17. We Are Gathered Here Together #2
Bella scoffed. “She went to this school for, like, two months! I’m sorry I’m not crashing out over what happened. I mean, it’s sad, obviously, but we hardly knew her.”
“Because she sucked,” Harper blurted, her mom finally out of earshot.
Back in October, Sabrina Mendez showed up at Spring Mills High and promptly befriended Naomi Rivera, acting like the two were insta-bonded merely because they were the only Latinas in their grade (which is actually kinda racist, because Sabrina didn’t even attempt to hang out with anyone else).
Then they strutted through the halls with matching black hair, too-tight cropped shirts, and stupidly long fingernails.
“Omigod, are you seriously still pissed?” Libby’s eyebrows quirked up.
“The girl was unhinged! Sabrina dumped milk on me, on purpose, in front of witnesses, then acted like I was bullying her.” Harper cocked her head.
Sabrina had turned feral that day. All Harper did was make a few jokes.
But the look in Sabrina’s eyes in response wasn’t just anger, it was…
off (maybe drugs?). She was practically growling with her fingers clawed, freakish green nails ready to scoop Harper’s eyes out.
Talk about straight out the hood. Harper wasn’t going to fight anyone.
And a video would have clearly shown that, but Bella and Libby caught none of it, claiming their phones “had a glitch.” Yeah, right. Two matching warped videos?
Not to mention, Sabrina was lacking a single reason to even be involved in the whole Naomi mess.
She hadn’t lived here when the pictures went viral.
And the school had found zero evidence that Harper had done anything wrong, at least officially.
(She knew how to cover her tracks online.) That was why Harper’s dad had threatened to sue.
If Naomi ended up alone in the cafeteria after being called out, she only had herself to blame.
(And no, Harper didn’t believe the crap about Naomi being too drunk to remember hooking up with Will.)
Given that Naomi and Sabrina were such good friends, the girl should be standing front and center at this funeral, greeting every guest. But Harper hadn’t seen her since the news of the suicide broke.
Who are you going to blame now, Naomi? You’re the one who didn’t notice your BFF was about to off herself.
“Hey, babe.” Will’s breath brushed warm against Harper’s cheek and his arms locked around her waist.
Nice of you to say hello. She’d seen him cozy next to Libby. “Where you been?”
“Waiting for you.” He clanked his teeth, pretending to chomp a piece of her, and Harper instantly melted.
“You guys want to hang in my basement after?” Libby cut in, eyes on Will. “My parents are at work.”
“Sweet! Can’t believe we got the day off for this.” Will twisted his head. “Hey, Brett, we’re going to Libby’s!”
“Can we go now?” Brett asked, surrounded by half the boys’ lacrosse team.
“No, my mom’s inside,” Harper said, pulling Will’s focus back to her. “I have to stay.”
“I won’t leave ya, babe.” Will pecked her nose.
“Speaking of moms, have you seen Sabrina’s parents?” A giggle slipped into Libby’s voice.
“No, what?”
“They have on, like, black veils and old-timey hats.”
“I know, it’s so embarrassing!” Bella squealed. “Do you think it’s a Puerto Rican thing?”
“Maybe.” Libby rolled her eyes.
“You know, we should post something, to look, like, respectful.” Bella pulled her lips back, exposing her gums. “Do I have lip gloss on my teeth?”
“No.” Harper shook her head and yanked her phone from her jacket pocket. Her bangs were a frizzy mess, which meant her friends would likely repost this shitty picture on her birthday just to make her feel ugly. But at least if she took the photo herself, then she could pick which image went online.
“Squeeze in.” Harper angled the camera to catch as many Spring Mill students as possible. “No one smile.”
“Duh,” said Will.
“We know,” grunted Libby, squishing herself close to Harper’s boyfriend.
The shutter clicked repeatedly, Harper’s bangs worse in each shot. She picked the best one and tapped out a caption: Can’t believe this is real. #sosad #RIPsabrina #wemissyousabrina
Harper pressed Post and heard the click of high heels rise up behind her.
She turned, expecting to see her mom’s disapproving face again, but instead she landed eye to eye with a reporter sporting black eyeliner on her lower lashes that ID’d her as someone born in the last century.
The woman shoved a microphone at Harper’s mouth.
“Hi, honey, did you girls know Sabrina?” The reporter had a Bama-Rush accent that Harper absolutely loved.
“Or her friend Naomi? What do you want to say…?”
