Everyone except Shirley. She watched the school move on as though nothing had happened, and the sight unsettled her more than the panic ever had. Panic meant people cared. Panic meant people feared the truth. Forgetfulness felt like guilt swept under a rug. Richard’s name returned to silence, not the frightened, heavy silence of two weeks ago, but thin and fragile.
As if he were already a memory. A story they’d half-told once and then misplaced. By Friday afternoon, the final school bell rang, releasing students into a frenzy of preparations. Laughter echoed in the corridors. Lockers slammed with celebratory force. Shoes clicked. Perfume lingered. No one said his name. Not once.