In Memoriam

by Michael Beaulieu

  His eyes flick to me for a second then he returns his attention to the papers. “Yes, Ms. McGlinchey-Beaulieu? What can I help you with?”

  “Well, I want to write for the school paper. But they’re making me write an article about the frog incident as a test of sorts.”

  He finally looks at me. “For a writing sample?”

  “Yes. But if they like it, they said they’ll print it. So, it won’t be just for that.”

  “And how does this involve me?”

  “I want to interview you. Get your thoughts about it. Kind of seems essential for the piece since it happened during your class. I’d also like to speak with a few students and get their take on it.”

  “When is the article due?”

  I hate to say it, but... “It’s due tomorrow.”

  “I suppose I could make myself available at lunch.”

  “That would be awesome,” I say. Wicked awesome.

  He looks up at me and doesn’t say anything until we make eye contact. “I just need some assurance from you that you’re not out to make me look like a fool.”

  I nod twice. “You have it. You’ll be the voice of reason. I mean, how could you not? You’re the science expert.” [Unless, of course, your theory about what happened is fucking absurd and doesn’t make sense. If you put your foot in your mouth, that’s your own fucking fault.]

  A thin smile forms on his face. “Well, have a seat before class starts and I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “One more thing. Do you think I could talk to a few students at the end of class? I mean, if you tell them they have to talk to me then they will. But if I just try to approach them on my own they’ll just, you know, tell me where to go.”

  “If we finish the lesson in time. But only if.” [If you really want my article to make you sound smart, we’d better fucking finish in time.]

  “Fair enough.” I smile and give him an evil grin. He doesn’t notice, however, his head buried in our quizzes again.

  The second bell rings. I turn and see that the classroom is nearly full now, save for my desk, which I hurry over to, taking a seat next to Jim. I lean in close to him and whisper in his ear, “I want to blow you so hard right now.” I suppose it’s true, but I’m mostly fucking with him.

  He grins. “Maybe I can stay over tonight?”

  “We’ll see how late we get back from the memorial. I do need a little sleep, you know.” I’m still crushing on January and would rather go down on her, but I want to hold Jim’s interest, too, in case nothing happens there. [Although it fucking better. I deserve to find out if can actually go through with doing a girl.] Not that I intend to break up with Jim even if it does. I still think he’s my soulmate. I just think January might be my soulmate, too. Like Juliana once said, I’ve come to believe that people can have more than one. Even at the same time. Many of them are meant to be lovers, but some of them are our best friends. Lia and Shar, for example, are my platonic soulmates. No doubt. I guess I’m just trying to figure out which type January is. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if humans and fairies can be soulmates to each other.

  We finish the lesson fifteen minutes before class gets out. Very cool.

  “You can start on your homework now, but Ms. McGlinchey-Beaulieu needs to interview a few of you for the school paper. So, if she taps you on the shoulder, kindly go to the back of the room and answer her questions.”

  I bring up the conversation recorder app on my phone and head to the back of the class, tapping Lorelei Jameson on the shoulder. She’s one of the most popular girls at school, second only to Stephanie Scalding, but they’re not really friends. Each has their own pack of girls who worship them. They seem to co-exist peacefully, though, which is surprising when you think about how high school cliques usually treat each other.

  “So, what’s this about exactly?” Lorelei asks as we sit.

  “It’s about the frog incident. The school paper said I have to do something on it if I want to write for them.”

  The corners of her mouth rise ever so slightly. “I used to write for the school paper.”

  That’s interesting. “Why’d you stop?”

  “I wrote for them freshmen year when I didn’t have many friends. Part of sophomore year, too. But then I got my braces off, bought some new clothes and had a hair make over.”

  “And you got popular?”

  “Yeah, basically.” What a stupid reason to stop writing. I should credit her as Miss Superficial.

  “Makes sense,” I lie to get on her good side. “So, getting to the article, what point in the dissection were you at when the frogs started waking up?”