Harper’s smile grew wide as the camera zoomed in.
Greg’s fingers shook, palms clammy. He couldn’t believe his husband hadn’t come with him to this funeral.
A fucking budget meeting? Greg had to walk through that lobby alone!
The judgment in the eyes of his fellow faculty members made him almost turn around.
One person even whisper-shouted, “Isn’t that the counselor?
The one who shit the bed?” Are you fucking kidding me?
Greg was a ninth-grade school counselor with a case load of 466 kids, nearly twice the national recommendation.
But did the superintendent mention that in her press conference?
No! Instead, she had the audacity to stand in front of a microphone and say, “We’ll be conducting a thorough investigation to identify any failures with our procedures or faculty.
” Or faculty. Really? How about the administration’s failure to properly staff the school!
Or the parents’ failure to pay attention to their own kid!
The district expected him (alone!) to deal with the mental health and trauma of the entire freshman class while also handling attendance, grades, state testing, class schedules, etc.
The board didn’t even know what Greg did, because if they did, they wouldn’t toss a bunch of stress balls into his office and call those “resources.” Honestly, if everyone didn’t shut up soon, Greg was going to give those reporters something to talk about.
There was no way he was going to be the one blamed for this girl’s death.
Greg leaned against the faded wallpaper, hiding behind a potted plant, its leaves the size of elephant ears. Speaking of which, were those birds-of-paradise near the casket? What an odd flower for a funeral. Maybe it was a Latino thing? Or Hispanic? Latinx? Goddamn sensitivity training.
Greg’s eyes slid to the family. He’d expected hysterics, but these people barely looked like they were breathing, let alone choking back sobs.
Not that he was going to tell anyone how to grieve, because, contrary to popular belief, he was not a therapist. Yes, kids shared their problems with him (all the fucking time), but Greg couldn’t diagnose shit.
That literally wasn’t his job. But if he pointed this out, the parents called him useless.
And no, he was not going to apologize for not being able to predict the future.
Obviously, Greg knew that Sabrina Mendez was friends with that girl who got cyberbullied last year.
But Greg had stayed out of the whole Naomi Rivera situation for good reason—it had happened off school property, on a weekend.
And of course, the pictures were embarrassing and cruel, but they didn’t involve school resources.
Greg wasn’t a tech wizard; he couldn’t pull them down from the cloud.
But he did listen to Naomi when she’d cried.
And he did give her some honest advice—she had to take a little responsibility.
The girl had made some bad choices at that party, and now there were consequences.
That’s life. Still, Greg was happy for Naomi when she finally made a friend.
He had no reason to think the new girl was in any distress.
Aside from giving Sabrina her schedule, the only time he saw her was after a lunchroom incident between herself, Naomi, and Harper White.
In it, Sabrina had poured milk on Harper.
So no one was innocent, yet they all refused to take accountability. Including their parents.
Families kept emailing: There should be a zero-tolerance policy for bullying!
Gee, thanks for the tip. Did they really think he didn’t know what it was like to be bullied?
Back in the ’80s, some kid threw rocks at Greg’s head every day when he walked home from school.
Sucking it up was an unfortunate rite of passage.
How the hell was he supposed to know that this one girl couldn’t take it?
That was the parents’ job. But of course everyone in the district was too chickenshit to say it.
They all acted like he should have done more.
He should have followed up. Even the news media focused on him: Bullying and Abuse Rampant in Spring Mill and Girls’ Cries for Help Go Unanswered.
Abuse? Cries for help? If Greg had the power to stop cyberbullying, he’d be a billionaire.
“Hey, Greg,” said a deep voice, a tap nudging his shoulder. “How you holding up?”
Jamal, the PE teacher, was staring down at him with drippy basset hound eyes. A snotty tissue was pressed to his nose.
Shit, Greg should look more upset. He sniffled twice before speaking. “Hey, sad day.”
“I can’t even look at the family.” Jamal nodded toward the line of relatives—the parents, an aunt and uncle, and Sabrina’s two siblings, who also went to Spring Mills High but were in different grades, so they were not Greg’s problem.
“You know, no one’s blaming you. There’s no way you could have known.
” Jamal clapped a large hand on Greg’s shoulder.
Are you fucking serious? This gym teacher (who somehow got paid more than Greg) had the nerve to look him straight in the eye as though he were being considerate. Heat spread up the back of Greg’s neck, pulse rattling.