Masses of people with confused expressions on their faces gathered outside the hall, waiting for the teachers to tell us to forward in. They all knew that whatever this impromptu assembly was for was something important, as the teachers inside were setting up chairs for each student. Most assemblies we just sat on the ground.

Some were rejoicing about being able to miss maths. Many were gossiping about what it was about. But others continued to chatter about their weekends. Who kissed whom. What assignments were coming up. A family adventure on Saturday. 

Even though only a week and a half had passed, she had already slipped from everyone’s minds. Not one person guessed what this could be for.

But I knew. Evie knew. And April definitely knew.

As Evie had her arms wrapped around me, a sullen look on her face, I glanced around the crowd for my sister. I assumed she had come to school as her car was gone when I got up this morning and was in the carpark when I got off the bus. But I hadn’t caught sight of her yet.

Before I could look too hard, the teachers opened the door, instructing us to file in and sit in our homeroom classes.

Evie and I sat next to each other, of course, taking our hands in each other’s. Both numb. Both drained from sleepless nights. Both having shed too many tears. But neither of us could pity the pain. Because there were surely others hurting more. Her mum. Her dad. Oliver. And, of course, April.

She hadn’t spoken a word to me since the night before it happened. And every time I ran into her in the house, I choked. What could I possibly say? Even my parents barely knew how to talk to her, so what could I, a fourteen-year-old, tell my sister that could take her pain away?

As the principal walked onto the stage and asked everyone to settle down, a silence finally fell over the crowd. Bright eyes stared forward, waiting to hear what this assembly could possibly be about.

I avoided glancing around when the principal began to speak. I knew exactly what everyone was doing. Turning to look at me and Evie. Turning to look at April.

“A week and a half ago, a tragic event occured, which I’m sure many of you have heard,” the principal started. “I want to start by saying that if any of this is triggering for you, then we have many support services available. Please, if you are affected in any way, do come seek help. You are not alone.”

Evie tightened her grip around my hand. Bravely, I glanced her way. Tears were welling in her eyes.

I didn’t have to look back at the stands where the year twelves sat. If Evie was like this, April must be…

“A week and a half ago, a young life was lost too soon.”

I could hear the year eights in the row in front of us starting to whisper in confusion. They never knew her. They weren’t privy to a lot of school gossip yet.

“Annabel Manning passed away. There are many among us, her friends, her teachers, her peers, who are still feeling the pain of her loss. I want to start by saying please be respectful of those who are mourning. Give them the kindness they deserve. Do not spread rumours or anything that could upset them. And if you find yourself affected by this pain, do talk to someone. If you see anyone sad, whether they knew Anna or not, please ask if they are okay. Too often do we forget to ask that question of those around us.”

My heart tightened as he said that. I wanted to turn back to look at her. I wanted to run up those stairs, throw my arms around her and remind her she couldn’t have known. That it wasn’t her fault.

But I didn’t. I held tight. Because if I did look at her, I was scared I would cry. I needed to be strong for my sister, who was in much more pain than me right now.

“We’ve gathered you all here today for many reasons. Firstly to commemorate Anna’s life as part of her school community. To reminisce on her time here. And to mourn the loss of one of our school members, even if many of you didn’t know her personally. 

“But also we’ve invited a guest speaker to talk afterwards about mental health awareness. In memory of Anna, this is an important time to discuss such topics and remind everyone the significance of talking to people when we are struggling. To remind everyone of the resources out there at their fingertips. Without further ado, the following video was put together by Anna’s closest friends as a memorium. During the video, I ask you all to take a moment of silence.”

The principal gave a nod to the tech crew up the back, stepping backwards on the stage. Then the video began to play, Simple Plan’s Untitled filling the room as her face lit up on the projected screen. Dark hair, curling around her chin. Dark eyes looking at us. Angular nose. A small, peaceful, true smile. 

Annabel Manning

31 January 1997- 15 July 2014

Her favourite quote adorned under the words:

“I've always liked quiet people: You never know if they're dancing in a daydream or if they're carrying the weight of the world.” —John Green

Then as the images began to splay across the screen, her face coming up time and time again, many taken with April, even me and Evie making an appearance, the urge to turn around grew.

Finally, I caved. 

Craning my neck, my eyes sought her out in the stands. Looking for her curly dark hair. Her sharp chin. Her eyes so blue and intense you could see them from the other side of a field.

But I couldn’t see her. 

As I began to turn back around, a retreating figure out the door, followed by someone I definitely recognised as Oliver, walked out of the hall.

He pulled her into his arms. I knew it was her even before her face turned, revealing the distraught. She sobbed and sobbed, seemingly pretty loudly. The year elevens in the row closest to the door turned to look at her.

Then finally a couple of teachers heard her cries from where they stood, marching out of the room. They spoke softly to her and then began to guide her away from the building, away from the rest of us. 

So that we wouldn’t see her pain.

So that we couldn’t hear her pain.

So that pain continued to be an abstract concept none of us would understand or recognise until we ourselves were in the throes of it, consumed by a grief so intense that we wonder if anything could have ever prepared us for such a feeling.