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The day after the meeting, a librarian distributed the minutes to the committee members. She added an editorial: “Remember, the books have to appeal to lower-level readers.” Danielle knew the reminder was directed at her. No one else had repeatedly suggested classic literature.

A week later, the teacher returned Blindness. “It was too difficult for me to get through,” she said. “The writing was so confusing!”

AFTER A SHORT VISIT to her father’s house in Florida, where she learned to ride a RipStik (a skateboard shaped like a snowboard), Danielle was back at home watching television when the phone rang. Danielle checked the caller ID. Stone Mill High School again. Someone from Stone Mill had been calling repeatedly, but Danielle had ignored the calls, presuming they were about registration or something else that she shouldn’t have to think about on a nonschool day. This time, Danielle picked up, if only to stop the calls.

“Hi,” said an unfamiliar voice. “I’m from Stone Mill High School. Is Danielle home?”

“Yeah, this is Danielle.”

Without preamble, the woman told her that Emily had died. “There’s going to be a wake on Friday,” she said. “Counselors will be at school if you need to talk to anyone.”

Danielle was rattled. She hadn’t been sure what was wrong with Emily, but she didn’t realize it would kill her. Emily was so young to die. Danielle had known Emily for only a few months, but she still felt sad and somewhat hollow. It was “like losing something that you never really paid a lot of attention to, but when it was gone you wish it were still around.” Danielle wasn’t a crier, but Emily’s death was so unexpected that she got slightly misty-eyed.

When Danielle nervously walked into the funeral home, she recognized only one girl, who had come with someone else. As Danielle waited in the long line to talk to Emily’s parents, she looked around the room. She felt out of place. She thought it was important that she pay her respects, but she had no idea what to say to parents whose child had just died. She glanced at the open casket and tried not to look again.

After half an hour, Danielle reached the front of the line. “I am sorry for your loss,” Danielle said to Emily’s mother.

“Who are you?” the mother asked.

“I’m Danielle. I worked with Emily in school.”

“Oh!” the mother exclaimed. “That’s so nice of you to come! We always get the papers that you guys fill out about yourselves, but we rarely get to meet anyone.” She smiled at Danielle. “Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Danielle shrugged. “I only live a couple of blocks away so it was easy to walk here.”

Emily’s mother tapped her husband. “She came here all by herself!” she said to him, sounding touched. She turned back to Danielle. “That’s so nice of you!” She enveloped Danielle in a long hug. Danielle awkwardly hugged her back. She gazed at the plain white wall behind Emily’s mother and waited until the woman pulled away.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Emily’s mother said as she let Danielle go.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m sorry again.” Danielle shook Emily’s father’s hand and walked away.

On the cold walk home, Danielle shoved her hands in her coat. She treaded carefully along icy sidewalks, thinking about the open casket. It would be easier if you couldn’t see the dead person’s chest, she mused, because then you wouldn’t keep waiting for a breath that wouldn’t come.

When Danielle got home, she called her mother at work. “Am I weird?”

“Why would you say that?” her mother asked.

“Emily’s mom was really surprised that I went there by myself. I don’t see what’s so strange about that.”

“Well, most girls your age always need to go places with someone else, but you’ve never really been like that.” Danielle’s mother sounded proud.

______

WHY SEVENTH GRADE IS THE WORST

It is likely no coincidence that the I Hate Danielle Club formed in the seventh grade. Students nationwide told me about the anguish of their seventh-grade year. Parents told me about seventh graders’ tendencies