Luke was in school for two months, and then he disappeared for two weeks.
It took a few days for Michael to notice his absence. The first there was an exam in English and Luke's seat was empty, so Michael chalked it up to him being knew and figured he was taking some kind of catch up quiz. The next day he figured he was sick, same with the third day, but after the weekend when he didn't see him leaving his appointment with Mrs. Klee, his mind began to wander.
Maybe he'd dropped out, he thought for a while, he never talked to anybody and he always cried at lunch. When he wasn't back after a week and half and his seat remained empty and no explanation given, Michael's thoughts turned more morbid, maybe he'd died. He didn't drive so he couldn't have crashed a car but he could have drown, the whole town was built on a lake. Maybe he had a brain aneurysm, he'd heard of someone dying of one on the news, her crying unsuspecting family had said it was sudden. They'd stopped saying his name during attendance, as if they knew there'd be no answer, so someone most of informed the staff, which meant the reason was legitimate.
He thought about it a lot, more then he knew was necessary for a random stranger at the desk next to him and so he forced himself to think of other things, which worked.
He'd more or less forgotten about the awkwardly tall blonde and then he was back; sitting in his seat as if he'd never left it.
He looked thinner, Michael noted which was saying something because he was built like a Pixie Stick. He seemed more pale then before, he looked sick and when Mrs. Soltis called his name, she said it in a weird sad way and looked right at him, as if asking if he was alright rather asking if he was present.
The entire lesson, she seemed to be delivering her sermon specifically to Luke, her voice coming out gentle and soft like there was a baby sleeping somewhere and she didn't want to wake them up. Our art teacher acted similarly, so did the history teacher. He ate at the popular table at lunch, sitting next to Amanda Green, an honor half the football team would intentionally loose a game just to achieve.
As someone who hated pity and being left out of a secret Michael had just about had enough of the whole thing and then came gym.
It was a hot day, grotesquely so.
Michael's shorts were bunching up between his sweaty thighs just standing on the baking sheet that was the track and beneath his shirt, droplets of moisture rolled down from his neck into the band of his pants and settling in areas that just made everything worse.
The air around the group of irritated looking sophomores was alive with a symphony of cicadas dwelling somewhere in the distance, waves of heat distorting the line of trees on the opposite side of the track like a smudged painting.
It was muggy and sticky and the sun seemed like an interrogation late, melting everyone and everyone in sight like bugs under a magnifying glass, however Coach Ihab, a tall, broadly build Iranian man with a rough prominent face and a passion for any and everything athletic had no intention of taking the temperature into account.
"It's freaking hot." May So grumbled, "Why can't we have gym inside."
"It's not even a hundred degrees out." Coach Ihab laughed, "You don't know the meaning of the word hot. Back in Iran..."
"Here we go." someone behind Michael groaned, "You had to walk ten miles in the blazing sun completely covered just to get a drink of water."
"Have I told that one?"
"Fifty times." someone else complained, "It's too hot to stand all huddled up."
"You are right." Coach Ihab agreed, clapping his hands, "Which is why we're going to run the track."
