The last thing I want to do right now is talk, especially to the school social worker. If I wanted to talk, I'd call Kierra. But I can't tell her the truth, either. And I haven't told anyone about the pictures of Sullivan and Z
ara I found hidden behind Sullivan's corkboard.
"Can I just go to class, Mrs. Bean?"
She sighs. I think she's going to insist I say something, anything, but instead she pushes her chair out and stands. "The barrage of feelings you're going through is a normal and natural part of the grieving process, Kierra. You just lost your boyfriend. Every day will get a little easier. Trust me."
"I hope so. Thanks for caring, Mrs. Bean," I say.
I'm about to leave when she holds out a leaflet. "Here," she says, putting it into my hand. "It outlines the stages of grief. Just
