I stop in my tracks. Rhetoric matters to me, even if it doesn’t to him. “ ‘The guy’? You mean the shooter? You mean David fucking Ecchles, the psychopath who killed my brother and five of my friends and my favorite teacher? Who murdered them all for no reason?”

Zach’s face falls. Good.

I’m up in his face now, breathing hard. My hands are balled into fists. “He’s not the guy, you asshole. He doesn’t even deserve to be called a guy—it makes him sound too human.”

“Yeah…I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to play it down. Who he is. What he did. I know…” He runs a hand through his hair. “No. I don’t know. I can’t imagine. And my mom…” His face shuts down. “My mom is not someone I like to think about.”

“Good for you, that you have that privilege. I think about her. I think about her every. single. fucking. day. Every single day, and every single night as I try to sleep. I dream her face. Hers, and Jordan’s, and the face of that fucking psychopath. Sometimes they all get mixed together. Sometimes Jordan’s face isn’t his…it’s one of theirs. Those are the worst.” I swallow hard. I’m trembling. I’m saying way too much, more than I’ve said to my therapist, more than I’ve said to Lucy. Why do I suddenly have diarrhea of the mouth?

He shakes his head. “No—no—that’s not what I meant. I don’t like to think about her, but I still have to. Of course I do. She’s my mom. And she ruined my life.” He pauses, like he’s trying to decide whether to continue talking. I start backing away from him. “No, please wait. You have to know—I’m not my mom. We might share the same DNA—the same last name—but I’m not her. I don’t agree with her choices. I’m not responsible for her actions. I never asked for this.”

My heart clenches. I shake my head. “Fine. You didn’t. But neither did I.” I spin on my heel and take off down the hallway without so much as a glance back.

Chapter Fourteen

I pull into the driveway after the most disastrous day ever and find my worst nightmare waiting: my mother is home. Her car’s bumper sticks out of the newly painted garage, and my stomach drops at the sight. She hasn’t been here for dinner in weeks, and today is the day she decides to come home? Great. Please excuse me while I go puke.