“He has as much right to them as you do,” Grace says before Cary can protest. Her voice is soft but her eyes meet his and they’re steel, daring him to disagree. Cary sighs and takes the keys out of his pocket. Throws them at Trace.

“If you happen to see anything useful lying around, feel free to bring it—”

“Get one of your two bitch boys to scavenge for you, Chen.” Trace points at Rhys and Harrison. “Because I’m not.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rhys says.

Trace flips everyone off and leaves. Cary sits there, cracking his knuckles. I can tell he wants to bitch about what an utter asshole Trace is and how much he’d like to punch him, break his teeth, whatever, but Grace’s presence keeps him from doing it. He glances at her a few times.

“You know, just because we’ve had one good night doesn’t mean it’s time to dick around. I saw a pair of bolt cutters in the custodian’s office. We should do a locker raid.”

“Sure,” Rhys says.

They get to their feet. Harrison gives them a five-second head start before running after them and then Cary turns back to me and Grace.

“Coming?”

I want to, but Grace shudders and shakes her head.

“That’s like grave-robbing.”

“Sloane?”

Grace looks at me. I get the feeling she wants me to stay.

“I’ll pass,” I say.

And then it’s just Grace and me and it’s quiet. She doesn’t talk at all and after about ten minutes I’m annoyed I stayed. I guess she doesn’t have to speak to me. It’s probably not high on her list of priorities. She’s got Trace.

“Sloane?”

“Yeah?” I cringe at how eager I sound.

“Will you come to my locker with me? I left my purse in there before everything happened and I want it but I…” she laughs, self-conscious. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Sure.”

Grace’s locker is on the first floor, close to the administration office. We walk there wordlessly. Cary’s, Rhys’s, and Harrison’s voices drift back to us from somewhere nearby, but it’s hard to tell what they’re saying. It sounds effortless though. I hang back at her locker when we get there, unsure of what to do while she thumbs at her combination, straining to see in the poor light. After it’s unlocked, she stands in front of the door like she’s afraid of it. It’s a while before she opens it and when she does, I glimpse cutouts of actors and musicians taped to the door and I wonder what they’re doing now, if they’re dead. I wonder if they’ve saved all the celebrities. When this is over, society will need entertainment to get past it. We’ll make movies about it, hundreds of movies, and in every one of them, we’ll be the heroes and the love interests and best friends and winners and we’ll watch these movies until we are so far removed from our own history, we’ll forget how it really felt to be here.