I take out one of my Berol coloring pens—the black one—and draw a little anchor on my own inner wrist right now, but no matter how many times I look at it, I don’t feel in the least bit safe and grounded. I feel dangerously loose and adrift. Cut off from everyone around me.

Melissa Davenport is staring at me from the other side of the classroom. “Miss?” she calls out. “I think Lizzie’s trying to slit her wrists.”

Someone, somewhere, whispers the words “guilty conscience.”

Mrs. Peacock stands up and peers across the classroom. “Don’t be silly, Melissa. Lizzie, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Miss. Just doodling.”

“She’s giving herself a tattoo,” says a voice from behind me. Bethany Charles. One of Melissa’s inner circle.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mrs. Peacock says. “Time to put your things away, girls. And remember to give those letters to your parents when you get home.” The bell goes a second later.

As I’m walking out of the classroom, Mrs. Peacock taps me softly on the shoulder. “Lizzie, can we have a quick word?”

I hope she’s not going to ask to look at my wrist, because it’ll be embarrassing—I’m not very good at drawing and my anchor looks more like a wonky arrow—but she doesn’t. She gestures for me to sit on the spare chair at her desk and then she sits down in her own chair, adjusting it slightly so that we’re facing each other. I can see her knees sticking out from under her skirt.

“How’s it going?” she says, and I don’t know whether it’s the question itself or the kind, gentle way she says it, but my eyes start burning with unshed tears and I know I’m not going to be able to stop them coming out without wiping my eyes with my fingers, and then she’ll know I’m crying. But if I don’t, she’ll know anyway. And now she does. Because here they come. Big, fat, treacherous tears rolling down my cheeks.

“If things get too much for you, Lizzie, you know you can always come and talk to me.”

I nod, unable to look at her face for fear I’ll break down completely.

“It can’t be easy for you….” She points to the letter about the remembrance service and the memory tree. “Mrs. French said you didn’t go to your counseling session yesterday.”

“I already see a counselor.”

“I know you do. But I think it’s important you have someone here at school you can discuss things with, too. She’s been helping some of the other girls work through their feelings about Alice. If it’s not working out with Mrs. French, you’ll come and tell me, yes? We can look at other options.”