I snort. I bet he did. Before the shooting, Adam was legit the biggest partier in school. He was the one who had the party the weekend before everything happened, the one where I allegedly talked to David. He was a legend with the guys in our grade for his ability to do a keg stand for, like, two minutes in a row. And now he’s all woe-is-me, telling stories about his cousin and my brother like he used to care about them. Like he hadn’t teased them mercilessly in middle school.

Anne ignores my snort and continues, “We were all so moved by it. I cried. It would have been wonderful to have you there, to add your stories. Your brother was amazing; I’m so happy I got to know him a little before—”

“Yep.” I cut her off. “Yep. He was. Thanks.” I glance over her shoulder toward freedom and then back to Anne. “I gotta go.”

I’m about to walk away, but she catches my elbow. Goddammit, I want to punch this girl. I do a few of my therapist-advised breaths, but nope—the desire is still there inside me: I want to punch her in the face.

I struggle against her grip, and she tightens her hand on my arm in response. “May, please don’t run away. We need to talk. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I wanted to ask if you would consider being a part of the assembly. Having your voice there, hearing your stories, what you went through, it would be huge. It would really help people heal.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Jesus, Anne. I thought I made myself clear this past summer, last fall, and every other fucking time you and your merry band of survivors tried to recruit me into your sorrow cult. I want nothing to do with any of you. Can you please get that through your thick head?”

Anne’s face falls. Her lips tighten into a barely-there white line. She’s so good at playing the victim. “Fine, May. You don’t have to be rude. I should have known better. After you got kicked out of school, I thought, Okay, that’s unfortunate, but I can understand her anger—she’s suffering like the rest of us. And when I heard you were back, I was excited, but then everyone said you were still so…mean. And so, so angry.” She shakes her head. “I thought our group might help you. We’re all going through the same thing, one way or another. We all lost people that day. But most of us aren’t going around being rude to people who are simply trying to offer a helping hand.”

I curl my lip at her. “Do you ever listen to yourself speak? You sound like a seventy-year-old grandmother. What the hell is wrong with you?”