As if feeding the hallucinatory quality of the moment, everyone on the playground seemed to simultaneously gravitate inwards towards Tiffany, their curiosity undermining their caution. However, this suspension of time did not last; everything snapped into motion when teachers began yelling. Some yelled at students, some yelled for the nurse, some yelled at each other, and some yelled at the air in front of them, seemingly out of frustration. We all crowded around Tiffany and her mutilated body. She was bleeding, cut, and broken, but nothing matched her eyes. She didn’t seem focused on the physical suffering; it was not pain in her eyes, it was betrayal. I thought to myself, “You don’t have any friends, how can you possibly justify feeling betrayed?” I didn’t know much about this girl, and I certainly wasn’t her friend, but I figured maybe it was the same reason I could justify feeling guilty.