Spree (YA Paranormal) Read Online Free Page B

not a drunk. Special texts of “Remember Fay” circulated with funny comments I supposedly said. I was never that funny. And then there were the banners. I walked up, right through a couple of kids planning out how they’d cheat on Chemistry homework.
     
    “Fay:
    I remember that time I held you on the river by Sue’s house. We laughed and talked and nearly fell off the boat. You were my first kiss. I’ll treasure you always. Kade.”
     
    I honestly was too drunk at that phase of my life to remember who Kade even was, let alone whether or not we’d ever kissed.
    Another note triggered a memory I’d nearly forgotten:
     
    “You used to call me names, but I forgive you. May we make up in heaven one day Dora.”
     
    It was true. Dora had dyed her hair blond one year, and it looked horrible. The roots were drenched in black. I laughed, made fun of her, even put my friends up to wearing wigs from the dollar store that looked just like her hairdo. The thought that the moment stayed with her, long after I’d forgotten all about it, saddened me. From where I stood, it seemed like everyone forgets people and remembers moments. A single thought, feeling, impression stands out and that’s all you are to them. I wonder if anyone knew the real Fay at all.
    I floated by the wall for a while before I felt another emotion calling to me. I could see fountains, waves of blue just pouring out from the classroom. The aura was spilling over into other auras, contaminating them with grief. I floated into the room only to see Mrs. Walters, my English teacher, the one who looked a little bit like Tinkerbelle. She was staring out at my former desk. I’d left a book there without knowing it. She placed it aside in a pile, with my name facing away from the rest of the class. She was rearranging desks, pushing and pulling, trying to get rid of the desk the dead girl sat at. She’d given this thought over the weekend, considered even making a small shrine to my memory, but instead she opted to switch the room around and to take one flower and put it in a vase with a card next to it, a card dedicated to my memory. Given how many detentions she gave me, most of which I’d earned, I was shocked. I was even more shocked to see her breaking down, to see another, older male teacher, come up to her, give her a hug.
    “I never lost a student before, not like this,” Mrs. Walters said. “The last time I saw her I was writing her a detention.”
    It was true. I was late to school that day. I was too consumed with drinking the night before. It’s a wonder NHS didn’t kick me out ages ago, by I always managed to get my service hours done.
    “I know it hurts,” Mr. Higgins, my science teacher, told her. “What hurts more is that she won’t be the last.”
    “I don’t know if I can take teaching,” Mrs. Walters said plainly. “It hurts so much. I felt I should after…well, I felt I could help kids through. Now I’m not so sure. I can’t get what happened to Fay out of my mind.”
    “I had Fay in homeroom,” Mr. Higgins told her. “Kids liked her. She was a cute little girl.”
    That was a lie. I was anything but little.
    “But she was only one of my students,” Mr. Higgins went on. “Right now we have to think about the rest. They’ll be looking to you for leadership. Be strong.”
    Mrs. Walters nodded up and down, drying her eyes as Mr. Higgins went back to his room.
    Right on cue, the bell rang, and poor Mrs. Walters—she was a newer teacher, so I gave her a hard time—did all she could to maintain her composure. The first student walked in, Jessica Hanson, another one of my early childhood friends who I grew away from. Jessica noticed that Mrs. Walters had been crying. Jessica awkwardly put her books on a desk, not sure which was hers in the new arrangement, no doubt, and came up to Mrs. Walters. She gave Mrs. Walters a hug. More and more kids came in, Tom, Sue, Alex, and they did the same.
    Looking on, I was prouder of each