Our first day back from summer vacation was cold and blustery, a pronounced difference from the ridiculously nice weather we'd been experiencing. I took it as a sign, at first that school was going to be boring and familiar, just like the passing cloud that loomed overhead, a solid mass of grey that stretched out further than any of us could see in every direction.

We all stretched in our seats, finding which friends were put in what classrooms, and buddying up with whoever hadn't been split from the group. Denny had found himself trapped by himself in Mr. Dylan's classroom, but Eugene and I were still together. And despite glaring looks that urged to the contrary, we knew that Jessica would eventually join our group. For the time being however she'd shoved herself into a corner and reduced herself to awkward, occasional glances.

I felt my ears pop and winced as the busted old intercom spurred to life. Principal Baloney's mellow voice was, as usual, butchered and turned to sharp projectiles by the tinny old intercom system. I felt his voice like invisible swords cutting through my ear drums and slamming against my brain. Every room in the school had a yellowed, rusted portal above the door, and each and every one looked as if tiny holes had been pecked through them by scared birds trying to kill the awful sound.

As the first words bounced around the room, nobody stopped talking, despite the teachers best attempts. People had a lot of catching up to do, and Principal Baloney could wait. Not many of my classmates were excited for school despite the two and a half month break, and the people who were could shove it I thought. There wasn't much good in school. Obviously we'd reap the benefits later, but for now it just seemed forced, pointless, and like a weight on my chest that sat for five days of the week, nine and a half months at a time.

It was a full minute of awkward harbled speech before most students shushed. The word death was used, and that just wasn't a word we students often heard over the intercom. And especially not from a teacher. When Jenny McCleric had died, the word death was used. When our teacher Mr. Delinsky was gone for a month, after his wife had passed away, the word death was used. But other than that, never.

I could feel the silence growing, and a prickling feeling moved up the back of my neck. Within moments I could hear the echo of the intercom in the room next to mine, and I'm sure that room could hear the room next to theirs. Principal Baloney fumbled over his obviously prepared speech and continued speaking as if we'd all been attentive from the moment he began. I could see my teacher roll his eyes. Though I could tell he was more than a little disgusted by us, I could also see that there was a distinctive sadness trapped behind the foul look. I noticed my back arch as his did, tension climbing.

And then we found out who died.

Mr. Yarway, our math teacher, had passed away over the summer. I had heard he had a heart condition one day while waiting for a ride from my mother. He was on the phone with a doctor discussing it and I couldn't help but overhear. I hadn't quickly forgotten the conversation, because it worried me. I loved Mr. Yarway, and if his heart wasn't right, I didn't know if he could love me back. He was always really nice to all of his students, never said an ill word about anyone, and it was impossible to be with him for five minutes without seeing a grin move up from under his bushy moustache at least once.

Thoughts raced through my mind, tuning Principal Baloney out. He wouldn't have any more details for us. I could see it in my head, clear as day. I knew what had happened. His wife had woken to find him dead of a heart attack, and her shrill screams of desperation would cloud up and hide any hope she might be harboring. She would know from the moment it happened Despite the desperate attempts to hide this fact from both Principal Baloney and the ratted old speaker, I knew that was what happened. I could feel it. I felt a coldness go over me, as if a little bit of warmth had been removed from the world.

Tears came to my eyes. Mr. Yarway loved math. He enjoyed teaching, and he had a gift with numbers. He both loved and hated fractions, and the last thing he taught us, to my memory, was how to make them whole again. I don't think he realized the last thing he'd ever do for me was turn my whole heart into a fraction of one.