The Jesters Fool- Chapter 12

High school senior Brooke Taylor tries her best to survive a tumultuous senior year, filled with death, secrecy, and decaying friendships

Returning to classes was hard. If I thought walking into the cafeteria the other day had been bad, it was nothing now compared to the way that people reacted to my face. Teachers told me not to worry about any missing homework, and students gave me sad smiles, but as soon as they thought I was out of earshot they would begin to gossip.

“I heard she was the one who did it.” That accusation hurt the worst. The fact that anyone could believe I was capable of murdering my best friend. But then again, everyone had seen my outburst at homecoming, they had seen the way that I had disregarded her. They had seen my jealous ambition and honestly evil things I had done to Marcus. 

A freakishly smart sophomore boy disputes the claim, “Brooke’s too timid to kill someone.” 

“She didn’t scream when they found the body. She had laid next to the girl all night, and didn’t even notice she wasn’t breathing.”
“Why were they even in the same bed anyway?” Snickers follow the question, and I bury my head in my arms. Waiting for the bell to ring so that Mr. Jackson will finally have a reason to tell the class to shut it.

A hand rests on my back, and I lift my head to see Trent. He squeezes my shoulder lightly, a tired smile on his face that fails to reach his eyes. “You look exhausted,” I whisper.

Trent nods, taking his seat as the bell rings and Jackson calls us to attention. “I haven’t slept well in a while,” He confesses. “I keep thinking about… Her.” 

I feel regret. As much as Lexi consumes my waking thoughts, at night she is the last thing on my mind. It makes me an awful friend, I know. But instead of mourning the loss of her, at night I am kept up by thoughts of my love life. Trent and Marcus are both in my head. Two opposing forces. I don’t want to think about boys over my best friend, but my emotions are so intertwined with longings for romance that I feel like I must logically solve this puzzle. In my dreams, the guys fight for my love. Trent wins, of course, and Marcus and I return to being best friends, who are on good terms and never fight. “Yeah, me too. I keep thinking about her too.” I lie. 

“Thank you for joining us today, Brooke.” Jackson just did the worst possible thing in directing everyone's attention to me. Trent straightens in his seat as the class turns to stare back at us. “You’ve been in my prayers as you’ve been emotionally healing these last few days.”

“Thanks,” I managed to mutter out, humiliated that he had felt the need to announce this. 

“Now, let’s begin the lesson.” And so I successfully made it through a full class after Lexi's death.

“Can I walk you over to second period?” Trent asks when we are dismissed from the room. I nod and allow him to grab my backpack for me, helping me settle the bag onto my shoulders. “How are you holding up?” He asks, his tone withdrawn as we make our way into the hall.

People's eyes fall on me as I pass. I drop my gaze to the floor, not wanting to see the gross curiosity surrounding me. “Not well.” I admit, “Marcus had to help me wash my hair yesterday�" I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.” Trent hesitates in his steps, but as I continue on he reluctantly follows.

“I want to talk about homecoming.” I say, abruptly. My eyes come up to meet him. His face is unsure, but I am determined. Homecoming�" dead friend, stolen kiss, and at the forefront of my mind, rejection.

“Is now an appropriate time?” He asks, and I bite my cheek. I pretend that I’m normal, I nod at him, I pretend that I’m not in love with him. If I want a shot at being with him, I know I need to act as if I have my priorities in order. And I can’t let him think I’m truly terrible for the way I kissed Marcus in front of him.

“I just wanted to apologize.” I shrug, still walking, a little nervous to continue looking at him. “It was totally weird of me.”

“Brooke, it's fine.” He assures me, “And it’s not that I don’t like you�"”

“But we’re better off as friends?” I ask, a playful smile on my lips as I cut off the rest of his sentence. I flash him my brightest smile, cocking my head to the side. Maybe he won’t notice the nervous color my face flushes to.

“No, Brooke.” He grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop. I flinch as his fingers curl around the bruise that Marcus had made on my arm. Of course, Trent doesn’t know this�" Trent has no idea that his best friend's hand is painted on my arm in ugly shades of purple and blue. My sweater conceals the full truth of what happened before Lexi's death. “It’s not that I only see you as a friend.”

“Trent,” I shrug out of his grasp, “I just wanted to apologize. This is all in the past now.” 

“Can this be a conversation we revisit later?” His voice conceals a sort of hope. The way he asks fills me with bubbling excitement. He makes me feel like I’m experiencing a middle school crush. I press my lips together tightly, to stop the giddy laughter from spilling out of me.

