LIFE WITHIN THE HALLS

Sandra

Monday, February 9th, 10: 45 a.m.

I couldn't believe I was actually sitting in the iconic assembly hall of Hill Academy, surrounded by the elites. I felt like a total fraud in the crisp white shirt, pleated green plaid skirt, and vest. The tie felt like a noose around my neck, and the Mary Jane heels pinched my toes. But I knew I had to fit in, at all costs.

The hall was packed with around three hundred students, all clapping and cheering. At that moment, the school principal, the same one who had escorted me to the classroom for my test, had finished his speech. He had outlined a few rules and emphasized the importance of quality teaching and learning, highlighting ways we could strive for improvement.

Prior to his speech, there had been a presentation from the School Magazine Society, which centered on combating racism and stigmatization.

Amid the applause in the hall, Principal Wilson called upon the school founder's granddaughter to come onto the stage. This prompted a wave of cheers to fill the hall as she, wearing a silver tag on her blazer, made her way to the podium.

There she was! The brown-skinned girl from the school's television advertisement.

"Good morning, fellow students. For those who are new, I'm Victoria Hill," she spoke with the same confidence that exuded in the ad. "As we gather here today, we mark not only the beginning of another academic year but also celebrate a significant milestone in our school's history—the 30th anniversary of its founding..."

My new friend, Gideon, sat beside me in the first row. His tap on my shoulder drew my attention away from the stage. "Ugh, Victoria is so boring to listen to," he said, casting a subtle nod toward her. "I'd rather chat with you."

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"The math test, how'd it go?" he said. "I mean, first day in a new school, and then a test drops on."

"It was okay," I gave him my earlier reply. "You're pretty interested in my math skills, ain't you?"

"Guess so," he said with a smirk. "Anyway, are you on scholarship?"

"Yes," I replied, and he gave me a weird look before his gaze drifted back to the stage.

Honestly, the idea of writing a math test didn't sit well with me. I hadn't even wanted to write it, but my options were limited. Admissions had closed before I could apply, leaving me with only two choices: take the test or defer admission to the next semester.

I couldn't wait for the next semester; I had waited long enough.

"Let us honor the past while embracing the future with optimism. Long live Hill Academy! Long live Bel-Air! Long live America!" Victoria ended her speech.

I fidgeted in my seat, the loud, cheerful noise blurring into a cacophony as I gazed up at the gallery above. That's when I saw the back of a girl in a cheerleading uniform, taking two steps back as if someone was about to attack her and she was trying to get away. I tilted my head to check if someone was indeed there with her, as I suspected, and in that instant, the girl fell from the gallery onto the stage, causing a loud thud.

Shockwaves went through the hall. Victoria quickly rushed to the cheerleading girl's side and checked her pulse and breath.

"Hannah's not breathing," she murmured to the principal's face, but since the lapel microphone on her chest was still on, we all heard it loud and clear.

Panic erupted around us, with students screaming and crying as the reality of the situation sank in. I felt numb, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. Did the Hannah girl fall from the gallery accidentally, or did someone cause it?

In the midst of the chaos, Principal Wilson took charge. He called for an ambulance, and within minutes, sirens wailed outside. After they came in and took the body away on a stretcher, he urged us to proceed to our classrooms. Some were bawling, others whispering to each other, and others looked like they were in a trance.

I followed Gideon out of the hall, my mind reeling with thoughts and fears. Even though no one had officially told us Hannah was dead, it was very clear and one didn't need to be told.

"I don't know how Daniel will take this," Gideon said, shaking his head. "He loves Hannah so much."

"Hannah is Daniel's girlfriend?" I asked.

"Yes, they started dating last semester," he replied. "I feel bad for him. I don't even know where he is now."

"He's probably in class," I assumed.

My heart went out to Daniel; I knew all too well the pain of losing someone. Thinking about his potential loss made me realize how much worse it was for Hannah's parents—they had actually lost their child.

As we were walking up to the elevator, I couldn't get it off my mind that Hannah could have been pushed. She could have been murdered, and whoever did it was walking around freely.

I turned to Gideon, my eyes searching for answers. "Does anyone hate Hannah?" I asked. "Any enemies?"

