The quiet starts to creep in again, into my head. No Mom humming. No Tim snoring. Just the rain. I try to make myself smaller in my blanket, pulling it higher, tucking it under my chin. My eyes keep darting to the door. What if someone comes? What if something scary comes into the school? My heart starts to beat a little faster, a tiny tap-tap-tap against my ribs. But I haven’t seen anyone. Only still shapes.

  My body is tired, aching. My eyes sting again, even though there are no more tears. Everything is still, but my mind is still racing, thinking of Mom, of Tim, of Michael. I see their faces, blurry. I hear Mom’s humming in my head. And then I see the still shapes, hundreds of them, sprawled out across the lawn. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. Make it go away. Make it go away.

  It feels like I’m floating, or like I’m trapped in a half-dream. Mom is there, but I can’t touch her. Michael is playing his space game, but the ships explode so loudly, and the bells keep ringing and ringing in my head. I wake up with a jolt, heart pounding. The blanket is tangled around my legs, squeezing tight. The little bulb still glows above me, making the shadows long and still. So still. I snuggle deeper into my blanket. Still here. Still safe. I guess.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, just listening to the rain. It seems to go on and on, endless, like the sky is crying. Crying… for me. My body is finally tired of being scared, my eyes are so heavy I can’t fight them anymore. Now they close for real; the soft, distant murmur of the ceaseless rain, a fading lullaby; coaxing me quietly into peace and oblivion.

  BRRRRRRRRRING!

  The clamour drags me from sleep, physically jerking me awake and throwing me in a tangled heap from my nest. It throbs in my ears, in my head, my bones, my fingernails, like juddering spikes of agony tearing right through me. My jaw clenches and my eyes snap tight shut as I slam my palms against my ears with all my strength. Seconds, just a few seconds but it feels like it lasts forever. At last the ringing stops but my ears still hurt, my heart still pounds and my breath still comes in shallow gasps. “What… where…”

  Slowly, I open my eyes, scanning the room. My brain is still catching up, the adrenaline giving way to that foggy feeling you get when you wake up too early for school. The little bulb still burns above me, the packed shelves, the piles of old junk, still here. And I’m still here. Still alone. But the quiet after the bell feels different. Deeper. Emptier. I rub my face with my hands and pick myself up, reaching for the snacks I saved. But the chocolate is gone. All of it. I find an empty wrapper, crumpling it in my hand. "Oops."

  My stomach feels heavy and squishy, a bit achey, like a big balloon filled with acid. Which I guess it is.

  The storeroom is colder. Not cozy anymore. Just… small. And a little dusty with tiny motes glowing dully as they ride the air currents. The little lightbulb too, it seems paler than before I went to sleep. Like it’s given up its warmth and needs a blanket. My blanket is still my friend, so I keep it wrapped tight around me like a cloak. I guess I should do something but I’m not sure what. My tummy feels bad, maybe I should drink some water but there’s none here.

  My feet are cold already on the concrete, and I know the rest of the school will be even colder than this little room. I can’t stay like this, I need some clothes. My uniform is still soaking wet over in the nurse's office, gotto find something else for now. Opening the door makes the same loud squeaks and I jump again, it’s jarring in the silence. The hallway outside really is cold, much colder than the storeroom, drafty too, and gloomy. Just thin lines of light poke out from under the doors where the classrooms are. My bare feet pat-pat-pat on the cold floor as I walk back toward the nurse’s office. I don’t look at the still shapes. I just don’t. But I can feel them all around me; see them in the corners of my eyes. Their waxy eye are watching me, I can’t escape them.

  The water still comes out, cold and clear from the tap. I cup my hands and gulp it down, feeling it cool my throat all the way to my tummy. It’s so good, a soothing flood of relief. I drink until I can’t drink anymore, and the yucky feeling starts to go away. Then I find a few clean paper towels and wipe my face. My reflection in the shiny metal of the tap looks tired. My eyes are still a bit red, puffy from crying. I frown at myself.

  The still shape by the bed hasn’t moved, it’s still lying there like a scary doll and my uniform is lying on the floor where I dropped it, still wet. I should hang it up, like Mom always told me. There’s a hook behind the door and I carefully hang my blazer, jersey and shirt, then drape the skirt over the top. It feels a little like I'm leaving part of me, something important that I can’t replace. It kind of hurts, but it will dry here.

  “Okay,” I take a deep breath and turn. Something to wear, I need something warm now. The big metal cabinet is open just a bit, didn’t I close it? The blankets and towels, the clothes and medicine, all of it is still inside. It doesn’t look like anyone’s taken anything but my blood feels cold, it makes me nervous. Shorts and a t-shirt, sports clothes… that‘s all that’s here but they’re far too big for me. The shorts have no drawstring in them, it’s been pulled out but I put the shirt on. What about a jacket? Or long pants? I need something new. Something for… outside but where do I get clothes from here?

