Sliding On The Edge by C. Lee McKenzie

seismic activity to
settle, and then I walk out into the hall—smack into The
Troll.
    “ So?” she asks.
    I shake my head and walk to my locker.
She trails after me. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble. That’s
why I . . . you know, warned you.”
    I spin the combination on my locker
then turn around. “Look. I think it’s grand of you to, like, help
me out. Really. But I don’t need your help. Put that in your notes.
Do not help Shawna. She don’t want it! Okay?” I grab my books for
English and dump history in their place. When I turn to leave,
she’s still standing at my side.
    “ You always need a
friend.”
    Now I do one of Kay’s long
blinks that screams fed up. Go take a
bath, okay? I think it, but I don’t say
it. Why even bother? I push past her and head to English.
    Mrs. Heady is not giving us an essay
today. What, is she like, sick? Alzheimer’s erase her lesson plan?
The Troll takes her seat and doesn’t look at me. We have achieved
separation, Houston. But I’m not in the greatest mood after Pollard
Nix and his inquisition. I’m so not going to make it through this
year.
    Now Mrs. Heady is lecturing and
writing and lecturing. I’m about over the top with learning, so I
doodle until Monster’s face stares up at me. He’s beginning to look
handsome. At least his clothes don’t rip apart to reveal their
inside secrets. And he’s very patient. There’s a lot to like about
him. If he just didn’t pick on me when I’m down, we’d get along
better.
    “ Shawna?” It’s Mrs.
Heady.
    I look up and stare into the
faces of half the class turned in my direction. And they want what? I crush Monster’s
face into a ball and wait. Someone make a
move already, ‘cause it’s not going to be me.
    “ Say, ‘it’s about death,’”
The Troll whispers from behind her book.
    I close my eyes and say, “it’s about
death,” but it comes out sounding like it’s about a pile of crap.
When I open my eyes, Mrs. Heady is writing ‘death’ on the board.
What has that to do with anything? I glance at The Troll, who nods
and turns her book so I can read the title of the poem the class is
discussing.
    “ Is there another metaphor
that you found?” Mrs. Heady asks.
    “ The carriage,” The Troll
answers.
    “ Excellent,” Mrs. Heady says
while she writes that on the board as well.
    I cradle my forehead in both hands and
do my best to look like I’m studying the textbook. I read that poem
and I hated it. That poet didn’t know squat about waiting for
death. It’s not that way. The bell rings and I’m out of my seat,
hurling Monster into the trash and shoving my way out the
door.
     

Chapter 19
    Kay
     
    Kay woke to one of those bright
October mornings. The sun slanted across the earth and washed it in
a golden light that signaled the end of California’s Indian Summer.
It was the kind of day when Kay loved to take the gray out for a
long ride, sit under a tree, and watch the creek slide past. But,
yesterday, when Robby Green had called, asking her to come in, he’d
sounded urgent. She’d agreed to meet with him at ten this
morning.
    By a little after ten, she sat in the
principal’s office across from Shawna’s English teacher, Mrs.
Heady. Robby sat at the end of the small conference table. Both
wore expressions a lot like people sitting in the family section at
a funeral.
    “ We’re very concerned, Kay.”
His voice sounded tight like his throat was cinching down on his
words.
    Kay folded her hands in
front of her on the table. Here it comes,
she thought. What has Shawna done, said?
    “ Have you seen anything that
might signal Shawna is depressed enough to have thoughts of …” he
cleared his throat, “…suicide?” Robby Green spoke the word softly,
but it struck her like a blow across the face.
    If she’d been standing, Kay knew she
would be holding onto something to keep from falling. Yes, he’d
sounded serious when he called her yesterday, but she’d come ready
to talk about