Teachers looked at me differently.
Some classmates tried to be kind.
Others didn’t know what to say.
And some simply avoided me because grief makes people uncomfortable.
I couldn’t blame them.
What was anyone supposed to say to a girl whose parents had died?
“I’m sorry” eventually becomes meaningless when you hear it enough times.
So I stopped talking about it.
At lunch, I sat alone.
I walked through the halls with my headphones on.
When classmates talked about college plans and family vacations, I smiled politely and pretended to be interested.
The worst moments were celebrations.
Whenever our school held pep rallies or award ceremonies, families came to take photographs.
Parents shouted their children’s names.
Siblings ran onto the field.
Grandparents hugged students.
I usually stood somewhere on the edge of the crowd.
I would take out my phone and pretend to check messages.
I wanted people to think I was busy.