Elisa was, unsurprisingly, up before me. She plodded silently to the bathroom, but that slight rustle of covers was enough to wake me. I blinked and rolled over, glaring at the alarm clock on her shelf. Six thirty. I closed my eyes. I really, really didn’t want to be awake. I didn’t want to face whatever was going to happen today. Surely, we’d have some sort of assembly. Classes would be canceled, and I hated to admit that that would be one of the worst parts of all this—work always helped me get through things. If we just had a day to sit around and think about what happened, I’d go insane.

Ethan found me at breakfast. I was sitting at the far end of the cafeteria, by the windows overlooking the woods and the iced-over lake. The mood of the room was as gray and heavy as the world outside. No one seemed to be talking, and if they were, it was in muted tones. He saw me, saw the look on my face, and immediately slipped into a side of himself I saw only in dire circumstances.

“How are you?” he asked, setting his tray beside mine. There was only a banana and half-filled bowl of oatmeal. Looked like I wasn’t the only one without an appetite.

“I . . .” I was about to lie, to say I was okay. But Ethan’s eyes were on mine and right then, I didn’t want to pretend anymore. Not with him. I’d been pretending with Elisa all morning. “I’m feeling pretty fucked up.”

He gave me a half grin, the sad, consoling sort, and put a hand on my arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

He nodded like he understood. And maybe he did understand, at least partly. He’d once admitted it took him two years to come out to his parents. Some secrets were hard to hide, and even harder to share. His, at least, had nothing to do with blood or ex-boyfriends.

“Well, I’m here when you’re ready,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts of the past. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. I knew he meant it. I just didn’t know if he’d still mean it if I told him the truth.

We ate our breakfast in silence, the cafeteria’s mood getting both of us down. Elisa sat beside us a while later. She didn’t even bother with the facade of food: She had a mug of coffee and a handful of grapes. I couldn’t blame her for losing her usually voracious appetite.

“We’re having an assembly at nine,” she said. “Maria told me when I left.”

Ethan and I both sighed, staring down at our plates. There really wasn’t anything to say to that. Even when Oliver—usually the bright spot in any conversation—came over and sat down, the mood didn’t shift from morose. It felt wrong to even try to be cheery. Mandy had killed herself, and none of us had done anything to prevent it. We hadn’t even known there was a problem. You knew something would happen, whispered Brad. But you were too scared to do anything about it. I shook my head and shoved down his voice and focused on getting what little food I had down. I felt like I was floating, not really there. And everyone else in the cafeteria had the same dissociated air. No laughter, no loud chatter. Everyone moved and spoke like they were in a daydream, one they were terrified of rupturing. Some small part of me hoped I’d wake up to a morning that didn’t involve old nightmares and a dead classmate. Brad’s whispers told me that wouldn’t be the case.

Outside, it began to snow again.

“Do you guys want to go for a walk?” Elisa asked quietly, when it was clear everyone was done picking at their breakfast.

I nodded. There was still an hour before the assembly, and sitting inside seemed like a terrible idea. We stood and left like a funeral procession.

Islington was a nature lover’s paradise. You almost had to enjoy nature when you studied here—there wasn’t anything else. We didn’t walk any of the short trails along the lakeside, though. No time, not with the looming assembly. Instead, we sat on one of the benches by the shore and stared out at the frozen lake. Fishermen’s huts dotted the snowy ice, and a line of fir trees on the horizon marked the shore. I’d sat out here so many nights, daydreaming about what went on in those houses: people having dinner or watching TV or fighting. People not worrying about art or college or trying to make their mark on the world. In my imagination, they all had simple, happy lives. Lives my own convoluted mess could never imitate.

The things we didn’t talk about far outweighed the things we did. For the most part, we sat in silence, watching a few figures roam the lake and the clouds churn above. Ethan asked Elisa about her play. Elisa asked Oliver about his concert.

We didn’t mention Mandy. We didn’t wonder aloud why she’d done it or what would happen next. We didn’t need to. Those questions perched on our shoulders, heavy and laden with oily feathers and sharp beaks.