  She smirks. “I wasn’t at any point. I hadn’t even pinned mine to my board. I just felt so bad for the things.”

  I nod. “Me, too. So, what do you think happened with them?”

  Her forehead dips and a serious expression forms on her face as she thinks – or pretends to – for a moment. “Maybe they were drugged and it wore off during class?”

  “That’s a good theory,” I admit. I hadn’t thought of that. [Probably because I know the real way the little fuckers were resurrected.]

  “Any idea what they might’ve drugged them with?”

  “Not really. I know they give ketamine to animals, but I’m not sure if they can give it to something as small as a frog.”

  “Maybe if it was wicked diluted,” I say. “Any idea who would’ve pulled such a prank?”

  “Brian Colpatrick was pretty amused by it. And he started acting weird before it even happened. Like he knew what was coming. But don’t print that.”

  “Yeah, no, that was just for my own curiosity.” A lie, bien sûr. [I’ll print what I fucking want.]

  “Hey, didn’t the frogs wake up at your table first?” Is she accusing us of something?

  “I think so, yeah. But I can assure you, we had nothing to do with it.” [Lying to her is so easy. Kind of fun, actually.]

  She leans over the table and speaks barely louder than a whisper. “Well, I wouldn’t try too hard to blame anyone or people might think you have something to hide.”

  “Good point.” This I’m not lying about.

  I thank her and she returns to her seat.

  Who should I interview now? Maybe one of the Donatello twins? People are fascinated by them and I bet they’d be interested in reading their thoughts about Frogger 2016. I’m curious to hear their take on it myself. Symphony and Muse – the twin’s actual names – are Sati Jensen’s lemmings. She’s the queen of the goths, who wear black even more than our little coven. Malheureusement, she isn’t in this class. Oh, I just had an idea! Instead of just calling them the goths, we should call them the Blackhearts. That’s clever, right? Well, I think so and that’s all that matters!

  I get up and go tap Symphony Donatello on the shoulder. She’s the one who wears very little jewelry, whereas Muse wears more than Johnny Depp. It’s the only way I can tell them apart, being that they’re identical twins.

  Symphony avoids making eye contact with me as she gets up and we head to the back and sit down.

  “So, what the hell is this anyway?” she asks. Our eyes finally meet but then she looks away.

  “I’m writing about the frog incident for the paper. That’s why I’m interviewing some students. To get people’s theories.”

  “The frogs that Mr. Solomon gave us all came from one big jar, right? So, maybe someone dumped the stinky shit out and put water in it.” She makes eye contact again, but this time she actually gives me a thin smile.

  I smile back. “But how do you explain the fact that the frogs looked dead before they all started springing to life?”

  She crosses her arms in front of her. “I don’t know. Maybe they put Valium in the water to make them go into a deep sleep?” Not the worst theory, but that wouldn’t explain the fact that the frogs would’ve been dead in the formaldehyde before they replaced it with water. However, I know the only explanation is magick and I can’t expect her to s
ay that.

  My jaw clenches shut on me for a moment. “Had you already cut your frog before it woke up or whatever?”

  She frowns. “No. I just had its back two legs pinned.”

  “What was your reaction when the Valium wore off and the frog started moving?” I should’ve asked Lorelei that, too. That’s what I get for not having my questions in front of me, thinking I could rely on my memory.

  Symphony scratches the side of her head. “I was shocked. Like everyone else.”

  “Did you stay startled or did you wind up laughing about it?” That must be one of my other questions.

  “I was pretty stunned and basically stayed that way. I might’ve laughed a little, but it was nervous laughter.”

  “I get it.” I nod. “I’m not going to print your answer to this, or even tell a soul what you say, but I have to ask, who do you think would’ve pulled such a prank?”

  “I have no idea. It’s the sort of thing me and my friends would do, but we didn’t.”

  “You’re sure? This is off the record.” [I know it wasn’t her and her friends, but I want to see the bitch sweat.]

