The Academy

Chapter Twenty-Four

                   

I was right. By morning, the police were already at Beaumont.

         When I woke up to police sirens, I knew that what I saw wasn't just a nightmare. It was reality.

         Ivy was really dead. Killed. Gone.

         I wouldn't see her when eating breakfast in the morning. She wouldn't be there to liven up boring parties or give people hugs whenever they were down. When we'd go out for lunch or dinner, she wouldn't be there to gossip about the date her and Arlo had gone on or inform us on why a girl's new hair color completely clashes with her skin tone.

         She wouldn't be with us anymore.

         The five of us met up in Carlisle and Lindsay's room, where most of Ivy's friends were, crying their eyes out and hugging each other tightly in consolation.

         Carlisle wouldn't get up from her bed or say a single word to any of us. Lindsay hadn't been crying, but she was trying to calm down everyone else. Unlike Lindsay, Aspen and Marisol were in hysterics, their eyes puffy and red as they'd let out wails of sadness. I wasn't crying. I couldn't. I had only known Ivy for a few months, so I felt that if I cried, it wouldn't mean anything. So, instead, I assisted Lindsay as she said soothing words to the other students, wiping their tears and reminding them, "she's in a better place."

"I can't believe she was upset enough to take her own life!" Francesca Bellisari cried, tugging on a long clump of black hair. As she'd talk, Aspen would shift her eyes over, glaring at her evilly. She really did hate Francesca. "I was her best friend. She could've talked to me about absolutely anything instead of killing herself. I just wanted her to be with me throughout my entire school experience. That girl was my free therapy."

         "Selfish, much?" Aspen mouthed to me. I nodded subtly.

         "She'll always be with you," Lindsay reassured Francesca, patting her knee. "She's with you right now."

         "You know what I mean!" Francesca snapped, her nostrils flaring. "She's not with me! I don't see her!"

         Lindsay looked over at me, meaning it was my time to step in.

         "Just because you don't see her doesn't mean-" I couldn't finish my sentence. Francesca was already throwing open the door, charging down the hallway to her own dorm room. I just sat there, on the floor, stunned at her rudeness.

         "I don't blame you for hating her," I said in Aspen's ear. Aspen tried to laugh but more tears just came out.

         While everyone was still crying, Mrs. Emma, our guidance counselor came into the room, her oversized glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She glanced at each of us, opened her mouth to say something, and closed it when she wasn't completely sure that was she wasn't going to say would be effective or not. Mrs. Emma was one of those people who would always think before speaking and would sometimes say absolutely nothing at all.

         Marisol, Aspen, Lindsay, and I sat near each other, and she beckoned for all of us to follow her out into the hallway. When we all did, she analyzed the room some more. "Carlisle Kellams? Please come out into the hallway."

"No," Carlisle mumbled from her bed.

         "Yes, Carlisle," she said. "Now."

         Knowing that she wouldn't be able to go head-to-head with Mrs. Emma, Carlisle slid off the bed. I had never seen her look so rough. She was barefoot and dressed in baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Her thin hair was tied up in a tiny ponytail and dark circles were painted under her eyes.

         For some reason, Mrs. Emma didn't want to meet with us anywhere but her office. Unfortunately, her office isn't close. We had to walk across the entire school to get there, and we all collapsed in the chairs in front of her desk when we reached it.

         "I know you guys were all very close to Ivy," she said, folding her hands together and placing them on top of her desk. "This is why I want to talk to you guys about how you're feeling right now."

"Why would we want to talk about how we're feeling when one of our best friends was just found dead with a rope around her neck?" Carlisle asked, pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

         "Carlisle," Lindsay said scoldingly. "Stop."

          "You may want to talk about it because it might be heavy on you all. The death of a friend is a hard one to deal with, especially at a school like this where you see everyone all day, every day," Mrs. Emma explained, not seeming the least bit impatient with Carlisle. She had obviously dealt with her before on multiple occasions. "If you don't want to talk about how you are feeling, let's just talk about Ivy. Does anyone have any good stories involving her that you feel like sharing?"

         Just slightly, I raised my hand. Not enough for anyone but Mrs. Emma to notice.

         "Kayleigh," she said acknowledging. All the other girls turned toward me, their eyebrows raised and eyes widened. "Go ahead."

         "At The Cellar, there was this cute waiter," I began. If no one else was going to talk about good memories with Ivy, then why shouldn't I? "Ivy told us that he was going to be her Beaumont Ball date."

         Beside me, Aspen began to giggle. "She was so crazy."

       "So, apparently, she slipped him her number or something when we were walking out," I continued. The rest of the girls were smiling now as tears streamed their faces, remembering how enjoyable her presence was. "To all of our surprise, he was her Beaumont Ball date. He actually went with her and they had begun dating."

         "Were they still?" Mrs. Emma asked me.

         "As far as I know, yes."

         Marisol nodded. "She liked him a lot. They were still dating." Her eyes grew larger and she glanced at each of us. "Has anyone talked to him and told him what happened?"

         All of us exchanged a look with each other, fully aware that none of us did.

         "What was his name? I will get someone to contact him," Mrs. Emma said, uncapping a black pen and grabbing a piece of decorative stationary.

         "Arlo Rowan," Marisol said to her. "He works at The Cellar."

         Mrs. Emma scribbled the name on the paper and set it aside. "I promise you, Ivy was lucky to have friends such as you, and you were lucky to have a friend like Ivy. Here's a heads up: since each of you were close to you, the police are going to heckle each and every one of you."

         "Great." Aspen sighed defeatedly and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

         "It will be okay," Mrs. Emma assured us, smiling slightly. "Just remember to not say anything that you don't want brought up at Ivy's funeral. If you know anything about why she killed herself, please don't hesitate to tell them."

         "When will her funeral be?" Lindsay asked.

         "The date hasn't been set yet, but I'm positive that Ivy's parents will want at least some of you to speak. That is an honor to both Ivy and her life, so please do so if asked. It would mean a lot to many people."
        Honestly, I probably wouldn't get asked. I didn't know Ivy's parents like the rest did, so they probably wouldn't even know that her and I were ever friends. We weren't close, but I definitely counted her as a friend.

            "Idon't want to talk anymore," Carlisle muttered softly. "Can I go back to theroom?"

Mrs. Emma leaned back inher chair and inhaled loudly. "Go ahead. If anyone else wants to leave, you arewelcome to. If you'd like to stay, you can do that as well."
          All five of us left. We didn't want totalk about Ivy's suicide. Especially because we all knew that it wasn't one.