“Yeah,” I nod, biting my lip, “Of course we can.” We walk in silence to the religion building. Trent pulls open the large glass door for me but doesn’t follow me any further. “I’ll see you at lunch.” I brush his hand as a parting ‘thank you’, he responds with a tight-lipped smile.

“You’re not still on him, are you?” Marcus asks, coming around a corner as the door shuts behind me. He watches as his friend's frame disappears behind us. His eyes are fogged with hurt.

“No.” I don’t want to get into this here. Obviously, there’s something between me and Marcus now. And I think it’s unrequited, but I did kiss him. So whatever this is, whatever it has been elevated to, is my fault. 

Marcus doesn’t seem to believe me, but he does humor my request of dropping the conversation, which is the most I can really ask of him right now. “Your hair looks fluffy.” He says, changing the topic. I finger through the undefined waves self-consciously.

“I didn’t have it in me to fix it yet.” I tell him, reflecting back on yesterday morning. “But I appreciate your help.”

“It felt good, taking care of you like that.” Marcus tells me, voice steady and eyes serious as we take our seats in room 118.

Pastor Symes calls the class to attention with a prayer. With creases of worry coating his brow, he offers a petition to our Father, “Dear Lord, continue to bless our students. Allow them prosperous futures, even in the despair they face now. God we know you do all things for our good, allow us to trust your ultimate plan and timing as we all sort through our grief. God, remind these children that this is not our final resting place but that we have our home with you forever. Amen.” He unclasps his hands and solemnly bows to us. I think it is his attempt to demonstrate humility before God, “Tomorrow instead of our regular chapel service, we will be holding a funeral for our recently deceased, dearly loved friend, Alexis Anderson.”

My breath catches in my throat. I lose the ability to breathe. Of course, there had to be a funeral at some point, but I’m not ready to accept it. I gasp for air, but nothing fills my lungs. Desperation fills me as I push out into the hallway. I brace my body against a trash can, coughing so hard with no hope of oxygen restoring me. 

I feel a gentle touch pulling my hair out of my face as I puke. My heavy pants for air are finally sufficient, as I find the ability to breathe again. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and turn back to see Marcus. “Come on,” He gently drops my hair, making sure that it is tucked behind my ears. He then moves to grasp my shoulders, leading me over to the bathrooms. “Will you be alright alone in there for a minute?” He asks, worry coating his face, “Otherwise I can go find someone to go with you.”
“I’m good,” I manage, my voice hoarse, my throat burning slightly. 

“Yeah, you’re good.” He mutters to himself, slouching against the wall as I push my way into the girls restroom. I run the sink on cold water, wetting a towel and wiping it across my lips. I then cup my hands and swish the tap water in my mouth. It tastes of iron, and I spit it back into the sink quickly. I dry my hands against my jeans, giving myself a hollow look through the mirror before returning to Marcus.

“Better.” I tell him, shrugging past him to get a drink from the water fountain. It still holds the faint taste of iron, except it is slightly more filtered. As I bend down for another drink the bell to end class rings. 

“Brooke, Symes told me he wants to talk to you.”

“Right now?” I choke down a final sip of water that is dirtied by our ancient, rusted pipes.

“He said to bring you back after class.” 

“Is that why you followed me?” Indignation rises in my chest.

“No, Brooke.” His voice is hard, as he stares down at me. People flood around us, but I can only focus on Marcus’ face, “I just-” His voice breaks in the passion of his statement, “I just told you how much I want to take care of you. Don’t dismiss that. You know I love you.” And there it is again. The word ‘love’. The word that confuses me so much.

“I’m gonna go talk to Symes.” I inform him, as my heart drops down into the pit of my stomach. Marcus moves to catch me, to keep me near him for another minute, but then the warning bell for third period rings, and he shakes his head before heading over to study hall. 

“You wanted to talk to me, Pastor?” I ask, knocking on the door to his empty classroom.

“Yes Brooke, I wanted you to know I’ve been praying for you. All of you children. I’ve been praying for this whole school.” I nod, furiously blinking back tears. “But prayer won’t undo this.”

“No sir. It won’t.” I agree, unable to formulate any other sentences.

“Look, Brooke,” He takes a step towards me and places a fatherly hand on my shoulder, “You’re going to need someone to talk to. I’m just letting you know that I�" or any of your other teachers�" are here for you.”

“Thank you, Pastor.” I nod but avoid looking into his eyes. “Is- is that all?” I turn to leave, his hand slipping off of my arm.

