Perhaps it was because he was older and content with his own life that Principal James always seemed to speak with a sincerity and empathy which other school administrators lacked. James made it his personal business to take Marie aside and inform her that the police would be coming to the house to speak with her. He was casual when he peeked in the classroom; he greeted the class and teacher with a smile only to ask for “a word” with Marie as if she was one of his trusted advisors whom he needed to ask some minor favor. For Marie, the short eight minute drive home was surreal; it was one of those trips you don’t remember upon arriving at the destination. She didn’t remember turning onto her street or even going up the big hill that leads from the avenue to her neighborhood. Marie tossed her keys on the table and placed her bag in the wooden kitchen chair nearest her. She moved to the refrigerator, opened it and grabbed one of her two remaining bottled fraps. The caffeine always seemed to meet her needs before. She slammed her drink on the marble laminate counter and collapsed her face into her hands. As if the coffee had reminded her of something she lost and now missed, tears began to roll from her eyes. Of course she made no sound. Dramatic cries were for talk shows and epic movies; crying at all was not really a part of her nature. Her father taught her to be strong and daddy’s girl was no stranger to cruel words or harsh criticisms but today was different. Today, any talk show host would love the opportunity to interview the 17 year- old Marie, any film director would jump at the opportunity to narrate her story; today was in fact the perfect day for crying.

Marie was an honor student, (clichéd but nonetheless true) she was a cheerleader and also a member of her community’s civic association. She would even ride around with her dad every Thursday at 8:00p.m. searching for any “suspicious activity” as part of the Neighborhood-Watch committee. She enjoyed her time in school although she and her friends fantasized about how much more fun college would be. Now she wasn’t sure if she would be able to go to college. She wasn’t sure if she would even be able to see her friends after tomorrow but even more stressful and demoralizing was the fact that she wasn’t sure she was wrong. Marie wasn’t an asshole to the girl like all of the guys at school. She wasn’t the only one who heard Brittany moaning and screaming like a whore. It was a house party. The girl was disgustingly drunk; everyone saw her go upstairs with the random kid. Marie didn’t call her names to her face like the other holier-than-thou girls; as far as personal interaction, Marie didn’t even treat Brittany any different than usual. She still waived in between classes and she still said: “excuse me please”, instead of bumping into the girl and whispering insults like many others. But what she did apparently was worse. She created a “trending topic” on Twitter #BlowlikeBrittany and as cruel as it seems in hindsight, Marie truly didn’t mean to hurt the girl. Honestly it was a fucking joke! It was humorous. But someone’s child was dead and rarely do surviving parents acknowledge what comedy can be made under the circumstances surrounding their child’s death. Brittany killed herself following the school-wide ostracizing that resulted from the topic going viral around the high school. Marie kept thinking to herself I didn’t intend for everyone to use it; I didn’t kill her. Ironically, the more she thought about it and rationalized her distance from assuming responsibility, the guiltier she felt. When others joined in, she accepted the praise of her wit and she even laughed when she heard the phrase used as common slang. But did that make her a criminal?