“I’ve tried to protect you since Mom left,” I say, my voice rough with unshed tears, tears that may never have the chance to escape. “Out of guilt, out of love. But now I understand that my approach was wrong. You never needed protecting. All you need is someone to believe.”

With my final words, I swing the gun around. And then I shoot my brother directly in the leg.

Chapter 57

Chapter 57

With an anguished cry, Archie crumples to the ground. My heart pangs, but I can’t look at him. I can’t mourn my actions. Not yet. My work here isn’t done.

Without another glance, I take off toward the gym inside our school’s main building. Toward the ever-increasing thumping of the bass. Toward Silver Oak’s prom.

I make a brief stop at Cristela’s car. There, in the trunk, I toss the gun under a pile of old blankets. Buried in the woods, drowned in a river…one way or the other, I’ll get rid of the evidence later.

I run through the parking lot and across the front lawn. The moon has crept up the sky, bathing the high school in an eerie glow. In another time, another place, I might’ve stopped to soak in the atmosphere, take a few photos. Now I just dash through the double doors and past the fake backdrop of the setting sun.

When I run up the stairs, however, scenes of my past life flash by like a memory reel. Here, a skateboarder flew down the hall, shoving me into Bandit’s arms. A few feet later, I stashed a baggie of weed in Lalana’s locker. Farther still, I slouched in a plastic chair in the nurse’s office, waiting for the lockdown to lift.

Finally, finally, I arrive at the gym. It’s been transformed into a landscape straight from Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Yellow disco balls, swirling white lights, blue tinsel that gleams like a nebula.

But I barely register the decor. All I notice are the students. My peers. Archie’s classmates. The ones who made fun of him, who thought nothing of joining and perpetuating the mocking laughter. The very same people who can save him.

“Help!” I scream, dragging out the word, stuffing it full of power. A few heads turn toward me and then a few more. “My brother. He’s hurt! Help me, please!”

Three, four, five people start moving in my direction. That’s all I need. Mob mentality will take care of the rest. I run back the way I came, peeking over my shoulder every few yards. Sure enough, there’s a stampede behind me, a veritable herd of most of the junior and senior classes.