by Mary Miller

Mr. Fuller was the new choir teacher. He had a round face and a love of boys. Before we sang, he had us lie on our backs and breathe in the icy waters. Feel the waves lick your neck, he'd say, the sting of peppermint in the back of your throat. Your boat's collapsed and you didn't think you'd need a life preserver. Feel the pressure build. It builds and builds, like when you love someone so much your heart could burst, your heart could fucking burst under the weight of it.

After he drowned us, he'd make us form a train and rub each other's shoulders. This went on for months and nobody saying anything.

Mr. Fuller invited the more troubled boys over to