"Everyone has an enemy; we might just not know," he replied, his voice evasive. "Why are you asking me that question, though? You're not thinking someone pushed her, right?"

"No," I lied. "Why would I think there's a murderer here?"

"Good one," Gideon said and clicked on the elevator door button to open.

"I will take the stairs," I said as the elevator door opened. "I sat for a long time in the hall, so I want to use the stairs for exercise.

I watched him leave in the elevator, my mind racing with questions. I looked at the corridor that led to the assembly hall and noticed yellow tapes had been put up there with red signs that, although I couldn't see from where I was standing, probably indicated a no-entry zone.

I took a deep breath to compose myself before heading to the stairs to the third floor. There were policemen and a detective, all wearing forensic gloves, scouring the floors.

Upon my return to class, Gideon was sitting quietly, his eyes on the tiled floor. And the others? They carried on with their own stuff, seemingly unfazed by what had happened, as if it were already old news.

A girl with black owl glasses bumped me from behind, her eyes glued to her phone. "Sorry," she muttered without looking up, still moving her thumbs on the screen as she went to sit down.

Only God knew what she was doing on her phone.

"Sandra Wilmer?" The ad girl approached me.

I nodded, and she said, "You're welcome to our class. I'm the President."

"Here's your locker card," she added, handing me a plastic card with my name and serial number printed in bold font. "Just scan it over the card reader on your designated locker, and it'll click open."

"Thanks," I replied, tucking it behind my phone.

Next thing I knew, Victoria had the class introduce themselves to me after I introduced myself to them. And I nodded along, maintaining a friendly demeanor. One by one, they stood up, sharing their names and a few tidbits about themselves. While some spoke with friendly tones, others seemed as if they were being forced to do so.

I managed to catch a few names in addition to the ones I already knew. The girl who had bumped into me earlier was Chloe Wilson, and she didn't have much to say about herself.

With the introductions over, the room fell into a relaxed quietude. Some of us, like me, were reading books, while others, like the Chloe girl, were on their phones.

As I turned to another page of my favorite novel, "Gone Girl," the wail of the siren shattered the calm, followed by a message:

"Students and faculty, please pay attention to this important announcement."

I already knew what the announcement was about, so I was prepared to hear it.

"It is with great sadness that we inform you of the passing of one of our students, Hannah Bentley, a sophomore at our school..." Continuing, the voice added, "...Tomorrow, February 10th, there will be a tribute in the school backyard to remember our beloved head cheerleader."

The announcement ended, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. Then, the closing bell rang at 12:00 p.m., and everyone began to pack up. According to the school handbook, the regular closing time was 1:30 p.m., but the schedule seemed to have been adjusted for the day, probably due to Hannah's death.

Gideon shrugged on his backpack and blended in with the students bailing on the classroom. I stuffed my book into my bag, feeling a little abandoned as he took off without even a 'see you tomorrow.'

Was he always ghostly, or was something weighing on him? Maybe he still hadn't seen Daniel and was worried about him. Or perhaps he simply hadn't considered me a friend yet.

"Aren't you going home?" Victoria's voice startled me.

"No," I replied, standing up and grabbing my bag. "I'm actually on my way out."

"Alright," she said, and then she coughed really hard. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief and coughed again, her hand on her chest. She looked really stressed out.

"Can I ask you something?" I shifted on my feet, my left hand grasping the strap of my bag.

"Sure." She gestured for me to go on, then apologized, "I'm sorry, I should have assigned someone to give you a school tour."

"Oh, no problem," I said. She had no idea I'd watched videos of every corner of the school on YouTube. "What I want to ask is about you, actually."

"Me? What do you want to know?" She raised an eyebrow.

"How do you cope with the pressure of living up to your family's legacy? Don't you get tired?"

"I don't know why you're asking me such a question," she replied sarcastically, folding her arms, "but the pressure of living up to my family's legacy is a privilege, not a burden. Unlike some families."

I forced a tight-lipped smile, trying to play it cool. Her words sounded like a rehearsed speech, and her body language screamed 'fake it till you make it.' I had lots of questions for her.