I can barely concentrate on anything other than the deafening thrum of my heartbeat in my ears.

As I’m about to reach my locker, I’m jostled from behind. I whip around, heart still pounding, even faster now, and why don’t people get that they should STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, and now I’m face to face with Lee Brothers, the guy who was the president of the vocal ensemble at our old school.

He reaches out to steady me. “Whoa, May. You okay? I guess you’re back.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose and gives me a strained smile. “I heard from Miles that you were.” He looks everywhere but at my eyes—down the hallway, at the posters on the wall beside us. We used to be friends. Used to go to the same parties. Now he can’t even look at me.

“Yup.” I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, try to get a fucking hold on myself, try to take those deep breaths that McMillen always goes on and on about—try to stop the fucking hammering of my heart—but nothing works, so instead I plaster a giant obnoxious smile on my face. Swallow the dread into my belly. Pretend to be okay. “I’m baaaaack. Lucky me, huh?” My voice sounds like nails scraping down a blackboard, high and piercing and raw.

“Yes.” He gives me a weak smile. I can tell he’s not sure I’m serious; he’s doing this bemused mouth-twitchy thing he used to do in meetings when he was nervous. That’s right: I attended those meetings, because I was the secretary. I thought maybe it would impress my parents, the fact that not only was I singing, I also held an office position in the ensemble. But of course, they barely noticed.

“Well….errr…it was good to run into you.” He’s about to walk away but then pauses and touches my arm, his voice oozing with sincerity. “By the way, I hope you saw the memorial? We worked hard with the student governments and administrations of all the local high schools to put them up….”

I go cold. This conversation was going so well too. “Yes.” My voice is flat as a pancake. “I saw it.”