Interim(117)

“We are,” he replied.

“Then decide,” Hannah said. “Right here. Right now. Me or them.”

“Hannah, please don’t do this,” Jeremy replied.

“Fucking decide, Jer! Me or them?”

“Hannah, what’s the problem?” Mr. Armstrong said.

The same concern over Regan’s months-old breakdown was written all over his face. Not another one. God, please not another one.

“ME OR THEM?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Mr. Armstrong knew not to touch her. That was just a lawsuit waiting to happen. He summoned a female teacher to do what he could not, and they needed to move fast. Ms. Griffin tentatively touched Hannah’s shoulder.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she said soothingly.

“ME OR THEM?” Hannah screamed again. She pounded the lunch table with angry fists.

“Hannah, come on,” Ms. Griffin said, trying to steer her toward the cafeteria door.

“You’re a traitor, Jeremy!” Hannah cried, her words calling out his betrayal.

He grimaced, hanging his head in shame. He wouldn’t answer her, and by default, made the unspoken decision.

“People make mistakes . . .” Hannah heard Regan say as she turned her back on them.

The words fueled a vicious anger. She broke free from Ms. Griffin’s grasp and charged the table.

“FUCKING BITCH!” she bellowed, flipping Regan’s lunch tray. Food flew everywhere. She turned to Jeremy. “FUCKING ASSHOLE!” And she overturned his lunch tray, too, spilling milk and soggy pasta all over Jeremy’s shirt. “AND YOU!” She glared at Casey, then climbed the table toward her adversary. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Hannah! My God!” Ms. Griffin cried, grabbing the girl’s arms and pulling her down.

They struggled for a moment—Hannah desperate to get to Casey—before Mr. Armstrong intervened. It took both teachers to drag her out of the cafeteria, her obscenities echoing down the hallway and leaking through the crack in the lunchroom doors long after she was safely gone.

Silence.

And then a single clap. And another. And another until the cafeteria exploded with laughter, cheering, whooping, and banging. The lunch staff demanded order, but there was no taming the emotional riot. No taming the pounding fists and hysterical screeches. No taming the unreasonable reactions from unreasonable kids. The only three people to remain silent were the victims of Hannah’s rage—the people who understood her pain.

“What do we do?” Regan asked Jeremy.

He shook his head.

“Will she be all right?”

He paused, then shook his head.

“It’s all my fault,” Casey said. “I shouldn’t have sat here.”

Regan grew annoyed. “Just stop it already. You’ve apologized enough. At some point you’ve gotta stop with the self-loathing.”

“Regan, I destroyed her life!” Casey cried.

“You don’t have that much power over people,” Regan said.

Casey fell silent.

“God, I liked it better when you were a mean bitch,” Regan muttered.

“What?”

“Not mean mean to people. Just sort of self-absorbed. I don’t f*cking know,” Regan huffed, and looked at her boyfriend imploringly. “What are we gonna do, Jer?”

“How should I know?” he snapped. “Why are you looking to me for answers?”

“She’s your good friend!”

“She’s not my good friend. I don’t even know where she lives!”

Regan growled.

“Should I send her flowers?” Casey offered.

Jeremy and Regan whipped their heads in her direction.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” Jeremy asked.

Regan chimed in. “Here’s the message in the card: Dear Hannah, Sorry you couldn’t kill me at lunch the other day. I hope you feel better soon! XOXO, Casey.”

“Fuck the both of you,” Casey spat.

“No, f*ck them,” Regan said, pointing to the students who were still celebrating Hannah’s meltdown.

“And you dated them,” Jeremy said resentfully.

The girls turned to face him once more. Hostile silence wafted among them.

“We did,” Casey said finally. “And that’s our sin.”

He said nothing.

“And you brought it up to be hurtful—to cause us shame,” Casey went on. “That’s your sin.”