THE FIRST NIGHT AFTER THE news of Grimshaw’s death, nobody at home knows what to do with me or for me or about me, so to spare us all, I just go to bed. I feel like I’m lying in a coffin looking up at a closed lid. I’m not looking forward to waking up, either, but when I do, the sun is shining in my face and I have too many covers on. I remember right away about Grimshaw. There is no respite from this. I sit up and stare at my feet on the floor next to each other. I try to “get it,” to pound it into my head that she’s dead, my friend Grimshaw is now a dead body, lifeless, in a box, soon to be put in the ground forever, amen. I can’t make myself believe, though, and I don’t feel anything, either. Maybe I’m the one who’s dead. The girl I used to be had a friend named Melody. Neither girl exists anymore. That feels true enough. I take a cold shower, and then I turn it all the way hot, and then all the way cold again, but it doesn’t help. I find my mother in Zack’s room, sorting through old clothes and toys. Nobody else seems to be around. I sit down next to her, and she enfolds me in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Serena,” she says. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her eyes are still puffy from yesterday. I unwrap myself from her arms.

“My face feels odd,” I tell her.

“Odd how?” She puts her hand to my cheek. It’s not that I can’t feel her hand; it’s more like it feels as if it’s on someone else’s face.

“Numb. Rubbery.”

“It’s nearly noon,” she says. “You’re probably hungry. Let’s eat some breakfast.”