to break through the crowd and run, just go flying through the school gates and haul arse all the way back home. Or maybe not home, maybe I’d hitchhike to Hamilton or Wellington or something. That way I could pretend she was still alive, off living her life somewhere, getting into more trouble.

But somehow I kept trudging forward, keeping pace with the crowd, listening to them discuss how sweet it was to get out of class twenty minutes early.

The school hall had been designed by someone who didn’t understand the logistics of how to get twelve hundred students into and out of a confined space in a timely manner. I was taller than most of the girls but shorter than most of the guys, so I got a good nose-full of everyone’s BO as we waited. It took ten minutes before we were all in and seated. I’d managed to snag a seat near the back at the end of a row, so no one would be able to stare at me if my heart finally burst out of my chest.

The principal was a thin man, tall, dressed like an undertaker. We stood as he came onto the stage polishing his glasses.

“Have a seat,” he said, and we did. Everyone was quieter than usual.

He arranged his paper on the lectern, took his glasses off again to wipe them, held them up to the light, polished them once more, and returned them to his narrow face. A student coughed. I was gripping the seat beneath me so hard the muscles in my arms were twitching.

“Good morning,” the principal said, his voice even more solemn than usual. “I’m afraid it has fallen to me to deliver some tragic news to you all.” He cleared his throat. The hall had gone quiet. Even the usual smartarses didn’t make a sound. “One of our Year Thirteen students, Ella Lewis, has passed away.”

Someone once told me that the hit you see coming hurts more. This one felt like I’d been kicked in the ribs by a size twenty boot and then smacked around the head for mumbling. There it was. Passed away. It sounded so quaint. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was a desert.

It took me a while to realise the principal was still speaking. “…terrible loss for her family, her friends, and everyone here at this school. We will be announcing the details of her funeral as soon as they become available for any students who wish to attend. The school counsellor will be available all afternoon to see students who—”

The first gasping sob came from somewhere on the other side of the hall. Then another further down. Ella wasn’t exactly popular, but most people knew her, and if they knew her, they liked her. It took me a moment, but I spotted her best friend, Megan, pressing a tissue to her eyes a few rows down from where I was sitting. Her mousy ponytail bobbed with every shuddering sob that tore through her. The girl sitting next to her—Sarah, I think—put her arm around Megan and pulled her close.

Me, I didn’t cry. Not because I’m a tough guy. Hell, I wanted to cry. I just couldn’t feel anything anymore.

~~~

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