Zach comes to where I’m bent over, hands on knees. He puts his hand on my heaving back, but it feels way, way too heavy. It feels like the weight of everything I’ve done in the past year, everyone I’ve harmed, so I shrug it off. A hurt look crosses his face, but I’m too far gone to care.

Chapter Forty-seven

May won’t answer my calls. Since our visit to the jail, things have been tense. I waited in my car for what felt like hours before finally heading inside to find her. I had a feeling something terrible had happened.

When I got in there, they had her propped up like a scarecrow on a bench in the waiting area. She was really out of it. It was scary. A guard from the jail and I had to help her into the car because she couldn’t walk. The whole way home, I kept trying to get her to talk to me about what happened, but she barely spoke.

When I dropped her off at her home, she got out of the car without a word and went inside.

At first, I figured she just needed time to process everything, but it’s been three days of silence now. She wasn’t in drama yesterday; I don’t think she’s been at school. Today’s the anniversary of the shooting, and there are a bunch of events and a big assembly that she’s supposed to speak at along with some other kids from her old school.

I look for her all morning, and after fourth period I find myself walking down the hallway where all the Carter kids have their lockers. It’s eerily hushed, which makes sense, considering. There’s a table set up with a serious-looking woman sitting behind it and pamphlets strewn across the top. As I pass by, I see they’re all about grief. A couple people huddled in a corner, a guy and a girl. She’s crying, and he’s trying to comfort her. His arm is around her shoulders, and she’s leaning into him.

I grimace. That’s what I should be doing for May right now. What I should have done the other night. Not even as a person who’s sort of dating her. Just as a friend. I should never have let her get out of my car without making sure that she was okay. That, at the very least, her parents were home. That she wasn’t alone.

I catch sight of Lucy’s head of brown curls on the opposite end of the hallway, moving away from me, and I run to catch up. She’s chatting with a girl I recognize from Conor’s show, the one May introduced me to at the bar.

“Lucy!” I’m out of breath. “Wait up.”