“Whatever. That’s what they want us to say—they want us to recite a bunch of trite memories about the people who died so we can all move on with our lives, right? We can pretend we did our part, remembered the people who died, because we all recited these memories and all agreed to pretend the same thing: Oh, wow we were all so great to each other, before; everything was so fucking great. But that’s bullshit. I’m here to tell you all the truth about how things were before.” My voice catches, but I plow through it. “I was a terrible sister. A terrible, awful, shit sister.” My voice trembles on the last word. I want to puke all over the microphone. I look up. I expected a gasp at this last part, but people mostly look confused. Some even look bored, like they’re wondering when they can get out of here and get on with their lives. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anne and her cohorts nudging one another, like What the fuck is that crazy girl doing now? Rose-Brady, who was deep in conversation with her co-principal when I began to talk, is now paying full attention to what I’m saying. I don’t have much time left.

I hurry to continue. “That last year, all we did was fight. I abandoned him over and over again, and one last time that day. The day of the shooting, I stayed in that fucking closet and listened while he died. While they all died. I stayed in there because I was a coward.” My voice cracks. “No, I am a coward. And I deserved to die more than any of them.”

Rose-Brady’s next to me now—May, stop. May. Give me that microphone. May, don’t do this. She can’t do anything, though—she can’t put her hands on me—not if she wants to keep her job. So I continue.

“I told David Ecchles stuff about my brother that I never should have said out loud—to anyone. I told him that I hated Jordan. That I HATED him. And then David murdered all those people because of me. Do you see what I’m trying to say? That’s why I’m still alive. This is all my fault.”

I pause, trying to catch my breath. It’s coming out in gasps. Tears are falling fast down my face, cutting jagged lines on my cheeks. Through them, I catch a glimpse of Lucy, halfway out of her chair, the teacher next to her tugging her back; I see Zach already on his feet next to them.

Rose-Brady has disappeared from my side. The pages of my notebook are damp under my sweaty hands, my head is pounding, but I force myself to stay here. They all need to know that I am a monster. That I deserve to be punished.