No one knew how afraid I was. How angry and hurt Leah was. No one offered us help when we had to leave Granddad’s home. No one offered us help when we had no place to stay. No offered us help when we needed it.

I don’t want to extend that same cruelty to others.

We should know better.

We don’t have the moral standing to judge anyone.

I bow my head. I keep my gaze firmly on my feet and the little bit of floor in front of me, and I walk away from here. No longer to Casey, because Casey will need to help Saoirse.

Emerson needs me.

With so few of us left, we need each other. We all need each other. I’ll find Isaiah when things quiet down and ask him if the internet still works. Maybe he can figure out what we need to do with Emerson’s concussion or their broken wrist. Maybe there are things we should be mindful of.

Maybe I can’t fix everything, but I want to find a way to fix something.

Twenty

Grace

After Saoirse is settled in the infirmary and we’ve found a place to keep an eye on Josie, everyone gathers in the cafeteria to discuss our options. It’s full-on raining outside, the rain tapping rhythmically against the window and the wind rattling the roof as a constant backdrop to the conversations going on around me.

There are so few of us left. Casey. Sofia. Logan. Khalil. Nia. Riley. Isaiah. Mackenzi. Me. And Emerson, but they’re in their own room, sleeping off their concussion. Logan and Nia are taking turns walking over there and waking them up.

Leah and Isabella and Jeremy and Xavier. All of them in various stages of consciousness and unconsciousness.

We count sixteen if we add Josie and Saoirse—sixteen out of thirty-one—though goodness knows how long Saoirse will last. Or if we should add Josie.

I don’t want either of them here. It’s not right. But—

I hate how much I understand where she’s coming from. It would be so much easier to act in anger and not consider the consequences of my rash actions. It would be so much easier too to let the collective frustration of the group deal with Josie.

“What do you want to do with Josie?” Nia asks me. She sits near the doorway, clutching her sketchbook. Her fingers are wrapped so tight around her pencil, I can see the outline of her bones underneath her skin. She’s dragged a blanket to the room and has wrapped it around her shoulders.

“We need some kind of justice,” Riley says. It’s not the first time she said it. It probably won’t be the last time. She has a cut over her eyebrow and a steely look in her eyes.

“What would that even look like?” Casey asks. He’s leaning against the corner in the far side of the room. Everyone else keeps their distance from him, like they do from Sofia and me now. Effectively, we all keep our distance from each other.