Sara by Greg Herren Page B

into talking about the dangers of premarital sex because “sometimes drinking results in that.”
    It was pretty obvious that none of them were comfortable talking about any of it, and when no one responded to their offers, they seemed genuinely relieved to move on to their regularly scheduled programming.
    The whole thing was really stupid. Noah had been at best an average student. He never participated in class but never disrupted it either. His death actually seemed to shake them up a lot more than it had any of us. Sure, Noah’s friends were upset, but for everyone else, there was a morbid fascination with it. Between classes, as the rumors spread and grew, the details of the accident became more and more exaggerated and gory—the shop kids, the ones who spent every available minute sneaking cigarettes out behind the shop or chewing tobacco, were the most honest about it. They were fascinated by the mechanics of the accident, about the gore factor of him being crushed by the truck, and some of them reenacted the whole thing in the lunchroom with a pencil standing in for Noah and a salt shaker standing in for his truck.
    The cheerleaders and pep club girls were the exact opposite. They cried at the drop of a hat, walked around all day with sad faces and their eyes red from their crying. They were Laney’s main support base, whispering to themselves and anyone else who would listen about how brave Laney was to face coming to school after losing her boyfriend. They were turning her into the heroine of some tragic movie. The teachers, too, fussed over Laney. Several times I noticed her in the hall between classes, surrounded by a group of girls, her lower lip trembling as though she were about to burst into tears as they consoled her.
    â€œIt’s almost like they want her to break down,” Glenn mumbled to me as we walked past them on our way to the weight room. “They want her to make a spectacle of herself, like Hecuba on the walls of Troy.”
    I didn’t know what he was talking about. “It sure seems like she likes the attention.” I said.
    â€œThe Widow Greene,” Glenn said, theatrically rolling his eyes as he opened his gym locker.
    â€œHave you talked to Sara?” I asked casually as I put on my workout shorts. “How’s she dealing with all this?”
    â€œIt takes some getting used to, coming to a small school after going to a big one, but she seems to be taking it all in stride.” Glenn grinned at me.
    Taking it all in stride was an understatement.
    Sara walked down the hall like she was on a runway somewhere, her head held high and her shoulders back. When she stopped to talk to someone, she held herself like she was posing for a camera. And honestly, I don’t think Southern Heights had ever seen anyone like her before. She was effortlessly polite and friendly to everyone, but in a distant sort of way. Her perfect smile never really seemed to reach all the way to her eyes. Even when she laughed, she didn’t seem to be really amused—just watching.
    There was just something about her that seemed, I don’t know, off somehow.
    But she was beautiful—there was absolutely no question about that. Every guy in school noticed, and couldn’t take his eyes off her whenever she was around. She was wearing a black tube dress that hugged every curve and shape of her body, and she did have an amazing figure. The dress was cut a little low in the front, so deep cleavage showed, and a single pearl hung there from a gold chain around her neck. She was also wearing heels—something none of the other girls did very often. Her legs were long and shapely, and the heels of her boots clicked as she stalked her way from class to class. I sometimes saw freshmen and sophomore boys just staring at her as she walked past, their mouths open in wonder. Her long silky white-blond hair was parted in the center, framing her face, and it somehow stayed