On the way home from her audition the other night, Lucy told me that she talked to Zach’s friend Conor, the lead singer, and he said she was a shoo-in for drummer. I was unsurprised, of course. They would have been idiots not to pick her, since (a) (the dumb guy reason) she’s totally hot, and even though she doesn’t normally swing his way, it’s not like he knows that yet, and (b) (the actual, real reason) she’s legit the most badass drummer since John Bonham died (swear to god). I’m excited for her, even if I can’t manage to show it properly. Also—and this isn’t like an actual thing I’ve been thinking about, because I have no interest in boys or dating right now or ever again—that kid Zach seemed pretty cool. And he was even cuter close up. The other night, sitting there with him after I almost freaked out for the dumbest reason ever…I almost felt safe.

I haven’t felt safe in so long.

We have drama today, so instead of letting my head sink farther into the wood of the table, I pull myself up and out the front door.

—

I get to school and it’s the same shit as the past few days, except seeing the photo of Jordan’s face hanging at the entrance isn’t as shocking. The memory of it is already there in my brain, a negative of a photo, just out of reach, taunting me. I force myself past the seven photos, the faces smiling down: reminders that we’re still here and they aren’t.

That I’m still here and he isn’t.

As I make my way down the hall, my heart is beating a thousand times a minute. For a brief moment, I consider calling Dr. McMillen’s office to see if she can squeeze me in after school, but I remind myself how pointless those appointments are and how they’re obviously not helping, and how Rose-Brady is forcing me to go, like I’m a child. Resentment boils in my belly. No one thinks I can handle anything on my own. I swallow hard. They’re wrong. I clench my fists and keep walking toward my locker, head down, pulling my phone from my bag.

Lucy’s been texting me all morning; she’s officially in the band. Her first show is coming up next Friday, which is, I guess, why they were so desperate for a drummer. She’s like May, I know it’s going to be hard, but if you don’t come I will kick your ass. The girl certainly talks a lot of shit, considering she’s gone all Mother Teresa on me over the past few days. I text her back as I walk, tell her I’ll consider it.

Maybe.

Probably not.

I don’t know.