For my part, I could barely concentrate on their small talk. Ethan leaned against me on one side and Elisa rested her head on my other shoulder, but I hardly felt them. Their weight felt worlds away, unable to tether me to the Earth. I watched the crows circle above the snow, flecks of black dodging between a sky as pale and solemn as the ice spread out below.

Why are you back? I wanted to ask. I didn’t know if I was asking the birds or Brad, or if it even made any difference. Why are you following me?

Mandy had killed herself on her own volition. I had barely known her. This had nothing to do with me. So why did it feel like I was the center of all of this, like the crows above were circling around me like some cosmic nexus? I had nothing to do with this, I wanted to scream.

Only because you did nothing to stop it, Brad whispered back. A trait you’ve gotten quite good at. How long do you think you can run away, Kaira? How long until they find out what you did?

“It’s time,” Elisa said, snapping me from my reverie. Her voice seemed swallowed by the lake, her words small and insubstantial.

We slid off the bench and wandered to the black box theatre where the assembly was taking place. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they chose it over the actual auditorium: This was more intimate, a conversation rather than a lecture.

We followed the line of students leaving their dorms up the asphalt drive that led to the performing arts complex. My entire body felt numb as we walked down the hall and into the cozy theatre which, as the name implied, was just one large black box with a row of risers and chairs on three sides. Ethan and Oliver and I sat near the back, while Elisa took a spot up front with Cassie. The place was filling fast.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t think I was empathic, but being in large crowds always drained me. It might be part of the reason I gravitated toward painting. Right now, I felt like I was suffocating in other people’s muck. I leaned my head against Ethan’s shoulder and nearly whimpered when he wrapped his arm around me.

“Is this seat reserved?”

I quirked my eye open.

Chris stood in the aisle, in a green plaid shirt and black jeans, looking down at me a little uncertainly.

“What? No,” I said. Ethan was staying resolutely silent.

Chris gave me a slight smile and sat down. If one could fidget while sitting, he did so. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped in his lap, his foot tapping nervously.

“How are you doing?” I asked. I knew Chris knew Mandy—everyone in the art department knew everyone. It’s just how things worked.

“I’m okay,” he said. Definitely a lie. “What about you?”

“Okay,” I replied. I could lie just as well as he could.

He nodded. For some reason, I wanted to apologize for the distance the night of the concert. Pushing people away right now seemed like a bad idea, even if it really was in his best self-interest. I didn’t say anything though. Words seemed too difficult.

The theatre filled up silently. Some students and staff were even standing along the walls, since this place wasn’t meant for four hundred bodies. If anyone cared about the cramped conditions, they didn’t voice it.

Ms. Kenton, our president, stepped into the middle of the stage and the room hushed in a moment. She wore a somber black suit, which just made the room seem even heavier. She was normally full of life and color, putting the rest of us and our faux-hippie attire to shame. Seeing her was like the final hammer.

Mandy was dead.

And we were here to mourn her.

“As many of you know,” she said, her usually strong voice a little weaker, a little shakier, “we lost one of our own last night. A senior, Ms. Mandy Rivers, took her life. This is a dark time for us. Islington is a community, and we here are dedicated to supporting each and every one of you. In light of this, we will have a guidance counselor at hand twenty-four hours a day, should you need to chat. About anything. I myself will have open office hours should you wish to speak with me. We are here for you. For all of you. You are our family, and we grieve as a whole when one of our flock is taken.”

She paused and swallowed.

“I now wish to open the floor to you. I know your hearts are burdened, so let us be here to share that heaviness. If you wish to speak, please stand. It may be about Mandy, fond memories or words you remember, or it may be your own questions for me. Remember: Healing may only occur when one is open to the pain. We are ready. We support you.”

She went silent then and I had a terrible image of no one standing up. Of Ms. Kenton standing there in the dim spotlight, watching us, waiting for someone to share their heart like she shared hers. Then a girl—Laura, another ceramicist—stood in the front row.

