Chapter Two

It was Wednesday, and the high school was a somber place. All the kids were dressed in dark clothing. Probably not consciously though. Although the societal elite likely texted each other this morning to co-ordinate dark designer wear. Those fuchsia and canary yellow shirts likely didn't look all that appealing on a day like today. The building itself also seemed like a dark gray place. The walls seemed to be moaning with each passing student.

In one of the small out of the way rooms, a camera was set up on a tripod in front of a white screen. Through the lens, my scruffy runners with homemade graffiti were the only thing in view. I panned the camera up and settled on the girl sitting down.

Jenna got comfortable on the wooden stool.

"Where should I look?" she asked.

Off screen, I said, "Into the camera is fine."

Jenna found the camera, smiled, and primped a bit.

"How's my hair?"

With the camera I zoomed in on Jenna, then out, then back in a little until she was right in the middle of the frame. Her hair looked perfectly coifed as usual.

"Get my bag, would you?" She pointed to something off camera.

Jenna's rudeness didn't faze me. I was used to it having known the girl for the last four years. We'd never gotten along. Jenna was everything that was wrong with a small Baptist town. The ignorance and intolerance abounded in her small frame.

I stepped into the camera view but made sure to keep my face hidden. I really didn't want to be on screen with my lackluster ponytail and frumpy clothes. Without showing my face, I handed Jenna her bag.

"Thank you."

The sentiment was automatic. Along with the sirs and ma'am's, pleases and thank yous, and of course the main stay of all Southern women, bless your heart, when a knife in the back just wouldn't do.

Jenna rummaged through it, came away with her brush. She quickly pulled it through her hair. Then shoved it back in the bag and gave it back to me, so I could take it off camera again.

Once more out of the camera's frame, I said, "Okay, let's begin."

"Should I just start talking?" Jenna asked.

"What did Haven Mayberry mean to you?"

Jenna smoothed her hair, pursed her plumb lips shiny from the layer of raspberry lip-gloss, then looked sadly into the camera. "Well, she was my BFF, you know? We did everything together."

A tear ran down her cheek.

"God just gained himself a very special person."

I wanted to raise my hand to the roof and shout "Amen!" but I knew Jenna wouldn't appreciate it. Though, Haven would've laughed her ass off.

Later Paige squirmed on the stool in front of the camera, chewing gum as usual. She was always chewing gum, nicotine gum to boot, although I was pretty certain she didn't smoke. She crossed, then uncrossed her legs. She wore her cheerleading uniform. A black arm band was around her bicep. All the cheerleaders were wearing them to honor Haven who had been the team leader.

"How many more questions? I have cheerleading practice. Not that it's going to be any kind of practice. Without Haven, it's just not the same."

She pushed out another piece of gum from the packet, and popped it into her mouth.

Off screen, I asked, "What did you like best about Haven?"

"Her style. She really knew how to put an outfit together, you know? I'm really going to miss that. She was always there for fashion advice."

A tear ran down her cheek.

"She'd text me in the morning and tell me what the style weather report was." She sniffled. "That's what we called it. The style weather report."

Next on the stool sat Ashley. She smiled at me when she came into the room, neither Jenna nor Paige had. Out of all Haven's friends, she was the sweetest. In tenth grade social studies, we all had to do a presentation on something special from our family cultural background. Ashley made the whole class a special Korean dish called Kimchi. It definitely wasn't to everyone's taste, I know I had a hard time swallowing it, but she didn't raise an eyebrow when a few people made disparaging remarks about the flavor. She took it all in stride and just smiled politely.

"I think it's really nice of you to do this video," she said. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." I didn't look at her as I fiddled with the settings on the camera.

"Haven told me about you."

My head came up at that. "What?"

"She said you were her neighbor and you were cool."

Trying to control my heart from leaping out of my throat, I said, "Yeah. Haven was good people." I adjusted the camera once more, then stood back and asked my questions. "What are you going to miss most about Haven?"

She smiled into the camera, and there were real tears rolling down her cheeks. "Everything."

I nodded. I couldn't have agreed more.

An hour later, the golden boy jock, sat uncomfortably on the stool, in full frame. His leg jiggled up and down. This was Luke Bishop. Haven's boyfriend of two years.

"I didn't even want to do this. But Coach thought it would help with the grieving process. Whatever that means."

I said, "You don't have to be nervous. Just talk normally."

"I'm not nervous. This is just stupid."

He ran a shaking hand through his golden locks. Then he rubbed at his nose as if he had an itch.

"Why are you doing this? You weren't even one of her friends."

The camera adjusted up and down and in and out. I did that when I was nervous.

"Mr. Craig thought it would be something worthwhile for the whole school."

Luke smirked. "Mr. Craig." He shook his head. "You know that guy hasn't stopped crying since it happened. Folks will think he's queer if he don't quit."

The camera finally zoomed in on Luke's face.

"Everyone grieves differently."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're weird, you know that right?"

"Let's concentrate on Haven, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

I asked, "What do you miss most about her?"

Luke stared blankly into the camera, dry-eyed.

"I don't know. She made me feel good I guess. About myself and stuff. We were supposed to be together, you know? I'm QB 1 and she was head cheerleader."

He ran his hand through his hair again.

"Do I really have to do this?"

Sometime later, Mr. Craig, the math teacher at Westside High School, sat on the stool, eyes red from crying, and his tie askew. He had a used tissue balled up in his bony fist.

"Haven was the best thing about this school. She was a joy to be around. She was a giver. I'm going to miss that most. The genuine heart she had."

Tears came freely now and gushed down his unshaven face.

"Westside High will never see another student like Haven Mayberry."

He wiped at his eyes.

"A little piece of all of us has died with her."

He blew his nose into the tissue, and then mumbled, "Hit by a truck. Of all the ways to go." He shook his head.

When they were all gone and I was alone in the recording room, I adjusted the camera and sat down on the stool in front of the white screen. Sighing, I looked into the lens.

"Haven wasn't just any student in this school. She was THE student. Everyone loved her." Pausing, I rubbed at my mouth with my hand then mumbled, "I loved her."

I squirmed on the stool, feeling so uncomfortable I thought I was going to cry. I couldn't look up into the camera anymore. Instead I looked at the graffiti on my runners. Red hearts and yellow smiley faces marred the canvas. On the inside of one sneaker read HM + DW inside a huge purple heart.

I looked up at the camera again, staring intensely into the lens. "Haven if you can hear me, I love you so damn much. I miss you so hard. Please don't be gone. Please."

Before the tears could fall, I wiped at my eyes. I didn't want anyone to see me cry. They wouldn't understand why I was crying.

I slid off the stool, came around the camera, and pressed the stop button. I rewound the footage of just me talking and watched it. When it was done, I hit the delete button and packed away the camera.