Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter Eight: Elodie

The next day, it becomes clear that no one, at least none of our peers, knows about the death of Mr. Robin Kowalski, who died yesterday in the girls' bathroom after making unnecessary repairs on the simulators. I tried asking Shelia how she found out, but she evaded the question. So now, all I'm left with is a bunch of unanswered questions and one sketchy friend. Actually, no, I take that back. I'm left with two sketchy friends. Not only is Sheila acting weird, but we've also got Elie, who's looking like he's going half crazy. Half the time he's all distant, and sometimes, I even catch him talking to himself. Because that's a normal thing to do. He's also acting really weird about the whole dead-man thing. Both Sheila and Elie seem to have differing opinions on what happened to Kowalski.

It is Sheila's firm belief that someone murdered this guy in cold blood in the girls' bathroom and was also going to kill Elie in the girls' bathroom. Apparently, I "ruined" the killer's plans to kill Elie, and I'm next. Elie, on the other hand, thinks that Kowalski had contracted a deadly extraterrestrial virus, which he insists is true, even though they caught no signs of sickness during the autopsy.

Like I said before, though, both theories are absolutely ridiculous. I mean, really, murder is a little far-fetched, and so is an extraterrestrial virus. These kinds of things don't happen so close to home. Right?

When I arrive at class in the morning, both Sheila and Ellie are arguing again on whose theory is more plausible, and at this point, they're so invested in their theories, that they're literally at each other's throats trying to prove each other wrong. Elie's face is an angry red, and Sheila, who's trying to keep in control, is clearly at the breaking point with her fists clenched at her sides.

I know that as soon as they see me, they're going to ask me to pick a side, so instead of directly facing the situation, I skirt around it. Literally. I'm about two point five steps from avoiding confrontation, when Sheila, with her hawk eyes, spots me. "Elodie, we need you. Come."

I drag myself towards them as slow as possible. This for me means about two steps every five seconds. Groaning, Sheila leaps to her feet and tries to drag Elie to where I'm standing. Straightening, she clears her throat and finally asks, "Who do you think is right?" Oh, boy. See? I knew this would happen.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten to try to match her posture and slowly smooth out my shirt to buy me some time to come up with an answer. "Um, well. Because . . ." I start to throw in filler words to buy me some more time, "the, you know . . . evidence suggests stuff which, therefore, consequently suggests that . . ." They both lean forwards, challenging me to finish my sentence. Wait, what evidence did each have anyway? "Well, neither of you have evidence to support either of your theories," I state.

"Well, that's why they're called theories and not facts," Sheila says.

I uncomfortably clear my throat for about 10 seconds. To stall, of course. Because, see, here's the thing about me. I was never a very social person. I made some friends, somehow (the art of making friends is now lost to me) back when I was in kindergarten, and I didn't really need to find any other friends after that. And now that I had somehow made friends again, I wasn't going to lose one because of a stupid argument about how someone died.

Yes. I'm that bad at confrontations.

Elie seems to recognize my discomfort and butts in, "Fine, you don't have to pick sides. It's just not fair to you." Relief floods through me and I look up with grateful eyes, ready to thank him, but something in his expression makes me freeze. His smile, instead of being a your-welcome kind of smile, is instead excited. Many probably would see this as fine. Except for the fact that is no reason whatsoever to be excited. Someone just died. So, in this instance, it is downright creepy. "You're right!" Elie exclaims. Was he talking to himself again?