Her fingers trembled as she unzipped the case. The razors gleamed under the bathroom lights. She had been here yesterday too. She had cleaned the same blade in the same sink outside the third bathroom stall to the right. She had cried in that bathroom stall so many times, did so many things that she could never forgive herself for, but she didn't care. She never got caught. Because on the other side of the grimy cobalt door, past the off-white sink, outside the girls' bathroom door, it was sixth period. Her lunch period, but a class period of most others. Nobody went to the bathroom during sixth period because there were lessons to be taught and problems to be answered and questions to be asked and teachers to be heard, and nobody cared or even remembered to think about the sad, broken girl in the second-floor bathroom.