He nods, but calls after me as I push open the door, “Be careful who you trust Brooke.” His warning, I know, is meant as nothing more than a gentle reminder, yet I cannot help but hear some sinister tinge in it.

A hand moves to stop me as I am in the process of shutting Syme’s door, and when I turn I see Thomas. He looks incredibly thin and his under eyes are practically bruised by lack of sleep. Without a word between us, I wrap my arms around him in an embrace. He holds me so tight that it hurts, his ribs sharp and stabbing at my sides, but I do not stop him, I do not pull away.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” I tell him as he finally, reluctantly lets me go. 

“I’ve only left my room to talk to Pastor.” He admits, pushing a hand through his shaggy hair, “I’m not really up for going back to classes yet.”

I nod, fully understanding what he means. “It’s a nice distraction, when you can force yourself into it.” 

“That’s what Trent and Marcus have been telling me.” He smiles awkwardly, as if he is relearning the expression. “They come to visit me sometimes, it’s nice.”

“I’m so glad they’re there for you.” I grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“You know her funeral is tomorrow.” He blurts out suddenly, and then his shoulders raise a little, as if keeping that information to himself was weighing him down.

“I know,” Tears prick the back of my eyes again. Thomas looks as if he has lost the ability to cry as he presses the heel of his hands into his eyes. “I’m not ready for her to be gone.”
“I knew she wasn’t coming back.” Thomas whispers, “I had this feeling when she ditched me after the dance to follow you- I knew she wasn’t coming back. I could feel it.”

My heart drops, “Are you blaming me?” If he knew that she was going to die, why did he let her follow me? Her death is just as much his fault as mine if anything.

“No! Of course not.” He grabs my shoulders and makes me stare him in the eyes, “I thought she was going to break up with me�" which in my head was just as bad as her dying, but�"” His voice breaks and he falls into my arms for support. I hold him up as best as I can. 

This is weird. Lexi had spent the last few years informing me about this boy she was in love with�" this boy she thought I would never meet. Now I’m holding him in my arms because she is dead and neither of us can cope with that. I hope she approves of this from heaven, I hope she is so incredibly grateful that she left us behind to comfort each other. I miss my best friend.

I had always associated churches with weddings and baptisms. Growing up I went to a lot of those. I’m sure I was forced into attending a funeral or two, but I was so young that I can’t recall them. Up until very recently, death had never been a part of my life. My parents never even had pets, so I didn’t have to bear suffering through the passing of a beloved animal. 

The church associated with Timberline is located at the edge of campus so that the general public could attend Sunday services. Non Students aren’t allowed to come in for chapel services, but I guess they made an exception for a funeral. I watch as several parents walk in with their arms thrown around their children, a look of ‘thank goodness that random girl was murdered and not you’ painted on their faces. My parents aren’t here. I’m sure they would have been if I had asked, but I haven’t so much as called either of my parents since homecoming. I’m sure they’ve heard about Lexi's death�" that's probably why they’ve tried to call me 80 times a day since�" but I refuse to talk to them. They’ll want me to get a new room, or worse, come home. I hate home more than I hate Timberline.

A set of footsteps fall heavier than the rest, and I turn my head to see Marcus, his face is red, eyes squinted. I feel myself frown, it looks as if he has been crying and I sympathize with him. 

I watch as he takes a seat, and then I join him in the empty pew he has selected. I try to give him a friendly smile, and he returns a crooked one back, but it doesn’t reach his bloodshot eyes. He makes dazed eye contact with me, recognition not all there. I give his knee a sympathetic squeeze, knowing that my own face must read the same. We must be wearing matching masks of grief, as we mourn the loss of our best friend.

He laughs, short�" sudden. It makes me shudder, not because it is a sign of his sorrow, but rather because it rings out with joy in it. As if he finds genuine humor in this situation. When he composes himself, his face reads somber again, his almost unseeing gaze returning to me.

“I remember when I first met Lex.” He says, his voice full of seldom expressed levels of emotion, “I thought she was so pretty.” He smirks, as he begins to build up the picture of her in his head, “So pretty…” The only way that I can describe his smile is sleazy.

As he continues to mutter about Lexi, something in me snaps, “Oh my god! Are you high?” Despite my low tone, my voice seems to carry throughout the entire church.

 I’ve never seen Marcus like this before, and I know for a fact he isn’t sober. He turns his expressionless eyes to me again. He says nothing but a smirk slowly creeps up his face. 