  She starts tapping her right index finger against the desk. “Yeah. We’re all about animal rights so we didn’t touch those frogs.”

  “Are you a member of Peta?”

  “Pet what? I don’t know what that is.”

  “That’s OK. We’re good then. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “Not like I had a choice,” she says and glares at me before she heads back to her seat. And here I thought we were going to be besties.

  Now I need to interview a guy. I think I’ll go with Jamie Finestein. He’s a real wise ass and if I didn’t know better he’d probably be who I’d suspect. But whatever dumb explanation he gives me should be funny. Or at least make people laugh at what an idiot he is when they read it. I go tap him on the shoulder but he just keeps doodling on the back of a notebook. Currently, he’s drawing the Metallica logo. That I can make out, but the other band names are all death metal or whatever, those messy logos you can’t read unless you already know the band names. Reminds me of when I met Jim and he said he was in a black metal band and I didn’t realize he was joking. That makes me smile, but being ignored is aggravating the heck out of me.

  “Dude, I want to interview you,” I say, tapping his shoulder again.

  He shakes his head and still doesn’t look at me. “Not interested.”

  “That just makes me want to interview you more.” I force a smile, which he sees because he finally glances at me. “So, how about it?”

  He doesn’t say anything. He looks at Miles Manning and Brian Shure to get their reaction.

  Miles shrugs.

  Brian laughs a little. “Go for it, dude.”

  Mr. Solomon gives Jamie the evil eye and seals the deal.

  “Fine. Whatever.” Jamie finally gets up and follows me to the back of the room. We sit. He leans back so that his chair tilts away from the desk with the front two legs in the air.

  [Fall, fall, fall. Fall right on your skinny ass.] It’s hardly a spell, but it works. He immediately falls backwards and nails the back of his head on the floor. [Score!] What’s gotten into me today? That was just plain mean. It is pretty funny, though. Mr. Solomon looks over and shakes his head.

  “You OK?” I ask. I’d apologize, but he has no idea that I had anything to do with it. Besides, the way he was leaning back like that, he probably would’ve fallen anyway. If not today, then some other day. Eventually, it would’ve happened and he’d think twice about sitting like that again. So, I just accelerated his learning process. That’s hardly a mortal sin, right? [Not that I’m worried about sinning right now. Catholic guilt has lost its hold on me.] At least temporarily.

  “Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his head as he gets up. [That’ll teach him to be such a wise ass punk.]“Can you still do the interview? I’d really like to get your thoughts.” I sound genuinely interested even though I really could give a crap what he thinks.

  “Fine. Whatever,” he says, sitting properly now.

  “So, had you pinned down your frog before it started moving?”

  “I had its back legs pinned. After it started moving, I pinned the front legs, too, and watched it squirm.” He smirks and laughs a little under his breath.

  “Why’d you do that?” I’m horrified. And glad I made him fall on his ass.

  He rubs his chin. “I didn’t want to let the do-gooders whose stunt it was win.”

  “What do you mean by do-gooders?”

  “Animal rights activists. Peta people. You know what I mean.” Great, at least one student here has heard of Peta. Also, I think he’s a fucking prick for doing that.

  “How do you think they did it?” I ask.

  He yawns. “I have no idea. I wasn’t interested enough to come up with theories.”

  I bet he knows some of the theories going around school. “What are people saying about it?”

  “Some people think Mr. Solomon did it.” He smiles proudly.

  “Why do they think that?” I ask.

  “Well, ‘cause he’s the only one who would’ve been smart enough to pull it off.”

  Good point, but I have to play devil’s advocate. “But he totally freaked out when it was happening.”

  “He probably didn’t expect it to cause that much commotion.” He lifts his hands above his head and stretches. [Could the moron show more signs of boredom?] Another good point, though. And I was expecting him to be a complete dunce.

  I fake laugh. “What else are people saying?”

