I slide out of my chair and walk to the supply closet with Owen. Once we get there, I take a seat on the ground and hug my knees to my chest.

“These things are awful,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?”

I don’t say anything.

“Please don’t worry. Mrs. Darling said it’s only a drill,” Owen says.

“Did you know that as humans domesticated and bred cows for slaughter that they evolved to have smaller brains?”

“Cora,” Owen says. I know he wants me to stop talking. We’re supposed to be silent during drills. Everyone is still staring at me.

“They developed smaller brains because it was better for them not to understand. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Cora,” he says again. “Come on. It’s only a drill, okay?”

Hot tears prick at my eyes. “But it’s not always a drill. Sometimes it’s real.”

Fourteen

Quinn

Dear Parker,

Do you remember that summer at Gammie and Papa’s house? You were so patient with me. I was scared of the roar of the waves and I would run whenever the water rushed up on the sand and tickled my toes. But you held my hand and stayed with me. You showed me how not to be scared of the water. You taught me to be brave.

I’m trying to find my way back to the Parker from that summer.

I’m trying to be brave like that again.

Your sister,

Quinn

I don’t like opening the door to Parker’s room. It’s like somehow turning the knob lets out a ghost. But I also can’t stay away.

Parker’s room is mostly the same. His bed and shelf with dusty Little League trophies. The walls are painted a boring beige color. When he was little, his room was a bright orange. I don’t remember when it changed color.

His computer is missing because the police took it. I don’t know if they ever gave it back, but Mom didn’t bother to set it up again. She also took down his corkboard. Both Parker and I have always had a corkboard. I don’t know what was on his when he died. I don’t think I want to know.

I flop on the top of his bed and stare up at the smooth white ceiling of his room. Cupcake joins me, sitting right on my chest and purring so loud that I can hardly hear myself think. But that’s okay. I don’t really want to think when I’m in my brother’s room.

Because I know it’s in this room that he decided to become the type of person who did the horrible thing that he did. It’s in this room that he decided to become full of hate. I glance all around, looking for clues to what led him to it, but I don’t find any.

There’s a knock on the door, and I startle. I expect to see Mom’s face, but it’s Dad who is standing in the doorway.