He’s finally become someone I understand.

He shakes his head and weaves out of the auditorium. He’s through with us, with everything. I want to follow after him, tell him he’s not alone.

I want to ask him how we can help each other.

Grace catches my eye. She opens her mouth and closes it and then she looks away. She doesn’t look happy anymore. I feel like someone should do something. I guess it should be me. I get to my feet and the world tilts a little.

“I’ll find him.”

“Don’t,” Trace says. “Let him rot.”

Rhys stands. “I’ll go with you.”

I don’t want his company but I guess I’m stuck with it. Rhys is steadier on his feet than I am and when we leave the auditorium, I end up following him. He seems to know where Cary is: the library. He’s slumped over at one of the tables, his head resting in his arms.

“Just leave me alone,” he slurs. “Please.”

“Let us take you back to your mat,” Rhys says.

“Mat. I don’t even have a bed anymore. None of us have beds anymore. You realize this, right? We can’t go home. There are no more beds.” He raises his head and looks at us. His eyes are glassy. “We can’t go home, Sloane.”

“That’s okay with me.”

“Why? This is the alternative.”

“Okay. Enough.” Rhys stands behind Cary and pulls him to his feet. Cary pushes away from him and says, “I am not going back to the auditorium—”

“The nurse’s office, then,” Rhys says.

So we take him there. Cary needs an arm around each of us to stay upright. Taking on his weight slows us down. His legs are uncooperative, jelly, and as we pass a classroom, he detours inside and pukes in a garbage can and then he spits.

“Better,” he mumbles. After that, he is a little better. He just wants to pass out, he tells us. When we hit the nurse’s office, he flops back on the cot and Rhys unties his shoes.

“I’m a murderer,” Cary says. “I. Am. A. Murderer.”

“No, you’re drunk. Sleep it off.”

I don’t want Cary to stop talking. I want him to finish what he was going to say in the auditorium. I want to hear someone else say they’ve given up. I need to hear it.

“It should’ve been you, right?”

Rhys gives me a look. “Sloane.”

“What? No…” Cary blinks. “No. It should’ve been—Harrison.”

“That kid just can’t get a break,” Rhys says.

“We didn’t even know him—” Cary sits up with difficulty. “Rhys, remember we found him and we didn’t know him and it turns out he went to this fucking school? Just by looking at him, you could tell he’s nothing. Everyone else—everyone else, we knew—” He leans forward and puts his head between his knees. “It should have been Harrison.”

“You’d feel just as bad as you do now if it had been.”

“No one would have held it against me if it had been Harrison.”