Losing Grip

Chapter 1➷ Not Everyone Wants a Second Chance

It was getting harder to pretend that I couldn't sense his eyes on me. I knew there was nothing romantic about the way he looked at me; he only seemed curious, but it made me uncomfortable, anyway.

I didn't feel bad about pretending I didn't know him; I was dealing with grief my way.

Talking about what happened wouldn't change anything. I was not an expert on grieving, but I knew as much.

My best bet was often not to think about it at all. Once I started, I knew it would be an impossible task to stop my mind from wandering to places where I wouldn't be able to retrieve it. I sometimes wondered if it was some kind of disorder that intensified the voices in my head way above the ones around me. A disorder much like physical pain.

I decided to stare back, as if I hadn't devoted most of my energy avoiding him these past few months.

Before I could meet his dark eyes, he had focused on the teacher again, leaving me somewhere between relieved and disappointed.

Mr. Scott finished scribbling words on the board. He turned to face us, stepping away to reveal what he had written. "Death penalty..." he read, emphasizing each word with a clap, even though that wasn't necessary. "It's a controversial issue even now--" He leaned against his desk, his pale eyes narrowing as he seemed to search for his next words--"maybe especially now that it's not as used as before. Who'd like to start our debate today?"

None of us dared to raise our hands. We had all learned, the hard way, that volunteering was never a good idea. Some students pretended to be busy, turning around to look for nonexistent items in their backpacks. Others looked down, trying to avoid making eye contact with Mr. Scott.

He shook his head in disappointment as his eyes roamed around the room in search of an innocent soul to pick on. They stopped on me. Most of my teachers seemed to have convinced themselves that calling on me somehow helped me. If that's what the self-help books taught about assisting those dealing with loss, they were far from helpful.

"Avery, would you start us off?" He started looking for his second victim without giving me a chance to refuse. "Who else? Who else?"

When he called Avan's name too, the optimistic lies I had already been telling myself collapsed.

Avan stopped doodling on the cover of his notebook and looked up, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Mr. Scott gave a slight nod in my direction, compelling me to begin.

"I'm against it," I said, knowing that Avan would have to choose whichever position I didn't pick. That's how the Debate class's discussions had to start.

Before giving it much thought, I added that everyone deserved a second chance. A generic sentence, maybe, but I didn't have the energy for better arguments.

"Everyone?" Avan leaned back in his chair. The long black strands of hair bounced and followed his movement. "That seems general enough to make room for a lot of misunderstandings. Not everyone wants a second chance."

"Dive in whenever you think you can contribute to the discussion," Mr. Scott reminded the rest of the class as I tried to come up with something else to say.

Trying to mask my uncertainty, I maintained eye contact and tried to ignore the whispers behind me. "Everyone has a right to live."

"I agree." Avan did not miss a beat. "That's exactly why the death penalty is even a thing. It makes sure that ending someone else's life doesn't go unpunished."

Even with the air conditioning, the room felt stifling to me. Perhaps it was a good thing that my hair never grew past my shoulders, otherwise, I might have wanted to tear it off.