In my beginning is my end.

Ed had read those six words six times over again and still couldn't suss out what TS Eliot was trying to say. There was no way Ed would be able to pass his English final, if he were expected to provide a cogent interpretation of even one of the Four Quartets. Ed dropped his copy onto his bedroom floor, and planted his face into his mattress. How would Kenneth Branagh interpret a line like that? Ed wondered. He'd probably just say, "words, words, wooorrds," and wiggle his jaw around like an idiot.

Ed considered texting Emily and Gina and asking them for advice, seeing as they had taken Miss Larsen's English class the previous semester. But Ed knew whatever advice those clowns could give wouldn't be worth the effort of rolling over and grabbing his iPhone off his nightstand. Emily would tell him that "note-sharing amounted to cheating" (her class rank was possibly more important to her than their friendship) and Gina would have already lost whatever crappy notes she had taken by this late in the year. She'd instead send some bogus interpretation about the "globalists" and "social constructions of time" to troll him.

Would Miss Larsen be able to tell if his reading response practice essay was partially informed by SparkNotes? Ed wouldn't copy word-for-word -but if he checked online- well, it was better than not being able to write anything at all. Ed sat up and unplugged his iPhone from the wall outlet beside his bed. He noticed the time on the lock screen. 2:05. School would be dismissed in fifteen minutes. Everyone was probably giddy with that Friday afternoon feeling. Ed hadn't been allowed in school for almost two-weeks now. An excused indefinite absence would have seemed like a great vacation to Ed a few months ago, but now that he was actually experiencing it, he really missed the little things about his school- the interaction with his classmates, Mr. Black's calculus jokes, and that Friday afternoon feeling. When life was one everlasting weekend, there really wasn't much to look forward to. Just as Ed had opened Safari and searched for SparkNotes, his phone buzzed with a calendar notification. Mrs. Abel's office; 2:20; aptitude test.

Damn. Ed had forgotten he made that appointment. He had scheduled it that morning, how could he have forgotten about it already? He never did think, did he? His dad was right about him. A thousand creative insults ran through Ed's mind as he pulled off his tank top. He searched his bedroom floor for something clean that also covered his biceps. Ed gave the sniff test to a black t-shirt hanging off his desk chair. It passed. He pulled it over his head, grabbed his car keys, and ran down the stairs.

***

"I'd like to go to medical school," Ed stared at himself in the rearview mirror. Too confident. He wasn't that confident.

"Uh, I'm thinking about medical school." The light turned green and Ed tapped the gas. Probably still too confident.

"I'm kinda interested in medicine," Ed drove by his school's crowded bus lane. Better.

"I'm good at chemistry, I think, so I could do something like that," Ed turned into the common building's parking lot. That's probably just the right amount of "I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-with-my-life," Ed watched as his last semester's gym teacher climbed into a Kia Soul and quickly vacated his parking spot. Classic Mr. Uhrman, Ed thought, he always wants to get the hell out of this place. Ed pulled into Mr. Uhrman's spot, and put the Malibu in park.

"I have no idea what I want to do with my life," Ed checked his teeth in the sun visor mirror. Perfect.

Ed took his keys out of ignition and stepped out of his car.

***

"Omg," a goofy freshman with thick black hair grabbed her friend's wrist, "It's Enchilada Ed!"

Ed shot up two finger guns at the freshmen, but jogged past them before they could ask for a picture. He ran through a crowd of underclassmen heading toward the buses, and ignored the chanting of his name.

As Darrell, the eleventh grade's class president, walked out the common building, he spotted Ed."Yo, Ed!" Darrell extended his arm out for a handshake, "My man!"

"Gotta go!" Ed slapped Darrell's hand in passing.

"You got me to 2k followers, bro!" Darrell shouted after him, "2k!"

As Ed hurried to the eleventh grade's guidance offices on the ground floor of the commons building, he didn't even notice the snapping iPhone cameras around him. He just kept going.

I was thinking about the possibility of medical school, Ed silently practiced as he pulled open the guidance annex's front door, I'd like to see if I have an aptitude for it.

***

One weird thing about going to a very large school, Ed thought, was that very large schools employed a very large number of administrators. One principal, four assistant principals, and twelve guidance counselors, three for each grade. As Ed walked past the waiting areas for the other guidance counselors, he half-expected to see surly delinquents and classroom basket cases dressed all in black. Instead he saw only normies in Hollister jeans. Right, Ed thought, as he made accidental eye contact with a pretty blonde girl, this is Linden Valley. You're only abnormal if you're not insane.

Ed slid into a chair next to the door marked with Mrs. Abel's name. He couldn't tell if someone was inside. If Mrs. Abel were in the process of counseling somebody, it would probably be rude to knock. If somebody weren't there, and Ed let the appointment time pass by, it would probably be rude not to knock. Ed checked his iPhone. 2:22. Two minutes late. Ed pressed his ear against the door. Did he hear voices?

"Your feelings are understandable," Ed thought he heard a woman say, "But you have to remember it's not your fault. You didn't light the fire."

Fire? Ed tried to hear another voice but couldn't. Maybe Mrs. Abel was on the phone?

Ed checked the time. 2:25.

Mrs. Abel said something else, in a quieter voice that Ed couldn't quite make out. Maybe it was "I need to check on my two-twenty?" He heard footsteps. Were they walking toward him? Yes, Ed believed they were. He took a step backwards, but before he could dart back into his seat, Mrs. Abel opened the door.

"Ed! The internet's boyfriend!" She beamed, "Sorry to keep you late-"

"I wasn't listening-" Ed's eyes fell onto the floor behind Mrs. Abel. He noticed a familiar suede book-bag. And then, before he could figure out where he knew that bag from, he saw two very sad dark eyes and a head of tousled, chin-length black curls that glowed burgundy in the afternoon sunlight.

"It'll just be a few more minutes."

"Audra-" Ed said, without realizing he had spoken her name aloud.

"Just a few more minutes," Mrs. Abel now began to close the door.

"I wasn't listening!" Ed pulled at his hair, "I just got here- I was going to knock, but then I didn't because I thought-"

Audra slipped her book bag onto her shoulders and stood up.

"Thank you," Audra said to a patch of floor next to Mrs. Abel, "I don't mean to keep anyone waiting."

"Audra-" Mrs. Abel said.

Audra squeezed between the door frame and Ed, who took a step backward to let her pass. For a short moment Ed and Audra were so close that he could see the paths her tears had made down the makeup on her cheeks. For an even shorter moment, Audra and Ed's eyes met. The way she looked at him made his spleen hurt. No, it wasn't his spleen. His spleen was medically fine, as it had always been. He felt that ache deep in his chest. In his heart. Ed knew immediately that something was very wrong.

And then she was gone.

Ed blinked at Mrs. Abel.

"Alrighty then. I suppose we should talk about this aptitude test-" Mrs. Abel reopened her office door.

"I, uh," Ed said, "I'm sorry," he looked over his shoulder, "I gotta go."

Ed ran out of the guidance annex, and down the hallway, which had emptied of students, except for a couple of seniors carrying a couch into the band room. Ed pressed past them and down a flight of stairs, out the closest door, and toward the bus channel. He caught sight of Audra climbing the steps of the last bus to leave. Ed chased after her. He wasn't supposed to be on that bus. He wouldn't be able to catch up to that bus. He had a car.

The plumes of smoke barreling out the bus's exhaust pipes choked him.

***