“Screw you!” I exclaim, biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I can feel the thin flesh rip. “Screw you.” I mutter again, sitting on my hands as hot tears form in my eyes. 

“It’s how I cope.” He snaps, his eyes brightening for a short minute in his indignation. 

“It’s not how you cope at your best friend's funeral.” I contemplate storming away, but the church begins to dim, and Pastor is walking down the aisles. I stay as I am, burning with fury as a hot tension settles between me and Marcus. 

“I rarely do it.” He defends himself, his voice drowning out Symes’, as he opens the service, “Only when I need to.”

“Shut up. I’ll deal with you later.” And tears begin to fall down my cheeks. The consequences of a deep-rooted rage being that of tears as my only known form of expression.

“Students,” Symes starts, his eyes settling on Marcus and I immediately. Then his gaze roams and I’m sure he’s searching for Thomas. “Friends, family, children of God, we are gathered here today as we mourn the death of Alexis Anderson. And we join in songs of praise as we acknowledge she is now with the Saints Triumphant.”

I feel ill, realizing that besides Lexi's parents, the rest of her family isn’t here. They must be doing another service later on. Her body is going to be moved to another church and be preached over with the same, seemingly meaningless words. Marcus drops his head between his knees beside me, his fingers combing desperately through his hair.

I want to nudge him, encourage him to sit up�" we’re in public, he’s making a scene, he is disgracing us at our best friend's funeral. But my anger burns against him so hot I hope he collapses to the floor and everyone at school can tell that he’s on drugs. I hope Timberline kicks him out and makes him get clean. For all I know, this is his first time getting high, but I’d rather jump to the conclusion that he’s an addict, that he smokes weed to get through every day.

The service ends with a hymn. Marcus turns his face to the side, eyes no longer to the floor, I can see they are more red than before. Stains of shed tears run down his face, as he extends his hand to me. I take it hesitantly, but once our fingers are intertwined I give him a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be alright.” I try to say with my grasp.

The casket was closed, and for all I know, Lexi's body isn’t even in there�" it could still be at some facility getting tested. As people line up to kiss the box goodbye, Marcus and I sneak our way out of the chapel.

Hand-in-hand my (former?) best friend and I stalk around an empty campus. I didn’t cry once during chapel, my tears long since used up. “You still high?” I ask Marcus, pausing in the brisk air to pull my jacket tighter around myself.

He raises an eyebrow, unsure if he should answer or not, “I still feel it a bit,” He confides.

“Does it really help?” He nods. To me, drugs seem like suicide�" like a coward’s way out of emotion. To Marcus though, they must be reassuring, giving him the power to overcome feeling, getting a reprieve of nothing instead. 

“I’ve got a cart hidden in my dorm, if you need a hit.” His offer makes me scrunch up my nose in disgust. 

“I don’t smoke,” I say in response. Smoking makes me cough�" or at least it did the time in eighth grade when I tried to take a drag on a cigarette. Of course, my lungs could have built a small tolerance since then. I normally hang around the smoker circles at parties, preferring them to avoid the over-the-top drunks.

“Nobody does until they’re desperate,” Marcus laughs, running his hands through his hair�" a nervous habit he must have recently picked up.

I pull him into a hug because I can tell he needs it. His nearness warms parts of me that my jacket couldn't. Trying to pull away, Marcus and I stare each other in the eyes�" his eyes, although red, are also touched with emotion. Before I can process what is happening, our hug has become a kiss. There is a bitter tang on his lips, it reminds me that I am betraying him once again; however, I don’t know if the passion is all fake this time. Maybe the more times you kiss a person the more you begin to mean it.

My hands cup the sides of his face, and I break away to take a sharp intake of cold air. This is sobering, to both of us, and as Marcus blinks slowly, his eyes clear a little more.

“Brooke,” His voice is hoarse as he grabs my hands and pulls my fingers away from his face, “What was that?” I think I might have been the one who started the kiss. I had been looking into his eyes, and then they got closer, and then they closed�" or mine closed. Someone closed their eyes. And we kissed. It wasn’t hungry or fueled by desperate passion like last time. This time it was soft, his lips against mine, a mutual calm. I had kissed Marcus again, and now I began to crave that sensation. Maybe he was like drugs�" maybe I could become addicted.

“I- I don’t know.” I stutter, unsure of how to defend myself. 

“We’re just friends,” He sighs, turning to walk away from me, “You’ve made that plenty clear.” He turns to walk back in the direction of the church as I continue to make my way to the dorms.

Author's Note

All comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you for helping me to improve my story!