“Mandy was my friend,” she said. “She was always so happy, even when she was bogged down with work.” Laura sniffed, and it sounded like a laugh. “I remember, this one time right before finals, she dragged me out of my room to go make snow angels. I nearly got frostbite but she got me hot chocolate from the caf. She always did nice things like that—little notes saying hi, or a flower she found, or a painting she loved. She was so full of love. I just . . . I don’t know why. . . .”

Laura broke down. Ms. Kenton was there in a moment, wrapping her in a hug. Other girls stood from the front row and joined the embrace.

For the next half hour, classmates I knew as friends or acquaintances bared their souls to the rest of the room. It seemed like Mandy had touched everyone, somehow, whether it was a smile in the hall or sitting beside a loner at lunch. I’d never realized how much of a saint she was before this.

I didn’t stand and speak my part. Maybe I should have. Maybe it was a dishonor not to share my experiences of a girl I considered an acquaintance. I couldn’t do it. Not out of fear of speaking, but because I knew it wouldn’t be honest. I should have known the signs. I should have tried to help her. But all I’d done in our last interaction was bitch about how stressed I was over my own thesis, rather than tell her how amazing hers would be.

It made me feel guilty. Munin had warned me something bad was coming. And just like last time, I hadn’t listened.

Unlike last time, though, it was someone else who’d been hurt.

And you know what that means, Brad whispered. You should have known better. You should have tried to stop it. Since you didn’t, you as good as killed her.

•  •  •

There was a deep silence when the memorial was over. Ms. Kenton stayed onstage, talking one-on-one to students and staff. No one made for the door. Not at first. No one wanted to break the bubble of this place. We all knew that once that door opened, life would push forward again. Yes, we had two days off for mourning and no, nothing would ever be the same, but the spirit of Islington, the drive to create and strive, never stopped. No one wanted to be the first to let the outside world back in. It was almost like, in being here, we’d somehow managed to capture Mandy’s ghost, to bring it back to life through story and tears. Leaving meant letting her go once more. For the final time.

I, however, was suffocating. Not literally, but emotion was thick in the room, sticking to my throat and filling my lungs with despair. Chris put a tentative hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked. I glanced to him, probably harsher than I meant, because he withdrew his hand immediately. He looked down to his feet. “You just looked like you could use some air.”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, standing. “Yeah, I could.”

I didn’t expect Chris to follow me out the door, but he did, along with Ethan and Oliver. We weren’t the first out but were damn well near it. The buildings were dark, empty, and the snow had already begun covering the tracks of those who came into the theatre. Taking the first step out here felt wrong, in a way, like we were staining a slate that nature wanted desperately to clean. I wandered back down to the lake and didn’t stop by the bench. I kept going, heading toward one of the forest trails that snaked off in a wide loop. No one would be out there, not with the snow growing thicker by the minute. I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and didn’t look back. I could hear the boys walking behind me, their feet shuffling in the snow, muted over the wind that kept rustling my coat like wings.

Maybe five minutes later, once the firs had closed around us and the forest was quiet in that all-consuming way, I stopped. I tilted my head back and stared at the gray seeping through the boughs, everything dulled green and silver.

Ethan knew what was up. He stepped up beside me and slid his hand into my pocket, wrapping his fingers around mine. Oliver was at his side.

Chris stepped beside us. I could tell from his hesitation he was confused, but I wasn’t going to explain it. Sometimes you just need to face the void.

Then, without preamble, I screamed. Ethan and Oliver followed suit. And a second later, so did Chris.

It wasn’t a scream of hatred or anger. It was primal. It was seeing death and staring at the gods and screaming your defiance, your fear, your shame. It was knowing you were worthless and worthy of a voice, important and smaller than the tiniest microbe on a grain of sand.

It was knowing this, all of this, and holding someone’s hand and praying you’d keep moving on.

We screamed for a while. Maybe a full minute. I was the one who broke off first, my yell exploding into giggles, laughter that hiccuped into tears. Ethan went quiet and sobbed beside me, not letting go of my hand. Chris and Oliver just fell silent.

