His eyes drop again, roving, reading my injuries as if they were a map.

That’s when the chorus begins—a haunting refrain of shrieks and screams.

Oh no. I’m too late.

Shy hurries past me and pushes through the crowd gathering at the entrance of Emerson. I follow after him. I want to reach for him and keep him inside, prevent him from seeing what’s happened.

Shy steps outside and twists. His whole body goes rigid, and his eyes widen but in a hard way, like ice. His jaw and throat work as if he’s swallowing a scream. I’m not sure how long he stands there, but the sound of a camera snapping draws his attention. I’ve never seen someone move so fast—he snatches the phone from a student nearby and slams it into the concrete.

“What the hell, man?” the kid demands.

Shy’s response is to lift his fist.

“Shy, no!”

I reach for his hand, and he stops but doesn’t relax, and his piercing eyes survey the crowd. He says, “This doesn’t belong on your fucking phones. It doesn’t belong on fucking Roundtable.”

His voice sounds different, stripped. When he looks at me, it’s at my hand wrapped around his arm. I release him and step away, hyperaware that behind me is a gruesome scene. The knowledge is solid, like a wall closing in. I’m losing my ability to breathe. My chest feels tight. I have to look. I can’t go back inside without seeing her.

Shy convinces me to turn—not with anything he says but with the look he gives. It’s the look of someone whose heart has broken.

But if he has to face this, I do too.

I start to turn, but he reaches for me and pulls me to him, holding my head against his chest. His lips move toward my ear, and he whispers, “Please, Anora. Don’t look.”

Guilt slams through me, piercing every part of me—head and heart and stomach and feet. I’m tethered by it, held to the earth by its weight.

This can’t be happening.

As I stand there in Shy’s arms, my body grows cold and numb. This is my fault. My coin. Whatever happened to it caused this. Lily died because of me.

Within minutes, the crowd is made to disperse, and everyone’s directed into the auditorium and offered counseling until their parents can pick them up. I’m called to the administration office and made to wait until my mom shows up. When she arrives, she sits beside me in the hard, wooden chairs.