breakdown/freaking out and getting kicked out of school all over again. I offer a silent apology to the universe for almost slapping her earlier.
I shrug. There’s nothing much I can say back, because it probably does look like I’m chilling by the trash cans, of all places.
She shakes her head, a worried look in her eyes. “May. It’s going to be okay. I promise. C’mon.” She motions for me to follow her as she walks off into the depths of hell (aka the cafeteria). I sigh and follow her, because my other option is to scream and run out of school and keep running and never stop. And while that’s tempting, I’m pretty sure security would catch me before I got anywhere close to off campus—and oh, also, my parents would commit me or force me in to see McMillen. Which would be super not-fun (understatement of the century). If I do anything too fucked-up right off the bat, I’ll be back to how it was right after everything happened—going to her once or twice a week, sitting there silent, wasting my time and hers.
Chim leads me to a table filled with people I recognize from Carter, most of whom I have no desire to see—now or ever again. A girl with bright red hair waves at me from down at the end: Juliet Nichols’s best friend, Hannah. One of those people who would come up to me during the few weeks we were back in school before I got kicked out, all May, I’m having a rough day. I miss Jules so much. How are you doing? Do you want to come do yoga with me after school? And I’d want to scream in her face, scream and maybe never stop screaming, but instead I’d somehow force the word no out from between my lips. (Who knew that two letters could take a thousand years off your life?)
This isn’t our normal lunch crowd. In the past, it was always just me and Chim and Lucy and sometimes Jordan and Brian and his other best friend, Marcus, and then Miles and some of his soccer guys after we started dating. Sometimes a rando girl or guy—Lucy’s flavor of the week—but that was it. Hannah should be eating with Juliet at their table filled with other kids who played in the wind section of the band. Not with us. Not with me. Not without Juliet.
Not instead of Jordan.
I can’t do this. I start to turn and head back toward the cafeteria doors, but a hand grabs my arm. That hand belongs to—thanks be to Baby Jesus—Lucy. I start to let out a whimper of relief but manage to stop it before it leaves my mouth.
I’m pathetic enough as it is.
I slide into a seat next to Lucy and lay my head on her shoulder. I mumble into her shirt, “I saw Brian and he tried to talk to me, and I just couldn’t, and I ran away.” I let out a choked sob, and Lucy puts her hand on my arm.
“Oh, honey. Brian…You still haven’t talked to him?”
I shake my head without lifting it off her shoulder. She knows how many times he called me over the first few months after the shooting, trying to talk about Jordan, to remember him, but I sent him to voice mail every time.
She strokes my hair. “I’m sorry, May. I promise. It’s gonna be fine. Half the day down, only…”
“A trillion to go?”
She laughs. “Always so dramatic. More like a hundred twenty-five and a half days.”
“Your ability to do math like that in your head is just wrong.”
“It’s easy.”
I snort. “For you, maybe.”
“So, tonight—wanna hit the house?” Lucy’s smart. Talking about our extracurricular activity is a surefire way to make me feel better.
I nod, my face still pressed into her shoulder. No need to mention I was just there last night.
“But before that…” She pauses for a beat and I look up at her. She smiles. “Well…like I mentioned earlier, I’m actually going to audition for a new band.”