I snort. “Oh, okay. You think you would have handled it better? So easy for you to say. You were on the other side of the school during the shooting. You can talk alllllll about how hard it was to go through it, but you didn’t really, did you? None of you fucking did—not you, not Chim, not Miles….not even Anne, who everyone thinks is such a survivor. You want to talk about surviving? Nine people walked into the band room that afternoon, and guess how many were still breathing when they left?” I’m shaking. Tears fall hard and fast down my face and I don’t care. “Two. Me. And this asshole.” I hold up a handful of the letters, throw the pages at her. I want to rip them apart, rip everything apart, tear it all away until there’s nothing left but raw, bloody pulp.

Lucy tries to put her hand on my shoulder, starts to say something. I know she’s trying to get me to calm down, but I am sick and tired of being told to be calm.

“No.” I shove her hand away. “Do not touch me. I asked you to come over because I needed your help, because I need to figure out how to handle this, but all I get is judged. It’s bullshit. Don’t you care about how it might make me feel?”

Lucy takes a deep breath and lets it out. She closes her eyes for a second, like she’s dealing with an irrational child. I’m about to open my mouth again to keep ranting, but she speaks first.

Her voice is deep and low. “Are you serious? You have got to be kidding, asking whether I care about how you feel. All I’ve done for the last year is care about how you feel. What about me, May? Jordan was like a brother to me. I loved him.” Tears fall from her eyes. I’ve never seen Lucy cry. “I loved him, and you never acknowledge that. Even when he was alive, you didn’t acknowledge it; during freshman year, you started acting like I was a traitor when I’d want to hang out with him. Like I wasn’t allowed to be close with both of you, like I had to choose.