October 28th, 2021

    
    The crowds seemed to part before Hannah everywhere she went, and in her wake, she could hear whispers that grated across her raw emotions. She hitched her bookbag up further onto her shoulders and tried to ignore all of the attention. The only positive was that she no longer had to elbow her way to her locker. 

    She knelt before her bottom locker and rested her book bag on the floor beside her. As she exchanged her math book and literature book for her history book, words floated around her.

    “Was she in the car?”
    “No.”
    “That’s not what I heard. She had to climb over the other kids’ dead bodies to get out of the car.”
    “Stop it, that’s just a rumor.”
    “Yeah, but she tried to stop Micah from driving, but he wouldn’t listen.”
    “I heard he’s going to jail for it, too.”

    Hannah’s face burned as she zipped up her backpack. She slammed her locker shut, hoping that the jarring noise would cause all the whispered gossip to cease. Part of her wanted to scream at all of them to just shut up, but she wasn’t that bold. She stood and shouldered her backpack. 

    “Can I walk you to class?”

    Hannah let out a loud squeal that sounded like a scream in the hushed hallway. She also lost her balance, which wasn’t difficult since her world history book weighed about a ton, and she suddenly felt herself pitching backwards. She fell into a large body behind her, and two strong hands gripped her upper arms. When she whirled around to face Beau Rockport, she was practically in his embrace. Hannah found she didn’t care to step away, however. 

    Suddenly, the whispers buzzed again. 

    “I heard they were making out when the accident happened.”
    “On the pier? In the dark? I bet they were doing more than making out.”
    “Wouldn’t you feel like shit if your friends died while you were getting laid?”
    “Especially when you ditched one of them to hook up with another guy.”
    “Yeah, she dumped Isaac and left him to die. That’s cold.”

    Hannah’s face burned red as the words drifted to her ears. Beau had clearly heard the gossip, too, because his face also turned red as he grimaced. He didn’t let go of her, however, and she took comfort from that. 

    “I hate high school,” she muttered. 

    “Ignore them.”

    He relinquished her, and Hannah felt disappointment flood her. She wasn’t sure why. What was he supposed to do? Hug her? Hold her close in a tender embrace?

    Kiss her?

    Hannah tripped over her own feet at the thought, bumping into Beau’s chest again. She laughed self-deprecatingly and fell in step beside him. She couldn’t stop thinking suddenly of how they had almost kissed at the pier that night. Then she immediately felt guilty for that. How could she think about kissing a boy when her closest friend was dead?

    “They don’t even care that they’re gone,” Hannah whispered. “All they want to do is gossip like it’s the plot on some stupid teen drama.”

    She blinked as tears welled up in her eyes, and she panicked slightly when she realized that there was no way to stop them. The tears streamed down her face, and suddenly she stopped right in the middle of the hallway and sobbed while the bell rang. Beau dropped his book bag and wrapped his arms around her. She continued to sob against his chest, wetting his t-shirt with tears and snot. He lifted one hand to cup her head, and she suddenly was embarrassed because she hadn’t showered in two days, and her hair was greasy. Then she sobbed harder because she shouldn’t care what a boy thought of her hair when Rachel was dead. 

    At first, it felt as if the tears would never stop, yet still Beau stayed there, holding her and stroking her nasty hair. Eventually though, she was hiccuping, then sniffling, then finally the tears just rolled down slowly and silently. She took a step back and brushed them away with the back of her hand. She pulled a long breath into her lungs, then let it back out. 

    “Um . . .” she finally said, “we’re tardy now.”

    Beau shrugged. “I think your teacher will understand.”

    “I can’t do it,” she told him, shaking her head. “I can’t walk into class and have everyone stare at me.”

    “Want to go somewhere?”

    Hannah chewed on her bottom lip as she fiddled with the straps of her backpack. “All I want right now is my mom.”

    She knew she sounded like a five year old, but she also knew that Beau wouldn’t care. Thinking of her mom and how much she wanted her to fix everything for her made Hannah sob all over again. Beau held her again, seeming in no hurry at all to go anywhere or do anything. He didn’t say a single word, and she had never been so thankful for his quiet nature. When the second round of tears were spent, he gently took her book bag from her shoulders. He picked up his own backpack and carried both with one hand, draping his free arm around Hannah. He guided her gently down the empty halls towards the school office. Once there, he stayed by her side as she got permission to call her mother and remained with her as she dialed. 

    Hannah’s mom was more than happy to come and get her. When Hannah hung up, Beau still didn’t leave. Instead he sat next to her in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The receptionist merely smiled at both of them in sympathy. She, like everyone else in Lightport, knew all about Hannah Anderson and how she was the only one who didn’t get in the car with Micah Barrett that night. Everyone knew her date to the homecoming dance died that same night. Everyone knew her best friend Rachel had died wearing the sparkly silver homecoming dress that they had picked out together. Everyone knew everything, and Hannah hated it. 

    Beau, as usual, said nothing as they waited for her mom. Usually Hannah would have filled the silence with chatter, but she’d felt so empty lately, empty even of words. So she just sagged against his shoulder. The only sounds here in the office, in the middle of third period, was the click-clacking of the secretary’s computer keyboard. In that quiet place, far from the gossip, Hannah took Beau Rockport’s hand and laced her fingers with his.  

    “Thank you,” she whispered.

    “For what?”
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    “For just being you.”

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