6th grade death (in progress)..newly added shtuff

"Ok calss, we are going to talk about what our fathers do for a living." I stare down at the floor of my 6th grade class. Pain twists in my eyes as people go around the circle of my advisory class. They close in towards me slowly, yet fast, what could I say? I hear the pride of some kids as they tell their peers how great their dad is, how wonderful his work is. I bite my lip, how could they understand. They don't know what it feels like. Why now? Why does the teacher want to know this now? My tongue twists and my throat goes dry as tears painfully gather underneath where no one sees them. "Emily? What about you? Are you ok?" The teacher asks so innocently. I cough to break up the constriction in my lungs. I try a small smile and lifting my head up. It barely works, and I don't meet eye contact. "Um. My, father. He can't do anything anymore. He..H-he pased away just recently." 1

The stunned silence that follows is awkward for me. Apologies at my loss float around the room and the mood dampens. The joy and pride of showing off their father drains as people in my class realize that not everybody has that joy. Our actual class is about to start, which saves the silence from stretching to thin, like not enough butter on too much bread. I muddle through the hour, trying to focus, being active, act normal. The class pases like a blurr and is hardly remembered. 2

Gathering all of my stuff I stumble out of the door, ignoring the glances, the people forcing themselves not to stare, but yet unable to. Low mumbles, they sound like they're saying something about me. Maybe I'm just paranoid. 3

I shuffle my feet out the door impatiently as people take their time to leave, and I bump right into Mr. D Later in life he becomes my nemises. He asks my name "Emily Kern" I say..oh so vulneralbe still, oh so stunned by events. My father died just that morning. He nods and tells me to follow him and walks me to his small chamber of a room. 4

Once there, I look around. Pictures of kids smiling, things written on paper, and I read some of them. The dreams, and the families of the kids. Notes and things addressed to Mr. D, the counselor. I sit down in one of the three squishy charis. Designed to make you feel right at home. Home. The meaning has changed for me. What will home feel like now that dad's chair wont hold him, and the t.v. wont be always on. I start to tear up, and I have trouble holding them down. "Ok Emily, so what happened?" My chin wobbles a little and lumps the size of tumors enter my throat, so I cough. "My father passed away." "When?" "..This morning" His eyes widened at the thought of me coming to school after such an event. His body kind of hunches over and tenses and I would swear that his mouth had dropped open a little. Eyebrows raised he asks "What time?" "8:05 a.m." Oops. I meant 8 after 5 in the morning. I don't correct myself. He doesn't believe me. He's regained composure. Its not even 8:00 yet. He points that out, and I look at the clock surprised and confused. I shrug. I can't seem to fix the mistake. Whatever, he'll ask my sister later. She knows, she's older. He asks how old I am "I'm 11." He is shocked again, and says sympathetic words that make me cry and mumble things that I don't even remember. Something along the lines of that Im going to miss him, and that I can't believe that it happened most likely. I cry a little mroe, then he lets me leave.5