For a while we stood there, saying nothing and trying to calm our breathing. I kept my eyes closed. It was easier to imagine it was all a dream that way. Easier to pretend that I’d wake up and it would be Saturday again—time for class and critiques and a night at T’Chai Nanni. No birds, no Brad, no death hanging from my shoulders like broken wings.

Gods, I needed to get out of here.

The click of a lighter brought me back to Earth. I opened my eyes and looked over. Chris had a hand-rolled cigarette in his mouth, cupping the flame of his silver lighter against the wind.

“You smoke?” I asked. No one at Islington smoked. I mean, they did, but it wasn’t allowed on campus grounds so it wasn’t a common sight. Only, well, when in the woods.

“Just when it’s bad,” Chris muttered around the cigarette. It lit and he flicked the lighter closed, sliding it back in his pocket. He took a long, deep drag and then held out the cigarette.

“Sounds like a good motto,” I replied. I took the cigarette and let the burn fill my lungs. I hated the taste, but it was grounding. It rooted me down, stuck me to the soil. I handed it off to Ethan, who took it without comment.

“I don’t really know what to say right now,” Chris said, taking back the cigarette for another drag. He handed it to me, smoke curling from his lips like dragon’s breath. I hated to admit it, but there was a James Dean sort of sexiness about it. “I mean, this is all a hundred levels of fucked up. Mandy was my friend. We hung out in her lounge the other night. She would have told me if she wasn’t feeling well.”

I nodded and inhaled. The second drag felt like heaven, and I was all too aware that this was just touching his lips. It took a lot of control not to feel jealous over him hanging out with another girl. Which was stupid, since I spent most of my time hanging out with boys and what was I even talking about? I wasn’t dating him.

I looked up into the trees. There, among the branches, was a single crow. It fluffed its wings when we made eye contact. Go away, I hissed inside my head. It’s over. Now leave me alone.

The crow didn’t move.

“I don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but I don’t think I can stay here all day. This place is suffocating.”

“Agreed,” Ethan said. He looked to Chris and Oliver. “You guys want to come out with us?”

“I need to practice,” Oliver said. He looked down to his feet as he said it. I knew he wanted to stick with us, but he set a high bar for himself—if he slipped up, he wouldn’t let himself live it down.

“I’ll go,” Chris said. And yeah, I won’t lie, I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t join in. Then again, if there was ever a day to need a distraction from the thoughts writhing around in my head, it was today. Not that that excused me from the mounds of homework lingering in my room, tugging at my brain, and refusing to let me relax just yet. Work before pleasure, my mom always said. Little did she know what sort of complex that had given me. “But I need to get some stuff done first. Maybe lunchtime?”

“Sure,” Ethan said. “I should probably do some work as well. Shall we?”

Chris nodded and snubbed out the cigarette on the heel of his boot, then slid the butt in his pocket. Without further preamble, we headed back to campus.

When we got to the main road, Chris placed a hand on my shoulder. My breath hitched; once more, it reminded me of Brad. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?”

My first instinct was to say that I was busy—being alone with a straight boy wasn’t a situation I wanted to be in—but there were other kids wandering aimlessly and there was a look on Chris’s face that struck me as incredibly hopeful. Besides, I highly doubted he would try anything. Not in the wake of what we’d just come from.

“Sure,” I relented. I looked to Ethan and Oliver. “I’ll catch up with you later?”

“Sure thing,” Oliver said. He and Ethan hugged me good-bye, then headed back to their dorm. Ethan gave me a gratuitously obvious look over his shoulder as he walked away. I couldn’t tell if it was him seeing if I needed help or him just being smug that his plan was working.

For a moment, Chris and I stood there awkwardly. I looked everywhere but at him; I could tell from the tingle in my gut that he was trying very hard to make eye contact.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied. My eyes flicked toward him and yes, he looked pained.

“I mean the way you act around me. It’s like I’ve already offended you. I mean, I know you don’t owe me anything, but I just thought . . .”

I shook my head.

“You know that it’s not you, it’s me bullshit?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Exactly that. But it’s not bullshit. I’m not dating anyone, Chris.”

