The crisp white envelope was the first thing that caught Jamie’s attention, when she opened her locker. She reached into her locker and picked it up. Slowly she examined the lettering of her name. She could recognize the handwriting, but she couldn’t remember who it belonged to. Carefully she opened the envelope and pulled out a letter. Her name was written at the top in a pink, sparkly color that she knew all too well. The handwriting belonged to Sara Maxwell.
Dear Jamie,
I know you’re probably wondering why I wrote you this letter, but it will all make sense very soon. You’re my friend, well, at least you used to be. I still remember when you stopped talking to me. It was a Friday in July. You had been dating Nathan for about a month now. We were in my room, talking about the future. We had both planned to get into NYU, and room together there. But then you brought up the fact that you would be moving in with Nathan next year. I still remember that pain that I felt in my chest, the pain that I still feel. I asked one thing ‘why?’ Do you remember what you responded with? You probably don’t. You said that I should grow up and that we’re not eight years old anymore. You had stood up and walked right out of my room, and when I tried to talk to you the next day and the day after that, you ignored me. You ignored me as if I was some sort of fly on the wall. Then school started, and you had Nathan. Well, I had nobody. I started eating my lunch in the bathroom, avoiding everybody. A few weeks passed after that, and I stopped eating lunch at all. My parents didn’t notice, and neither did you. And then one day, I heard this little voice in my head. It was saying how nobody would care if I was gone, and soon I started to believe it. I still believe it. So now as I sit here, writing you this letter, I want you to know some things. In my room, underneath my bed, is a box of our memories. On the walls, are pictures of us, take those too. And most of all I just want to say thank you. Thank you for being my friend, until you finally fit in. Thank you for ditching me for Nathan. But most of all thank you for not caring about me anymore.
Sincerely,
Sara Maxwell

Jamie couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even move. What had Sara done? Then, as if it was suddenly slow motion, she watched the principal round the corner with cops on either side of him. But they walked right past her and towards Sara’s locker. Jamie watched as they pried it open with bolt-cutters. One of the cops reached into her locker and he pulled out a crisp, white envelope identical to the one she had received. “Mr. Marshall!” she called out. He turned his head towards her, and his expression dropped. “What are you doing at Sara’s locker?” she asked, praying to god they wouldn’t tell her the truth.
“Jamie, I’m so sorry, but Sara killed herself last night.” That was it. Those were the words that she couldn’t process, she didn’t want to process them. The letter in her hands felt as if it were on fire. Jamie felt like a brick wall slammed into her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” That was a lie.
“Do you need me to call your mom?”
“No.” That was another lie. Jamie turned back to her locker and slammed it shut. Quickly she fled from the scene. Her pace picked up, as she neared Nathan’s locker. When she saw him, she saw a piece of paper in his hands. “Nathan,” she whispered. His head snapped up, and his ocean blue eyes were now stone cold.
“Please, tell me it’s not true.” She shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Did she? Did she kill herself?” Jamie nodded her head, slowly. Nathan’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly wiped them away when he saw his friends. “We can’t tell anyone about this. We’re going to burn these.” Nathan’s friends surrounded them, watching the exchange between them.
“Nathan, we can’t.” Nathan looked around at his friends, and saw the confused looks on their faces.
“Yes, we can,” he stated as he ripped the letter out of her hands. He began to walk away, before Jamie began to shout down the hall at him.
“What are we supposed to do, Nate!? Are we supposed to pretend, that we aren’t the reason Sara killed herself!? She killed herself, and it’s our fault.”