  A shudder ripples through me as I look up and away in one jagged movement, “no, not on your life!”

  Slowly, mindlessly I amble through the hallway towards the front of the school. It feels bigger now, that hallway, emptier. When I turn the corner into the lobby, the light from outside is grey and feeble through the front doors. The rain has stopped but the clouds still look like they could go again. They’re dark and grumpy and the sun doesn’t show through at all.

  The big broken window of the vending machine lies scattered in tiny pieces all across the floor, sparkling like mean diamonds beneath the fierce white lights. I walk around it carefully, stepping over the crunchy bits and wondering how they get the little pieces to make those funny squares. My heart gives a little thump when I see it, all broken. But then, a different feeling spreads through my chest. Not the cold rock. Not the sad feeling from before. Something else. I did that. Me.

  My feet know just where I’m going. Before I even look up, I remember the lost-and-found box in the front office. People always left stuff in there and no one ever seemed to claim it. Shoes. Hoodies. Maybe even some jeans. School made the girls wear skirts. They were never very good for climbing or running, or for keeping warm. Jeans would be amazing.

  The box is a big, beat-up wooden trunk with a hinged lid by the reception desk. I pull things out, one by one, a little excited like I’m opening a christmas present. There’s a lot of stuff so I pull it all out, spreading everything on the office floor. A lonely mitten. A stretched-out beanie. A muddy shoe. Another shoe, crumpled, smelly socks, a gym towel, a girl’s swimsuit, a pair of underpants, “ew”… There are shirts and shorts and lost jerseys and lots of brown leather school shoes, like mine, but too big or too small. Barely anything matches, how does someone lose one shoe? There are a few sneakers and those spikey ones they wear for soccer, but I have small feet and nothing fits right.

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  Pants! And a Hoodie! I’m getting really cold now so I hurriedly drag the pants on, tying them tight with the drawstring, because like everything, they’re way too big. The T-shirt from the nurses office is like a tent and the hoodie smells a little, but it’s warm. I’m warm, finally.

  It feels weird to be wearing trousers at school but whatever. Now I need shoes but there’s nothing here that fits. Still shapes. There are still shapes scattered around. I can see them in the corner of my eye. My stomach twists. I need shoes. I can't go outside without shoes, it’s too cold. And if the lost-and-found doesn't have any, then... My gaze drifts towards the nearest still shape, a boy lying near the door. But his feet are huge, definitely not my size. I force myself to look at another. A teacher, too big. There’s gotto be someone my size. The idea makes my skin crawl, but I don’t have a choice. My shoes are soaking wet, I have to find some. It feels wrong. So wrong. But nobody is here. No one will ever know.

  I start walking again, slower now, my blanket still clutched around me. Each step is heavy. My eyes stay fixed to the ground, only leaving it for a moment to look at shoes. I don’t look at their faces, just their shoes, my eyes darting up for just a moment and back down at my feet. A small girl near the principal's office, her shoes look brand new, shiny and brown but way too small. A boy by the library, too small. It’s like a terrible game, where I’m looking for something no one wants. My heart thumps with every still shape I pass, the quiet in the school pressing down on me. I see their bodies, still, so still. They’re dead. They’re people and they’re all dead. I hate this. I hate looking at them. I hate it.

  Finally, in a quieter corner of the hallway, near the restrooms, I find a girl. My eyes betray me, floating over her face. She’s lying on her side, her backpack hugging her tight like a baby with its mama, dark pigtails sprawled out next to her. Her brown eyes just stare, blank; her face expressionless like she’s watching something boring on TV. It’s like the lights just went out and all that’s left is… nothing. There’s nothing wrong with her, she looks completely ok, but she’s not. She’s just… gone. Like all the others. I know her. She's in my class.

  My stomach twists again, harder this time, agonizing. A bitter, sour taste fills my mouth and nose as I double over. Everything comes out, leaving a watery puddle of sick at my feet. But the pain doesn’t go away. I just keep heaving and heaving until I can’t anymore. I sink to my knees, shaking, the warmth of the blanket barely there. The pain is so bad. I can’t take it. I gasp for breath, sweating, drained. This can’t be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be!

  It’s too much and I just can’t move. I sit in a heap, in a puddle on the cold floor, shaking. The awful smell, the acid taste of vomit is burning life coals in my nose and throat, but I can’t seem to move away from the acrid pool. I just stare at the sticky mess and close my eyes and stop trying to hold it back. The tears want to come but they don’t have the strength. The stinging in my eyes makes me blink and strain but they don’t come out, I’m numb.

  “No!” I shake my head angrily, “I don’t have time to cry!” The feeling doesn’t go away but I wipe my eyes and force myself to stand. “Sarah.” That’s her name. She looks just like she did yesterday, except… she’s not here anymore and the empty place inside me, where they used to be, is cold as ice. Everything is coming back. The merciless icy fingers are grabbing at my bare feet and seeping through my trousers, into my knees, reminding me why I’m here. Shoes. I need shoes. I need her shoes.

