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you. “Evan and I both think that.”
    “You’re against me! Both of you—you’re against me.”
    “That’s not it,” I said. “That’s not it at all.” But I wasn’t sure you could hear me over your own crying.
    “They’ll be here soon,” Jack said. “It’s for the best.”
    I was glad he sounded so confident. Because I was starting to wonder whether we’d done the right thing.
    “I’ll kill myself. I swear, I’ll kill myself,” you threatened.
    “We’re not going to leave you alone,” I said.
    But we had to, eventually.
    After all, people are always separable.
    “Evan?” Jack said to me now. “You there?”
    “As much as I ever am.”
    I half expected him to follow up with You okay? But instead he started walking back home.
    “There’s nothing for us here,” he called back to me. “I guess we’ll just see what happens next.”
    “I’m not okay,” I said.
    But he was already too far away to hear me.

8
    We had to face the fact: Someone else knew you. Maybe not another boyfriend or another best friend. But someone who would have known where you and Jack had your first kiss. Someone who would have followed you to the spot where it all happened. And took pictures.

8A
    It wasn’t like we didn’t know other people. It wasn’t like I sat alone at lunch now. But there are people you know, and there are people you have a connection with, and I had thought that you’d only had a connection with me and Jack. Wasn’t that what made us feel responsible—not for what happened, but responsible for you? We always felt responsible for you. That’s the nature of connection—not just the attachment, but the responsibility.
    At lunch, I sat with people from class at a different table from the one I sat at with you . It was easier that way. Strangers were more difficult. One time, there was a field trip, and Matt, who I usually ate with, wasn’t there. I sat at our usual table, and this girl sat down, looked at me, and said, “You were friends with the crazy girl, weren’t you?” And I didn’t know what to say. I kept eating, pretending I hadn’t heard her. Finally she said, “You must be crazy, too,” and then left to sit somewhere else.
    The whole time, I didn’t look up. But under the table, I crossed my legs so hard it hurt. I was using all the strength it would take to run away, only to stay still.
    Was that how you felt?

8B
    There weren’t any new photos over the weekend, and there weren’t any on Monday morning, either. I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.
    Monday at lunch I followed Matt from calculus, talking about homework and our history test and nothing that mattered. You and I never talked about calculus. There were football players sitting at our table, so Matt led me over to where Katie and that group were sitting. Katie had a camera out.
    “What’s that for?” I asked her.
    She looked at me strangely . “For taking pictures? For art class?”
    Charlie chimed in with, “Do you want her to take your picture?”
    “Oh, cut it out,” Fiona said. “It was a perfectly valid question.”
    Katie’s camera was new and digital and small—not the kind of camera I imagined had taken the photographs that Jack and I had gotten. So I didn’t know how valid a question it had actually been.
    Valid questions:
    Why am I still here?
    Who are these people?
    What should I say next?
    Are they expecting me to say something next?
    Katie and Charlie were eating from the same cardboard boat of French fries. Matt was talking to Rich, another refugee from our usual table, about World of Warcraft. Fiona would take a look at us all, then take a bite of her sandwich, then take another look at us all. Which was pretty much the same thing I was doing, only I was eating a square slice of pizza.
    She and I didn’t have any classes together, so I didn’t know what we could talk about.
    “Do you like to take pictures?” she asked