how you feel. All I’ve done for the last year is care about how you feel. What about me, May? Jordan was like a brother to me. I loved him.” Tears fall from her eyes. I’ve never seen Lucy cry. “I loved him, and you never acknowledge that. Even when he was alive, you didn’t acknowledge it; during freshman year, you started acting like I was a traitor when I’d want to hang out with him. Like I wasn’t allowed to be close with both of you, like I had to choose.
“It’s like you think you’re the only one who lost something—someone—that day, whose life was changed forever. Like no one else was in that building. Like no one else thought they might die. That entire time, we had no idea what was happening—the fire alarm kept blaring and everyone was huddled under desks, crying and watching the news on our phones, and I kept texting you and Jordan and getting no response. Don’t you get that what happened broke my heart?” Her mouth sets in a thin, hard line. “It’s not fair, May. You don’t allow anyone else the tiniest amount of room to grieve…and if we try to, you judge us for how we’re doing it.”
“No—” I open my mouth to defend myself, to tell her how wrong she is, but she ignores me and keeps talking.
“I even committed crimes for you, to try to help you feel better. You think I can afford to get caught vandalizing shit? It would fuck up my college chances forever. You know my dad isn’t some fancy producer. We don’t have a huge house like you do; my family can’t afford to send me to college wherever I want to go. These days my dad can barely hold on to a job, not that you would know anything about that, since you haven’t asked me about myself in months. But I didn’t let any of that stop me. I was trying to be a good friend. I didn’t even complain when you flaked on my birthday party last summer. I knew it was hard for you to get out of the house, to be around people….” She pushes herself off my bed and stands up, arms crossed.
“I miss you, May. I’ve missed you for a year—missed you singing, missed you laughing, missed hearing your trumpet. Sometimes it feels like that fucking monster took both of my best friends that day.” She shakes her head. “Can you please admit that this is out of control? You have to tell your parents about these letters. You have to stop letting this guy mess with your head—stop letting him have power over you. Can’t you see that?”
I’m shaking with anger. I cannot believe the one person in this world I thought I could still trust would say this shit to me—would judge me like this. I’m frozen on my bed, still as a statue, and when she tries to touch me, I fling her hand off my arm with such violence that she jerks back in surprise.
She closes her eyes for a beat, and when she opens them again she looks so, so sad. “I’m going to leave. Please, though, tell someone about these. An adult. Your parents. These letters…This is so fucked-up. You have to do something. This guy is obsessed with you. Look at all these letters. He’s not going to stop until you do something—until you tell someone who can help. This is sick. Don’t you see that, May? Don’t you?” She looks at me imploringly, and when I don’t respond, she sighs. She gathers her coat and purse, and all the while I stare at my feet, refusing to look up until the bedroom door shuts behind her.
When my phone rings midday Saturday and I see that it’s May, I sit up in bed and check myself in the mirror before I answer, like she can see me.
“Take it down a notch, Teller,” I mutter. I flop back down on my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows. I’ve been sprawled here since Conor dropped me off an hour ago. He dragged me to the mall earlier because he wanted to buy a new shirt. I think he’s trying to impress Lucy.
“May!” I practically yell her name into the