salve on the deeply felt wounds of the school.
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November hurried off the bus and into the school building. The fumes from the school bus made her feel ill. Eventhough it was almost April, the air was crisp and chilly, and she shivered as she walked into the main hall. A picture of Josh, the frame trimmed in black, still hung prominently near the main office. She automatically turned her head away so she wouldnât have to see that infectious smile, those eyes that crinkled mischievously. Josh was the only person she knew whose school picture had actually captured his personality.
She went to her locker, got her books out for the morning, and tried to get her thoughts together. She regretted the blueberry yogurt granola bar sheâd eaten on the school bus; her stomach was churning. Just as she closed her locker, she felt her stomach heave. She covered her mouth, rushed across the hall to the girlsâ bathroom, and made it to a stall just in time to throw up seemingly everything she had eaten since the third grade.
âYou okay in there?â she heard a voice ask.
âYeah, Iâm fine,â November managed to reply. âI got the flu. Thatâs all.â November wiped her mouth with toilet paper and leaned her head against the cool surface of the bathroom stall. The smell was horrible, even after she flushed.
âStinks,â the voice stated flatly.
âWhy donât you mind your own business?â November replied angrily.
âI got breath mints if you need âem,â offered the voice.
âJust leave me alone,â November pleaded. She heaved once more and gagged on nothing.
âYou want me to call the nurse?â
âNo, please donât. Iâll be okay.â November took a coupleof deep breaths and felt a little less queasy. âBut thanks anyway.â She glanced under the stall door and saw the ugliest pair of shoes sheâd ever laid eyes on. They were scuffed gray leather with rounded toes and faded blue laces. She waited until she heard the girlâs footsteps leave the bathroom, then opened the stall door. She looked in the mirror. Sheâd lost quite a bit of weight after Joshâs death, and she looked thin, unhealthy, and weak.
âSchool mirrors always make you look bad, anyway.â It was that voice again.
November whirled around, surprised that the girl had returned. The girlâs large brown face, pulled taut by tightly braided cornrows, was peppered with acne. âArenât you supposed to be in class?â November asked her.
âArenât you?â the girl tossed back.
âIâm sick. Iâm going home. Whatâs your excuse?â
âI was worried about you.â
November didnât know what to say to that. She looked at the girl suspiciously. Finally she asked, âMe? Why?â
âYou sounded pretty bad in there. I wouldnât have slept tonight if you had dropped dead or something and I hadnât come back and tried to help you.â The girl shrugged and tossed her book bag onto the floor.
November smiled thinly. âThatâs pretty cool of you. But Iâll be okay.â
âWhatever.â The girl shrugged.
âYouâre, uh, Olivia, right?â November made a face, trying to remember the girlâs last name. âIâm November Nelson.â
âI know who you are. Iâm in your first-bell American history class. Sergeant Fox, the king of worksheets and quizzes.â
Embarrassed, November looked at the girl closely. âUh, Iâm sorry. I usually use that class to finish my morning nap.â
âYou should sit in the back like me. Easier to catch those zâs.â She smiled. âIâm Olivia Thigpen. An unfortunate name, I must admit, since Iâve had to endure stupid boys saying âOh-liv-in-a pigpenâ as they made oinking sounds.â
Olivia was noticeably overweight, but compact, as if her clothes had