Pyramidia by Stephanie Sanders-Jacob

Author:Stephanie Sanders-Jacob [Sanders-Jacob, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slashic Horror Press
Published: 2024-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I’ve been thinking. She wrote. Her fingers trembled as she typed. She pressed the keys out of order, tapped “Delete”, tried again. You were right. And I’m sorry.

She deleted that too.

She sighed, slid the phone back into her bag.

“Does anyone have any questions?” she asked the room.

A few students looked up, but most, preoccupied with their projects, ignored her. She lingered over Calvin’s hunched form. He was diligent as ever, writing and studying, head tucked beneath his shoulders. She was both surprised and unsurprised to see him back in class so soon. On one hand, he had always been a top-performing student. She imagined he found comfort in the routine, in the smell of just-sharpened pencils. But didn’t he need time to grieve? Wasn’t it improper to return so soon? She wondered if Angela had even been buried yet, and shivered.

“Calvin,” she said, voice soft and low.

He tilted his face toward her, expectant.

“After class?” she asked.

He nodded once and returned to his work. Harriet knew she couldn’t be the only teacher pulling him aside today, checking on him, showering him with platitudes and sympathy and offers of shoulders to cry on. But it felt wrong to let him leave without some word, some acknowledgment. She had so few students. She’d make him feel special.

The bell rang and the students tumbled out of the room. Calvin took his time, packed his bag with leaden ceremony. When the last pencil was tucked away, he turned toward her. “Yes, Miss Pendleton?”

“I just wanted to see how you’re getting on,” she said. “Make sure you’re okay.”

He chewed his bottom lip.

“Um… Are you?”

“Am I what, Miss Pendleton?”

It wasn’t like Calvin to be so dense, and she had the strange feeling he was toying with her, drawing the conversation on for some reason. His features didn’t betray any emotion at all. Maybe he was that lost, that shrouded in haze. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.”

“You know”—she paused, uncertain of what she’d say next—“I’m, uh, here for you, you know. If ever you need anything, you can count on me.”

He nodded, scratched his leg with the opposing foot.

“I’m very sorry.” She offered, but her voice broke with emotion imaging his loss, her loss, the world’s loss.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “There’s no reason to be sad.”

She frowned. “Calvin,” she said. She wiped at her eyes.

“Really, Miss Pendleton. It’s all okay.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be strong. I mean, you are very, very strong, but it’s okay to cry.”

He nodded. “You can cry.”

“What? No. I’m talking about you, Calvin.”

The corners of his lips turned upward in a half smile. “I don’t know why everyone thinks I’d be so sad.”

Harriet took a sharp breath in. This was unlike Calvin, it was unexpected and callous. Was he—was he happy to see his mother dead? Her brain felt like an old TV, flipping through stations at random. Flashes of shows, bursts of audio. Was he being abused? Did he kill her? Slip something into her drink? “I… I—”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

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