“I never said anything about dating,” he replied. He actually sounded offended. “I just wanted to get to know you.” He sighed and looked at his feet, scuffed the snow with a boot. “You caught my attention the first day of class, but I finally realized that if I didn’t act, I’d go the entire school year without actually talking to you. And after Mandy . . . well, life’s short. I don’t want to miss my chance.”

I didn’t know if it was touching or disrespectful to mention Mandy in this context, and so soon, but his words sent my head spinning.

“You really don’t want to get to know me,” I said. I looked away, toward where Ethan and Oliver were throwing snowballs at each other. Some small part of me flared with want. Didn’t I crave that? That easy sort of love? It’s not meant for you, Brad whispered. You’re tainted, broken—and you’ll pass that on to anyone who tries to get close.

“That’s the thing, though,” he said, cutting through the words I couldn’t tell were Brad’s or mine. “I do want to get to know you. You’re different. Even here, you stand out.” I knew it was meant to be a compliment, but hearing him say it just sent my walls higher. Different. You’ll always be different. And that’s why no one can love you. He held out a hand. “Can we at least make a truce? Let me try to be your friend. I promise not to make it into anything you don’t want it to be.”

I looked at him, from his eyes to his fingerless-gloved hand. This was stupid. There were only a few months left in the school year and soon we’d be going to different colleges and none of this would matter. But he was right. I couldn’t deny there was something that pulled me toward him, a gravity I didn’t really want to escape. After today, it was difficult to justify pushing anyone away.

I closed my eyes and took his hand, trying to block out the images shuffling through my mind like Tarot cards—Brad’s face as he slammed me against the wall, the report in the paper that had nothing to do with . . . Shut up!

Our gloved hands met. Stupid to think, but even through the fabric I swore I felt a spark. The moment his hand touched mine, the images in my head fluttered to the ground. It felt like taking a breath after nearly drowning.

“Okay then,” he said. “Friends.”

“Potential friends,” I said. I grinned to let him know I was joking. Like I said, wit was what kept me from sinking. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

Then, because I realized our hands were still clasped and that was kind of strange, I let go and slipped my hands in my pockets.

“Well,” I said, once more trying to be all business and squash the butterflies raging for control, “I should probably go call home. Mom’s going to want to know what’s happening.”

“Likewise. I need to get the okay to leave campus with you guys,” he said. “Also work.”

“Always work. See you soon.”

“Yeah.”

As I walked toward my room, I kept replaying his words in my head: Even here, you stand out. It was so, so close to what Brad said, the first day he talked to me. Chris is different, I tried to convince myself.

Overhead, perched on the power lines, a crow squawked.

“I won’t let it happen again,” I muttered, and hurried inside.

•  •  •

“Are you okay?”

Those were the first words from my mother’s lips. The phone barely even rang before she picked up. Her intuition was good like that. I just wished I’d paid attention to it sooner.

“I’m fine,” I said. I paused. “What have you heard?”

And no, I didn’t just mean from school. My mom worked as a medium on the side—she often knew about major life events the moment I did.

“Someone passed over,” she replied. Her voice didn’t sound like some hack mystic—she wasn’t breathy or deep. She sounded professional, like you’d imagine a woman used to leading stock meetings would sound. She was the head of a local bank, so it was a fairly apt comparison. “Tragically. I had nightmares all night.”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “There was a girl in my class, Mandy. She killed herself. No note or anything, but her thesis was supposed to go up today. I’m assuming stress.”

“What have the crows said, dear?”

My skin prickled. I was still getting used to questions like this. I didn’t think I ever fully would.

“They’re . . . around.”

An awkward pause as I felt the gears turning on her end.

“Well, just be careful. And remember, if you need to talk to me, I’m here for you. Always.”

There was a strain to her voice I wasn’t used to. She was holding back. She never held back, unless she thought it would scare me. Silence.

“Mom?”

“Sorry love, just thinking. I’m sorry you had to experience that. You know I wish I could keep you safe.”

“I know.”

“Keep them close,” she said.

“I will,” I replied.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I looked out the window at the crow sitting on the fir branch. I didn’t need to try to keep them close—they’d be there no matter what.