HER HARDEST HUE TO HOLD.
HER EARLY LEAF’S A FLOWER;
BUT ONLY SO AN HOUR.
THEN LEAF SUBSIDES TO LEAF.
SOEDEN SANK TO GRIEF,
SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY.
NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY.
ROBERTFROST, “NOTHINGGOLDCANSTAY”
I stare at it. The poem seems to deafen the noise around me. Robert Frost? They’re commemorating Alissa’s suicide with aRobert Frost poem?
I look again at my classmates. We kill ourselves and the world remembers us with images of lost beauty. They ignore our pain when we’re alive and erase it when we’re dead.
We’re all so hopelessly fucked.
Mr. Tyler takes the podium when everyone is seated. The teachers have tried hushing their classes, but a low rumble persists.
“Hello, everyone,” Mr. Tyler says, drowning the last of the noise. “I want to thank all of you for being here.”
We had no choice,I think.
“As most of you know, one of our juniors, Alissa Whitaker,took her own life in March. This is a tragedy that happens every day, everywhere in the world. It is far from the first time that it has happened to a student at this school. But that doesn’t mean that it should go unmarked. Many of you may struggle with similar issues. Today, we’re here to remember Alissa, and to give you all some tools and resources to find help.
“First, Mr. Olshank is going to share words from family and friends about the kind of girl Alissa was. I hope from this you realize that there is no stereotypical victim of suicide.”
Mr. Olshank takes Mr. Tyler’s place at the podium. He reads off statements from Alissa’s mom, some of the girls from track, a few people from Alissa’s church. I scan the crowd. Many students aren’t paying attention. They’re talking to their friends or looking at their phones. A few are even reading books instead of listening.
This is not news to us. No one is even morbidly interested. The only reason we’re having a school assembly is because the adults feel guilty. The school has to do this so they look like they did anything at all. None of the people in charge had a close relationship with Alissa. They’ll go home and tomorrow will be a normal day. Next week it’ll be some other kid.
When Mr. Olshank finishes, Ms. Reeder takes his place. She mechanically reads off signs and symptoms of depression. Halfway through her list, the noise level in the room rises again and I have to look down, block it all out. My heart pounds. Mythroat constricts. Alissa’s name on the plaque in my lap glints in the bright lights of the gym.
“Evie? The plaque?”
Mr. Tyler is back at the podium, looking at me, his hand out expectantly. Everyone looks at me. Ms. Reeder. Mr. Olshank. The security officers. The IT guy. Every teacher. Every student.
Several weeks ago, Alissa asked me a question that I had forgotten about, but it comes back to me now.
“Do you think any of this matters?”
We were sitting on the porch swing at her house, still bundled in winter coats and boots. It was weird that she wanted to sit outside, but I didn’t complain. I didn’t understand what she meant. I asked her why she was being weird and existential, if she’d read something in one of her nightmare books that made her think too hard. She laughed and called me a jerk.
I get it now. I look at the plaque, at the principal’s outstretched hand, at the school gathered before me, the adults who are trying to hold it together and the kids who have been told that this world has nothing for them but hatred and pain.
I stand. Hand the principal the plaque. And then I walk off the stage and out one of the side doors without a backward look.
No one stops me.
Chapter 20
One two three four five six—
Alissa isn’t next to me. She isn’t behind me, about to pass me. She isn’t following me out to the parking lot, asking what’s wrong, what she can do to help.
