The Boy Who Died

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s most of the heat of summer, so I wipe instant sweat off my forehead before my brown curls can catch in it. This semester is going to

, reminds me I'm not supposed to be indulging those instincts. I'm safe here. The only person I've been in danger from since setting foot on the camp

ically on campus, and the weight of my books reminds me exactly what kind of day I'm in for. A long one. My very first semester w

repeat of last time" and what I call "honestly, a pretty minor mental breakdown, considering." But I am not thinking about that. I'm thinking about the fact that I told them I was sure so many tim

ath cutting through the main quad toward the art buil

titution, I wasn't able to face the idea of grim professors judging my performances like the musclebound nurses judged my fingerpainting and macaroni necklaces for any sign I was a danger to myself or others. I haven't e

ered in windows. A handful of desks sit haphazardly around the room, and a middle-ag

y shows the dedication you need to get the shot in the real world. Ta

he back. Twenty minutes early. Dammit! I tried so hard to arrive

always, they're all a few years younger than me. Between my reduced course load and the six months I lost to the institution, I'm entering my sixth year attending Ardent. At least I've got kind

blond as Ryan's in the summer. My rib cage squeezes, crushing all the air out of m

pours over my thoughts. Breath

t of me is shorter than R

mom picked up for him at the local thrift store,

his height and his few seasons on the basketball team, Ryan hated s

The Dana in my mind taps her

watched Ryan die, and I remember every second like it was

his seat to reveal a thick, blond

e last of the desks fill up. The moment class actually starts, Professor Washington stands and begins handing out syllabi. There's no reason to

we approach the end of class, "we have three others, to be led by an actual, working photographer. You're very lucky

or Washington will be leading. Her attendance policy is lax as long as people turn in

stomach drops to my toes. He sounds exactly like Ryan.

he six years I've been without him. His hair is a little longer, curling around his ears instead of shaved tight to his skull. He's grown into his hands and his ears. He

He smiles self-consciously. "I just moved

im he was so tall he had to play basketball. My stomach

. Still Ryan. I shut my eyes, rub them, and open them again. Still Ryan. My rib cage caves in on my lungs as I figh

! I saw his blood, still taste it sometimes. But if i

gton claps her h

me, and why you decided to take this class." She smiles. "I decided to teach photograp

without throwing up. My skin vibrates a

fessor William

n. Ben. Rya

manage. "Needed

ent. Ben doesn't. He lingers on me. There's something in his

ofessor Williams finally

the door. It doesn't matter what she