an elective, May, and all the rest are filled. Don’t you want to graduate in June with your class? I nodded, because I can’t afford any trouble, but really I was thinking, I DON’T GIVE A SHIT—because I don’t. What the hell am I going to do after graduation, anyway? All my college plans died the day Jordan did.
Whatever. I can just avoid him—the fault line. Like I said, I’m good at that. It’s the only way I get through the days. Avoid my parents, avoid Miles, avoid people from my past, avoid avoid avoid. And now, avoid Zach.
It’s relatively easy to do—today I slip into class late and bolt as soon as the bell rings. For a second, just before I leave, I make the mistake of looking at him, and he has this expression on his face that punches me square in the stomach. I almost say something to him, but I catch myself.
What would I even say? We have nothing to talk about.
I’m heading into the cafeteria when someone taps me on the back. I’m sick of people thinking my body is public property—that anyone can reach out and touch me. I would bet my life if I were a boy, no one would try that.
Before I can even react, a squeaky voice assaults my ears. “May! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
I turn around slowly. I know that voice. I know who I’ll find behind me—one of the very people I’ve been trying to avoid for a year. She’s a persistent little weasel, I’ll give her that much.
“Anne Kim.” I put on my best bitch face, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Hello.”
She throws her arms around me. “How are you? How are you holding up? Being back? The anniversary coming up? We’ve been thinking about you…about Jordan….I’m sure you’ve heard about the memorial service I’m helping Principal Rose-Brady put together. We’re going to have an assembly, talk about Madison, Jordan, all of them. Tell stories. Make sure we don’t forget them.”
I squirm out of her grasp and take a step away from her. “That’s nice.” I scan the room behind her, trying to locate Lucy.
Anne won’t shut up. She never does. “We all miss Jordan so much. Him, my sister, the rest of them. During group last week, Adam—Neilson, obviously—told this story about his cousin Marcus and Jordan that was so touching.”
I snort. I bet he did. Before the shooting, Adam was legit the biggest partier in school. He was the one who had the party the weekend before everything happened, the one where I allegedly talked to David. He was a legend with the guys in our grade for his ability to do a keg stand for, like, two minutes in a row. And now he’s all woe-is-me, telling stories about his cousin and my brother like he used to care about them. Like he hadn’t teased them mercilessly in middle school.
Anne ignores my snort and continues, “We were all so moved by it. I cried. It would have been wonderful to have you there, to add your stories. Your brother was amazing; I’m so happy I got to know him a little before—”
“Yep.” I cut her off. “Yep. He was. Thanks.” I glance over her shoulder toward freedom and then back to Anne. “I gotta go.”
I’m about to walk away, but she catches my elbow. Goddammit, I want to punch this girl. I do a few of my therapist-advised breaths, but nope—the desire is still there inside me: I want to punch her in the face.
I struggle against her grip, and she tightens her hand on my arm in response. “May, please don’t run away. We need to talk. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I wanted to ask if you would consider being a part of the assembly. Having your voice there, hearing your stories, what you went through, it would be huge. It would really help people heal.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Jesus, Anne. I thought I made myself clear this past summer, last fall, and every other fucking time you and your merry band of survivors tried