“So? What’re we doing back here?” Zach sounds confused, probably wondering why he followed a crazy person into a dark corner. I don’t know what to tell him. That walls are safer than empty space? That this is my first time in public in almost a year, outside of school and the band practice? That when I look at him, I want things I don’t think I’m allowed to want anymore?

“We used to go to all of Lucy’s shows.” I pause. Take a breath. Try to decide whether I want to continue. And then I do. “Me and Jordan. He always liked going. He was all about supporting Lucy. And he loved music.”

The moment I say my brother’s name, I want to grab it out of the air and shove it back into my mouth. I never talk about Jordan. I haven’t said his name in months. After the shooting, the media vultures took everything they could from us—our stories, Jordan’s history, his school photos—but they couldn’t take some things. They couldn’t take my memories. My memory of our birthday in the fourth grade and the walkie-talkies we got—I made him keep his under his pillow in case I woke up in the middle of the night, scared. Of the summer we managed to get backstage to see Jack White, Jordan’s favorite guitarist, and got a photo with him. Of the expression Jordan would get on his face when he would play his guitar, eyes closed, at peace.

They still call sometimes, the reporters, to ask for our comments on other school shootings, like we’re some kind of experts now.

My fingers start to throb, and I realize that the strap of my purse has twisted around them so tightly that they’re turning white. I release it with a shake and all the blood rushes back in so fast it hurts.

“Your brother went to Lucy’s shows?” Zach’s voice is so soft I have to lean toward him to hear. He’s talking like he’s trying to calm a scared, angry animal.

I nod. “Yeah. I don’t know why I said that. Irrelevant, right?” I bark a laugh, pretend this topic doesn’t shake me to my core. Pretend I couldn’t care less. “Whatever. Want to go get a drink?”

Zach hesitates like he wants to say something else, but apparently he isn’t as dumb as most people, because instead he just nods in agreement.

Once we move into the main area, I actually pay attention to the band onstage for the first time. Thankfully, it’s not Lucy’s new band, because they are really, truly terrible.

“Who the fuck is this?” I yell back at Zach.

“No clue.” His lips brush my ear. They’re warm. Soft. “They suck.”

I allow him a tiny smile. My first tonight.