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the growing crowd, merely one more student in a very long line. As I pushed my way through the swinging red doors, I could see that several rows of metal bleachers had already been set up and were quickly being filled. Forcibly reminding myself that no one would be saving me a seat this year, I headed to the back of the room and chose a spot next to the section generally reserved for teachers.
    Principal Meeker stood awkwardly at a podium set up in the front of the gymnasium, and he cleared his throat loudly several times while waiting for the squeaking and shuffling noises to die down. He was wearing a seventies-style brown paisley shirt that did not flatter his portly frame in any way and, unfortunately, already bore the faint marking of a sweat patch under each arm.
    It was totally gross.
    When the noise finally settled to a dull roar, Principal Meeker clapped his hands together once and began to speak. "Welcome back, students and faculty. I trust that everyone had a beneficial and educational summer vacation?" Two caterpillar-esque eyebrows rose expectantly above his thick black glasses and he paused. After a moment of awkward silence he adjusted his glasses and resumed speaking.
    "Before I go over some general rules for the upcoming school year, I wanted to address a recent tragedy that has greatly affected our school and community. As most of you already know, over the summer vacation Kristen Maxwell was involved in a… er… fatal drowning… accident."
    I could hear shifting in the seats as suddenly hundreds of heads seemed to turn and glance in my direction. Hollow High only had about four hundred students, and at that moment it felt like every single one of them was staring at me.
    My eyes locked onto the floor. I concentrated hard on the toe of my shoe so I wouldn't have to see them all looking at me. Haw much longer is he going to talk about this?
    "In light of this terrible event, we will have extra grief counselors on hand for anyone who needs help sorting through their grief." The heads shifted away, and I was no longer the main topic of interest. "They will be available both before and after the lunch period in the guidance counselor's office for this entire week. Please don't hesitate to stop in and see one of them if you feel like you need to talk to someone about this."
    He looked out at us and the eyebrows rose again. "Just remember, folks, this is not a get-out-of-class-free card. The counselors are only to be used by those who legitimately need them."
    Then he proceeded to share a few of his memories about Kristen and opened up the floor for anyone else who might want to do the same. Several teachers stood up and said all the usual false sentiments. Things people say when they don't really know the person but feel obligated to praise them in some way. It all ran together in one never ending blur.
    Every once in a while someone would glance back in my direction and give me the look, clearly wondering when I would stand up and speak. I was really starting to get tired of that look. Of other people trying to decide for me what I should or shouldn't do.
    Finally three sobbing, sniffling, teary-eyed girls stood up and slowly made their way to the front of the room. They were, of course, the most perfectly dressed, perfectly made-up, perfectly coordinated people in the entire school. A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd.
    Everyone knew who these girls were.
    And / knew that not a single one of them had ever bothered to say anything to Kristen, or me, since we'd started middle school together.
    The tallest one, and clearly the leader of the pack, Shana Williams, spoke first. "We just wanted to say that we can't believe such an awful thing has happened. To lose one of our fellow students at such a young age is just so… so… tragic." She sniffed daintily and flipped her perfect golden hair with one hand.
    I rolled my eyes. These girls didn't care about Kristen. All they cared about was the