The day Mireille slipped away was a Tuesday.
Our homeroom teacher pushed open the door. Her face was ashen, tight around the eyes.
She walked to the podium and murmured something into the literature teacher's ear. She gave a somber nod.
She turned to face us. "Everyone, I need to tell you something."
The entire class lifted their heads.
"Mireille... early this morning... passed away."
The classroom fell dead silent for three long seconds.
Then someone broke.
Corinne slumped over her desk, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Tabitha clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted out the door. Greer's pen slipped from her fingers, hit the linoleum floor, and rolled two lazy circles.
I gripped my pen.
The tip had frozen on the final stroke of my notes.
Ink bled into the notebook paper, f
