“Yeah, no problem,” Sawyer says. “The sooner the better.”

I glance at Trey. “I think I can get Rowan to switch shifts with me.”

“She will. We’ll be here,” Trey says. He looks at Ben. “I can stay through and help you make phone calls if you like.”

Ben smiles. “That would be great.” The two hastily look elsewhere, like they’re sixth graders crushing on each other, and my heart pinches a bit—could my brother finally have found a nice boy to like?

“Thanks, Ben,” I say. “I mean it. You’re amazing for . . . well, pretty much everything.” I stand up, and Sawyer stands up with me. “I’ve got to get back if I’m going to take the lunch shift for Rowan. Let us know what’s up. We’ll see you around eight.”

Sawyer and I walk out of Ben’s dorm and across the ominous quad that haunted Sawyer’s waking hours up until a week ago. Now it only haunts his dreams. I look over the familiar grounds, thinking about last Sunday when we stopped a couple of gun-carrying gay haters from killing eleven people. “I hope they plead guilty,” I say in a low voice.

Sawyer nods. “Yeah. I don’t exactly want to testify.”

My stomach hurts like hell at the thought.

• • •

Five things I hate about my life:

1. Apparently there’s no end to this insanity

2. The tension at home is probably giving me an ulcer

3. Spring break is over and it pretty much sucked balls

4. I just realized it’s my birthday tomorrow. Tomorrow. Who forgets important shit like that?

5. It’s like things aren’t funny anymore

• • •

My lunch shift is boring and slow, and Rowan, under slightly heavier surveillance after her little escapade to New York, hangs out in the dining room doing her spring break homework that she wisely waited until the last minute to do. With everything that has happened lately, I’m surprised our parents haven’t locked either of us up or gotten suspicious, but they have their own problems, and my dad mumbled something about bad things coming in threes, so I guess with that attitude, he was sort of expecting Rowan’s delinquency.

The lull gives me time to fill Rowan in, which makes her even madder than usual that she’s missing out on something. I tell her for the millionth time that this isn’t something she wants to be in on. She disagrees, and we leave it at that. At five thirty we switch out, and I sneak outside to the alley and find Sawyer waiting for me. We stop for dinner and we’re off to UC once again.

We find Ben and Trey in Ben’s room a little before eight, Ben at his desk and Trey leaning over Ben’s shoulder as he types on his computer.

I knock on the open door and poke my head in. “How many?” I ask.

“We spoke directly to twelve and left messages for the others,” Ben says.

“And you didn’t forget anyone?”

“I don’t think so. Though we didn’t bother Tori. She’s still in the hospital.”

Trey pipes up. “We asked each person we called if they could remember who else was there that night. We’re all meeting in the green room in two minutes.” He and Ben get up, lock the room, and head in that direction. Sawyer and I follow.

There’s a handful of students in the green room already. The guy who was shot in the foot walks in on crutches, and I grab him a chair to put his leg on. A girl sits in a corner of a love seat, clutching her backpack. Ben’s roommate, Vernon, is there, sans braless girlfriend. More people straggle in over the next quiet minutes. “We should have brought refreshments,” I say under my breath.

“It’s not exactly a party,” Sawyer whispers back.

A few people look expectantly at Ben, who glances at his phone and then stands up. “It’s been a week,” he says with a small smile and a heavy sigh. “And I thought it would be a good idea to just check in with each other, you know?”

A few heads nod.

Ben asks us all to go around the room, introducing ourselves. Trey checks people off his list. I catch his eye and smile, and he smiles back.

Then Ben explains that we don’t really have a format; we’re just here to talk without any counselors or reporters around to analyze us or judge us or whatever, and I can see people relaxing. I wonder what it’s been like here.

Ben looks at the guy with crutches. “Schurman, how’s your foot?”

Schurman shakes his head and looks at the floor. “Not great.”

“What did your coach say?”

“He’s being cool, but obviously I can’t play anymore this year. I don’t know if, you know, if I’ll ever be able to run the same again. I might not be able to play.” His voice contains no emotion, like he’s become a robot. Like his dreams for the future are over and he’s pretending to accept it. I wonder what sport he plays, but I don’t ask.

Ben presses his lips together. “I’m sorry, bro.”

Schurman shrugs and looks at the floor.

Ben turns to the girl in the love seat. “Sydney? How’s it going?”

Sydney’s face is strained. “It’s going,” she says.

“Are your parents . . . handling things?”

“They let me come back here,” Sydney says with a shrug. “It’s weird. I didn’t think . . . you know. That seeing the building, and all that yellow tape . . .”

Someone else nods. “Yeah, I don’t ever want to go back in there.”