“My colleague and I are here today to talk to you about what happened to Penny Gray,” she began. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the reports on the news. I know there are a lot of rumors going around. We’re going to be very honest and straightforward with you.

“Penny Gray was murdered. That’s upsetting. It’s disturbing. I know people would rather not have to hear about things like this, but it’s important that you know the truth. This isn’t a story about a stranger in some other place. This happened to a girl many of you knew, a girl who walked the halls of this school. Maybe you liked her, maybe you didn’t. That doesn’t matter. It’s important that you know what happened to her. This is real. This is as real as it gets. We want you to know the truth and we need you to tell the truth.

“If any of you have any information at all about Penny Gray, we need you to share it with us. Anything she might have said to you, rumors that you heard about her, anything at all—even if it doesn’t seem like it could be important. It’s impossible to know what impact even a small, seemingly insignificant detail might have.

“At this point we don’t know if Penny was abducted by a stranger or was victimized by someone she knew. We know she was at the Rock and Bowl on the evening of the thirtieth. We know she left that place and made a stop at a nearby convenience store. So far as we know, she was not seen again—except by her killer—until her body was found New Year’s Eve.

“We don’t know why Penny was killed,” she said. “We don’t know if she was a random victim or if she provoked someone. We don’t know if someone was angry with her or hated her for some reason, or if she knew something that was a threat to someone. This is why we’re asking you guys to help.

“I want you all to look around this auditorium this morning. You’re all individuals who are part of a community. Look at your friends. Look at the kids you don’t know or don’t like. Realize that other people are looking at you and thinking the same things. And I want you to imagine, what if you were Penny Gray? What if you found yourself in a terrible situation? You would hope the people who knew you would help. You would hope if someone could do something, they would.”

Brittany looked around the room. The seats were filled with students and teachers. One section had been reserved for parents. Some people were listening. Some weren’t. Some were on their phones, texting, playing Angry Birds or Words with Friends.

She glanced at the people sitting in her row—Emily, Jessie, Christina—and wondered what they would do. If I was missing, would they care about me?

The answer sat like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

Sonya Porter got up next and talked about social media and social consciousness and the obligation young people—and particularly young women—should have to one another.

Brittany watched her, taking in the avant-garde style, the piercings and the tattoos juxtaposed against the sleek haircut and the retro-chic outfit. She listened to Sonya Porter speak with passion and conviction. Gray might have turned out like this, she thought. She might have channeled her anger into passion and honed her self-expression into style. Gray might have grown up to be a Sonya Porter, but she would never have that chance.

“I want to finish by reading you something,” Sonya Porter said. She adjusted her cat-eye glasses and began.

“Fight

Struggle

Clash

Square peg, round hole

Force to conform

Blend in. Fall in line

Stifle

Smother

Hate each other

You’re red

I’m blue

I don’t want to be you

You don’t want to look at me.

Stop

Shift. Now. Change.

Look

See

Everybody be free

Open hearts

Open minds

See what’s real

Listen

See me

Unique

Special

Unlike another

Be who you are

Live

Acceptance.”

When she finished, she looked up, her gaze scanning from one side of the silent room to the other.

“That poem was written by Penny Gray,” she said. “This is who your school lost. This is who the world lost. Whether you liked her or not, approved of her or didn’t, she had a unique voice, and a unique talent, and a unique view of the world. Just like each one of you. You should be angry that someone took her away.”

Jessie Cook leaned into Christina, rolled her eyes, and whispered, “I wish someone would take her away.”

The two of them giggled under their breath.

Brittany gave them both a look of irritation. She wanted to get up and leave, move to another seat in another part of the theater. But she could imagine everyone looking at her, and she could imagine what would be said about her by Jessie and Christina and the rest of them.

Be who you are.

If she only had the courage. If only she could be more like Gray—the girl nobody liked.

The counselors spoke. People asked questions. Business cards were passed out. Phone numbers and e-mail addresses were posted on the projector screen.

Brittany counted the minutes until they were told they could leave. When that moment came, she popped out of her seat and started up the aisle, not even looking to see if Christina and company were behind her. Let them think that she wasn’t feeling well, that her headache was making her sick, that she had to go to the bathroom. She just wanted out and to be away from them.

She hurried to her locker, got her coat, grabbed her purse. It was lunchtime. They were allowed to leave the campus. Lots of kids did to go to the nearby restaurants and coffee shops. Brittany had no interest in lunch. As much as her mother thought it was the last thing she should do, she just wanted to go home and be alone and not have to pretend everything was all right.

She didn’t care that it was a cold, long walk. In fact, she thought it was all the better to feel cold, to feel the pain of numbing fingertips and tense shoulders hunched against the wind. Head down, she put one foot in front of the other and just kept going, away from school, across the parking lot, heading for the street.

“Britt! Brittany!”

She didn’t want to look up or acknowledge the person calling her. She didn’t want to be recognized. Of course, it did her no good to ignore him. If she knew one thing about Kyle, it was that he didn’t give up.

He caught up to her and fell in step beside her. She glanced at him. His cheeks were red from the cold, but he’d had sense enough to put on a gray watch cap with the letters UFC embroidered in red. He wore an old letterman’s jacket from some school in St. Paul over a gray hoodie. It irritated her that she thought he was cute.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?” she asked, annoyed. “I thought you were suspended.”

“I am,” he said. “But I got the text about the assembly. I wanted to come.”

“Your mom is investigating Gray’s murder. That must be weird.”

“Yeah. What part of any of this isn’t weird? Someone we knew was murdered. I can’t get my head around that, can you?”

“No.”

“Where are all your good friends?” he asked sarcastically.

“Don’t give me a hard time,” she said, annoyed with him for asking, more annoyed with herself for suddenly feeling like crying. She had no “good friends.” She was stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

“Want to see what Jessie was tweeting during the assembly?”

“No.”

“You get that it’s their fault, don’t you?” he asked, then corrected himself. “Our fault. You got her to go there. I didn’t stop her from leaving.”

Brittany stopped and faced him. “Yes. I get it, Kyle. It’s all I think about. Does that make you happy? I’m sick about it. I wish I’d never moved here. But what do you want me to do?”

He looked back toward the school. She had left. Literally. She had walked away from Christina and the rest of them. What more could he call her on?