  “That it could’ve been the twins.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They’re always wearing ‘meat is murder’ shirts and shit. No way they wanted to cut up those frogs.”

  “What do you think is the most likely theory?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t waste my time trying to come up with theories.”

  “Right. Just out of curiosity, did anyone blame me and my friends?”

  “No. You girls had no problem killing people when it was necessary. So, I guess everyone figures you wouldn’t have an issue with cutting up a few frogs.”

  “Well, I think I have enough now.” I force a smile.

  He gets up and heads back to his desk.

  I don’t know if I should be relieved or angry that nobody has suspected us. The idea that we had “no problem” killing people is offensive. I fucking hate how some people view us as murderers. [I get so pissed off about it, I wish I could round up everyone who thinks that and hypnotize them. Push ‘we acted in self-defense’ on them. And if it doesn’t work, I could always slaughter them.] No, that’s not what I’d do. Maybe I’d turn into Ms. Electricity and threaten to juice anyone who ever says anything about us being murderers ever again. [But if anyone dares to say it again after that I’d totally juice them. Then I’d bring them back to their houses, put knives in their hands and stick them in electric outlets. Make it look like they committed suicide. That would be hilarious.]

  My Goddess, what am I thinking today? I know I’m stressed about the memorial, since it’s my fault Kat’s dead and all, yet I’m not freaking out about it like Lia. It’s so weird how she’s acting. I guess shit just built up in her head. Like it’s building up in mine, apparently. Except instead of hating myself today, I’m having all these nasty thoughts about various people. Every other word I think is getting to be “fuck.” What the fuck is up with that? Also, my pentacle necklace is supposed to prevent me from doing black magick and knocking him over certainly wasn’t white magick. Wonder how that happened?

  I press my hand against my shirt, expecting to feel the pentacle under it, but it’s not there. I grab the front of my shirt and look down inside, just to be sure. No necklace. Where could I have lost it? I thought I was wearing it when I took a shower this morning. Maybe it got caught on a towel? Although I usually go around it when I dry off specifically so it won’t get hooked on one. I hope it d
idn’t fall off here. I need to find it and put it back on already before I pull a Carrie and destroy the whole school.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  SHAR

  I’m the first person to arrive for art class. Ms. Gregory isn’t even in the room. We’re working on easels today, doing acrylic paintings, so I head to the back of the room so I can try to save our usual spots for Em, Jim, Jan, Pete and I. It feels so weird being here without Li. It’s been ages since one of us was in school without the other. I hope she’s OK at home. An hour ago she texted me that she had taken 2mg of Ativan and was going to try to take a nap. Hopefully, my sweet is asleep right now.

  Other students start coming into the classroom and I’m relieved when Em appears at the end of our row. “Salut!” she says.

  “Salut.” I sigh. “Think I can stand between you and January today since Li isn’t here?”

  “D’accord.” Now she’s speaking my language! That basically means “OK with me.”

  I half-smile. “Merci beaucoup.”

  The others arrive and it’s fine with everyone if I am in between Em and Jan like I wanted. The order is: Jim, Em, Me, Jan, Pete. Super!

  “I’d like you to try to paint a person today,” Ms. Gregory says. “You can paint whoever you want. A celebrity, your best friend, your girlfriend, a historical figure – you decide. But I don’t want anything mean-spirited. So, no drawing weird paintings of people that portray them negatively. We’re here to discover our inner artists, not to hurt your fellow students. Understood?”

  “Can we paint people naked?” the would-be rapist Byron Colpatrick asks, trying to make people laugh. But only a few do.

  “You could,” Ms. Gregory says. “But you can’t paint your fellow students nude. That would constitute child pornography and I’d have to report you to the police. But if you want to paint Marilyn Monroe or someone else over 18 naked then have at it. But no sex acts. As always, you’re free to talk quietly while you work, but if you’re talking and you’re not painting I reserve the right to give detentions.”