It’s also messed up that when white boys like Parker commit a violent crime, everyone tries to figure out why they did it. Me included. But when a Black or brown kid does something like that, no one asks more questions. It’s like they expected it of them or something. That makes me really mad.

Thinking about this makes me miss Mabel more. Mabel was the only other person who got it. Who was like me. Not Muslim enough, too Muslim. Not Arab enough, too Arab. We existed in our own in-between world. And now I’m left alone in it.

My face is growing hot and I can feel my throat closing up, so I force it open by talking. “The news said that Parker was active on all these forums full of people who hated women and immigrants and Muslims. And so I guess I’m wondering if he picked Mabel on purpose or if you think it was random.”

When I’m done talking, I bring my knees to my chest. I’ve had that question for so long, but actually asking it out loud has given me serious chills.

“I don’t know,” Quinn says quietly.

I narrow my eyes. “How can you not know? He was your brother.”

She hangs her head. “But I don’t know, Core. By the end, I didn’t feel like I knew him anymore at all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You should know.”

Leaning to her side, she drags a finger through the dirt. “I know it doesn’t.”

My face is still warm. “It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“It doesn’t make any sense to anyone. Especially my family.”

I know I should drop it, but I can’t. “It should’ve made sense.”

Mabel’s death shouldn’t have been random. It has to have meant something. It’s so much worse for some reason if I think of it as being random.

Quinn’s shoulders slouch and she chews on her bottom lip.

I jump up to my feet. “You want to know what I think? I think you should’ve stopped him.”

Quinn stays seated in the ground. She doesn’t say a thing. She keeps dragging her fingers through the dirt.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I can’t defend him, Core. I’m not going to defend him. I know I should’ve—” Her voice breaks. It’s the first time I’ve seen Quinn cry. She blocks her eyes with her hands, trying to hide the tears from me, but I know they’re there.

“I know,” I say.

She removes her hands from her face. Her eyes are dry. I don’t know how she manages to stop her tears so quickly. I can’t do that.

“No. You don’t. You don’t know. And that’s okay because you shouldn’t know. But that’s why I’m here.” Quinn stands up. “To fix this. Because I know I should’ve done something before it happened—I just didn’t know what. But now I’m here. And we’re going to fix this, right?”

Part of me wants to say something mean. To make her hurt the way I’m hurting. I ball my fists at my sides. She should’ve done something earlier. I don’t know what she could have done, but someone should’ve done something.