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“What are you talking about?” I looked down at my arm. “Let go.” All I felt were bodies huddled together and hushed whispers as everyone turned to me. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty students, all seniors headed to the luau, but it felt like hundreds. And the weight of their eyes almost sank me all the way through the cracks in the linoleum floor.

Dennis gripped my arm a little tighter.

I pulled away from him. If I spoke, I didn’t remember what I said.

I pressed through the crowd. It wasn’t difficult. No one pushed back.

Fingers brushed my elbow and my eyes followed them to Debora, reaching past two or three people, trying to grasp me. My brows furrowed, but I pulled back and continued moving forward.

I stepped into a small open space surrounding an old trophy case, and I swore my ears popped and all I heard was static. Black fabric covered the glass shelves. And wilted carnations. I hated carnations. There were a few mini arrangements of flowers too, like the ones you see at funerals on wire stands, but smaller. There were signs with things like IN MEMORY OF and REST IN PEACE. Where there weren’t carnations, there were candles, mostly in those tall cylinder glasses like they used in Catholic churches. Some had decals with saints or Jesus or the Virgin Mary. Peppered between the flowers and candles were pictures.

Pictures of me. Pictures of me laughing and dancing.

There were a few school pictures too, going as far back as elementary school. Some were big, some were small, but every picture had one thing in common—my eyes had been crossed out with a black ballpoint pen. Whoever had done this—and I knew who it was—had dug the pen so hard on the pictures that the glossy finish had been scratched off so all that remained was white paper. It looked angry and violent.

The only thing I could hear were my shallow breaths as it dawned on me. This was my memorial. In the late-night hours, I’d wondered—fantasized even—about what it might look like and who might be there. Would there be music? Tears?

Here it was, the proof of my life in a dusty old trophy case. This was life’s memory of me. Scratched-out eyes, wilted flowers, and melting candles. I touched the glass in wonder, like a child at an aquarium where a whole world lived behind the glass. And behind this glass existed a whole world without me, where I’d died and left behind this. Because I knew who did this, I could close my eyes and see it all play out. This was Celeste’s master plan. The key to the trophy case—that must have been Luke. He could have stolen it from Coach Wolfen’s office without the coach even knowing. And Mindi had probably taken care of every little thing in between.

My eyes drifted to the bottom right corner of the case. Propped up against some sad-looking flowers was an old photo of me; I was no older than seven or eight. I sat on the floor of the studio with my hair smoothed into a bun, and Harvey sat across from me with his fists held out, hiding an object—probably a penny or something—in one of them. My eyes were scratched out, but I’m sure they’d been squinted, trying to discern which fist the penny was in. I took the smallest of steps back and saw the whole thing. Each picture was a milestone in my life. And here it was—my life—all gathered in one case for everyone to see, like a simple thing that could be explained.

The marvel of living through my own funeral slipped away as sheer horror swept through me. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t be here for this. I wasn’t supposed to witness my own memorial.

That girl in the case was dead. And that girl in the case was me.

The third bell for second period buzzed. I’d covered every inch of school property and no Alice. Her phone went straight to voice mail every time I called.

The hallway leading to the old trophy case was congested with students, many of them going in and out of the gym. I fought against the current of bodies. There were murmurings of Messed-up shit and Was that the girl with cancer? that made my feet move faster.

The crowd shrank slowly, like the show was over. The last warning bell buzzed. And then I saw her.

Alice was there, standing in front of the case, and all of a sudden I was drawing a blank. I knew I was supposed to find her, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to say when that happened. And I didn’t expect to find her here of all places.

I placed my hand on her shoulder to let her know—I’m here.

Her chin lifted as her gaze fell on my hand. When she recognized the hand as mine, she let out a shaky sigh. Standing next to her, I caught a glimpse of a few stray tears still sliding down her cheeks. The shrine thing in front of us was hideous, with drying flowers and too many candles. It was garish, a cartoon version of a memorial.

Alice took three deep breaths and exhaled slowly, hiccuping a little.