  My eyes fix on her foot. “This is what survival means.” I have to say it. I have to but the words get stuck and all that comes out is a choked little squeak that doesn’t sound like me. “I need your shoes now, Sarah… I’m sorry. This is what I have to do.” There’s no justifying this, not for me but I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push back the tears again; to push the sickness down. But I can’t. It’s just too much. My hands tremble as I reach out, and now the tears just won’t stop. I don't look at her face. I can't.

  I take hold of her leg and pull the first shoe off. Her body is so cold and stiff, like wood. The other shoe is stuck. I can’t get it off at first. Her foot is angled strangely so I have to pull, I have to pull hard. My fingers grasp the heel of the shoe, brushing against her skin. So cold. Like ice. I have to.

  Gritting my teeth, my breath held tight, I pull. The shoe sticks for a moment, then slips. There’s a soft, sickening suck, a tiny sound that feels impossibly loud in the silence, and the shoe comes free. It feels heavy in my hand, like part of her came with it and I quickly pull it back, trembling, skittering away from her, the shoes clutched against my chest. Shoes, they’re just shoes. Just school shoes. But it feels wrong. They’re hers, they… were hers. Sarah’s. And now they belong to me.

  I’m tired. I’m so tired and I have to get away from here. I can’t be here, not now. The bone weariness is pulling me down and the shoes weigh as much as a mountain. The blanket feels like lead on my shoulders, my new clothes, like a costume, like I’m pretending to be someone else. Someone who can be brave. Someone who can go out there. Someone… who can do whatever it is I’m supposed to do, and live.

  I tug the shoes onto my feet. They’re a bit snug, but they fit. They feel like someone else’s shoes and my feet are still cold, for now. When I stand up, I force myself to look at her one last time. "I'm sorry," the words are barely audible, swallowed by the silence. "I'm so sorry. Thank you."

  Words don’t make it better. They don’t make it go away. I turn away from Sarah and start walking again, back the way I came. I just want to get back to the storeroom and lie in a bundle and not have to see what’s out here. It’s not just a place to sleep anymore; it's the only place in this entire school that makes me feel a little safe. My tummy is still sore from throwing up and I’m starting to feel really hungry again; but I ate all my snacks from the vending machine. The queasiness isn’t so bad anymore but I know something salty will help. That’s what Mom says anyway. I stop and look back down the hall to the lobby. “Sigh.”

  The vending machines are just as I left them. The broken glass still glitters on the floor. The fire extinguisher right in the middle of the mess, waiting for its next victim. The ache in my tummy is winning and I don’t like it but it’s just another thing I have to do. It’s just another thing no one will ever know about, yet, it feels so bad now, in Sarah’s shoes. Though, my hesitation doesn’t survive my grumbling tummy. I grab the big red tube and swing. SMASH! More glass shatters and I grab everything I can: more chocolate bars, more bags of chips and fizzy drinks. I cram them into the pockets of my new pants and hoodie, and pile them in my blanket like Father Christmas’ sack.

  Next, the nurse’s office. I don’t look at the still shape by the exam bed, I don’t have to look, just focus on the metal cabinet. Blankets, towels, I don’t know what all these bottles are for but they might be important later. Mom always locked the medicine cabinet, better not to touch those but everything else goes in the middle of my blanket on the floor. I toss the extra blankets in my pile, towels too, and close the cabinet door. This time I’m sure it’s closed.

  My pile of loot is heavy. Dragging it to the door takes a lot more effort now, but looking back, I sense that I’m forgetting something. Puzzled, I scratch my head and walk to the middle of the room, turning on the spot, looking at everything. My uniform jumps out at me. It’s still wet but I carefully take it down. I can’t leave it here. I can’t just throw it away. I can’t.

  With my pockets stuffed with snacks, my blanket piled high with my haul, I scoot back to the storeroom. Each step, heavy with the weight of my crimes. My legs ache. My back and my tummy feel tight and sore. The weight of everything—the heavy blanket with all my stolen goods, the new, unsettling tightness of Sarah’s shoes, and the crushing burden of everything that has happened—presses down on me. The hallway seems longer, darker. The quiet, heavier. It's empty. But it's also mine.

  When I finally reach my lair, I practically fall inside, dropping the blanket at the door. I don’t feel like doing anything, I just want to sleep but I can’t just leave all this stuff on the floor. I arrange the new blankets, the towels, adding them to my nest, creating a little bubble of comfort in the dreary room.

  My snacks go onto a clean shelf, a growing pile of stolen treats and I hang my uniform behind the door, my wet shoes on the shelf, just like home. Then I crawl into my nest of blankets, exhausted, and stare at the little light bulb. My safe place. My things. My new life. It feels just a little bit… good.

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