Then, because I have no other option, no other choice, I push through the doors and put my school bag on the conveyor belt and walk through the detector. Out of the corner of my eye I see a uniformed guard patting down another late arrival, gracelessly poking at his pockets and around his ankles.
On the other side, I come face to face with a giant placard displaying the names and faces of the other people who were in the band room that day—my favorite teacher, my friends, my fucking brother. Why they insisted on putting up this disgusting memorial at all the high schools in our area is beyond me. The shooting didn’t happen here. It’s like they’re just trying too hard—trying to act like they care—trying to act like they understand.
Like they could ever understand.
Thank god Lucy warned me or I’d probably puke all over it.
Before I can explode into a thousand tiny molecules of fury, my friend Chimera is on me like white on rice. She clamps her slender fingers around my arm, and I almost jump out of my skin.
“May, oh my god, I am so glad to see you. Do you have an extra tampon? I just got my period. It’s like a fucking bloodbath down there….” She trails off and her face goes scarlet. My heart’s beating at a thousand ticks a minute, and I’m breathing in and out, trying to calm myself down. Chim glances over at Jordan’s face, which is staring at us from the bullshit display on the wall. “Oh god. I didn’t mean that. Oh my god, I am so sorry…” She drops my arm and puts her hands to her mouth. This is such typical Chim. Haven’t seen her in three months, and in the first twenty seconds I’m reminded why.
Since I got kicked out of school last year, I’ve tried to learn how not to react. How to control my face and my emotions like a fucking Zen monk. It’s an art form, I swear. One I’m not very good at, especially around Chim, who reminds me of who I used to be—a person I’d rather forget.
I force a smile and rummage around in my purse with shaky fingers, finally locating a tampon. I hand it to Chim and she smiles, all grateful. I manage not to roll my eyes directly in her face. She’s wearing a skullcap that’s totally inappropriate for the eighty-degree day, and the ends of her hair peek out from under it. She’s chopped it since I last saw her three months ago, and apparently dyed it pink. She looks cute, I guess, if you like that sort of thing.
We start down the crowded hall together, into the black hole that is this fucking school, toward lockers and classrooms and all the things I hoped to never have to deal with again. We have to push by people to get through; Lucy warned me how overstuffed it is here, but I didn’t really expect it to be this bad. I should have, though, I guess, since there are now so many students enrolled here that we have two principals: Rose-Brady, who came with us from Carter so we’d have a familiar face in charge (eye roll), and Kalb, the original QA principal.
The walls around us are papered with flyers talking about dances and tryouts and all the normal crap, but I see the other ones too—the ones talking about grief groups and counselors and how to deal with life after death. I want to tear them all off the walls and throw them in the toilet and flush them far, far away from here—from me. Rose-Brady made me go to one of those grief groups last year, before Carter closed, but that didn’t turn out so well. At all. So now I see a private therapist. Who tells me shit like It gets better. I used to have to see her multiple times a week—luckily, since last fall I’ve managed to avoid going outside of the once-a-month sessions that Rose-Brady and the school board made known were a requirement to even consider my reenrollment.
“Chim. Please stop. It’s fine; you know it’s fine. Now that I’m back you cannot start tiptoeing around me. You know I hate that shit.” More accurately, I hate having to have conversations with people whose eyes are so full of pity, who don’t see me anymore, just a reflection of Jordan’s ghost.
Chim, who never used to get embarrassed by her big mouth around me, blushes an even deeper shade of red. It’s impressive.
“No, I really am sorry. I have to start thinking before I speak; my mom keeps telling me that. I’m always saying stupid stuff, and I know I need to be more sensitive around you….” She’s babbling, all nerves and tongue flaps, and my chest tightens. We’ve known each other since kindergarten—she was my first real friend outside of Jordan, actually—but ever since last year it’s been hard for me to stomach the sight of her. It’s not fair, I know that, but it’s like I just can’t let myself relax when I’m with her—we can’t seem to find the rhythm of our friendship since Jordan died.
We reach her locker, and she’s still talking. I am so tempted to slap her to get her to just shut up (am I really supposed to just stand here and listen to this incessant chatter?), when a warm hand clasps my arm.
“Ladies.” I turn, and there she is—my savior, Lucy, the only person I want to see these days; the only person who seems to be able to see me through the haze of what happened last year. She smirks like she knows exactly what I was just thinking—knows that she stopped me from smacking Chim across her lovely, annoying face.
“How are we this morning?” Lucy, as always, is wearing black on black on black: a T-shirt of some obscure local band who will be famous by next year, and ripped leather pants. The administrations of all the local public schools outlawed that sort of clothing last year when they instituted a strict countywide dress code, but Lucy is apparently the exception to that rule. She usually is.
She hip-checks me and lays her curly brown head on my shoulder. My heart rate slows, and I remember how to breathe as some of the tension drains out of my body. My hand unflexes by my waist, and Lucy slips in a roll of Girl Scout cookies. Thin Mints. My favorite—pretty much the only thing I ate last spring after Jordan died.
I love Lucy.
“Good to see you here,” she whispers into my ear.
“Luce!” Chim’s eyes light up. Chim’s had a crush on Lucy since I can remember, which is cute when she’s not following Lucy around like a lost little puppy dog.
“Hey, Chim.” Lucy nods at her. “Thanks for coming out Saturday to see the band. Sorry we sucked. I think I might quit. I’m actually gonna go check out another band tonight; I need something new.”
“You so did not suck.” Chim’s voice is an octave higher than normal. She’s been going to Lucy’s shows since forever. I don’t think she’s missed one. In fact, I’m pretty sure she skipped her cousin’s bat mitzvah in order to make one a few years ago.
Jordan and I used to go to them, too, which was fine, until it wasn’t. Sometime during sophomore year, I started resenting the fact that Lucy always invited both of us. That my friends were our friends. Like he didn’t have enough with his perfect grades and his perfect hair and all the attention our parents poured on him. So, at Lucy’s shows, instead of hanging out with him, I would ditch him as soon as we arrived and spend most of the rest of the night out back with Chim, drinking and smoking and getting fucked-up. Basically, doing everything in my power to avoid him and his judgmental looks and making Chim come along for the ride. He started bringing a few of his friends along soon after.