Mrs. Bradley was pissed off, but she can only do so much. She knows suspending me will make her look horrible.

St. Anthony’s community service means mentoring the younger kids or helping in the library or joining an after-school club. It means “reinforcing school spirit.”

“That’s not too bad,” Hanna says. But she would say that, because she actually volunteered to coach field hockey.

“I still can’t believe Ross got them all to agree,” Emily says. “Was it strange having them at your house?”

I think about how special it was, seeing all the left behind come together, hearing them speak and watching them listen. We were powerful, because we’re still here, and we always will be.

“I can’t really explain it,” I say, “but it made me feel…stronger, I guess. We understood what everyone is going through.”

“Are you going to see them again?” Hanna asks, and I imagine us forming some kind of support group, resurrecting our dead mothers and sisters and daughters once a week with tea and cookies. I don’t say it out loud, but I like that idea.

Being with other people whose sorrow matched mine, it made me feel closer to Mom. And it made me realize that talking can help if the right people are listening.

“Did you see my dad?”

I don’t tell them I was proud of him. I’d rather keep that to myself.

They both nod and smile, and Hanna says, “It was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I saw him standing up.”

She looks guilty, like it’s a joke she shouldn’t have made, so I laugh and say, “Me neither.”

“And those T-shirts,” Emily says. “Your mom would be proud.”

She looks away, the slightest blush creeping into her cheeks, but she shouldn’t feel embarrassed for saying it. I think she’s right.

“So,” Hanna says, “what are you going to do for your community service?”

I think for a minute, then say, “I’ll let Mrs. Bradley decide for me.”

I don’t have any skills or passions. All I’ve ever wanted is to catch the Magpie Man. But since Mayfield, I’ve been thinking differently. I’ve been wondering what comes next. Like Reg said, I need to move on, but to what?

It’s a thought for another day, for a moment when I’ve achieved a different set of goals. My exams, my future, they won’t mean anything if he’s still out there.

That’s what I’m thinking when I see a crowd in the courtyard, and through a gap, I spot Bernie.

She is faking a smile, the kind sad people recognize but everyone else mistakes for the real thing. When she catches my eye, she has a different kind of smile, one with meaning, and I smile back, then feel embarrassed and stare at the floor.