Chapter 4: The Rooftop

Fifteen years ago, exams weren’t locked down like now. We were in a sleepy Midwest town, where egging the principal’s car was the year’s biggest scandal.

I backed up, nearly hitting the cinderblock wall. "Are you nuts? If we get caught, we’re toast. Expelled for sure."

Jason begged, bribed, guilt-tripped. He even faked tears, swearing nothing would go wrong.

I remembered getting caught peeking at a test—grounded for a month, no TV, no baseball, just guilt and Dad’s disappointment.

Maybe out of fear, maybe stupidity, I agreed.

That night, the chemistry teacher was on late duty. We slipped laxatives into his Dunkin’ coffee—Jason’s idea. After his third trip to the bathroom, we snuck into the office, hearts pounding, hands shaking.

We thought we’d pulled it off—until Rachel caught us at the door. She stood there, arms crossed, big eyes fixed on us, not blinking, like she could see right through us.

We begged, pleaded, nearly dropped to our knees. She didn’t budge. Finally, she gave us three days to confess. If we didn’t, she’d turn us in.

Jason watched her walk away, muttering:

"What if we just killed her?"

His words hit me like a punch. My hands shook so bad I dropped my phone.

But Jason kept going, cold as ice. He said Rachel had been moody, always talking about depression. He’d even found a suicide note she’d written. If we made it look clean, it’d be ruled a suicide.

"Expulsion or kill her—you choose."

Three days blurred by. We arranged to meet her on the rooftop after school, said we wanted to talk things out.

A sharp wind whipped across the rooftop, flapping Rachel’s jacket. Rachel’s hands trembled as she faced us, voice quivering but fierce. A flash of anger burned in her eyes as she insisted on exposing us.

Only then did we find out she’d invited Derek too—she said she needed to come clean to him.

While Jason negotiated with Rachel, I slipped away and locked Derek in the restroom. I could still hear him pounding as I climbed the stairs.

At first, Jason offered Rachel fifteen grand to keep her quiet—money he’d have to beg from his dad. But Rachel wouldn’t budge. She insisted on telling the truth, her hand shaking, her voice breaking but stubborn.

Jason and I exchanged a look—the kind you share when the world drops out from under you.

And then she fell.

We rushed back to the gaming room, trying to look normal, hands jammed in our pockets so no one would see them shake.

The case closed fast. Rachel had severe depression—it was suicide. Her note surfaced, full of confessions about insomnia, anxiety, confusion, and the weight of academic pressure.

Derek testified Rachel had told him, more than once, she wanted to die. She was tired of living.

At first, the class whispered about her, rumors flickering like fireflies.

But soon, everyone forgot.

Until tonight, in this bar, with suffocating silence.