You’re sitting in the group circle, arms crossed, simmering with frustration. Sandwiched between Wally and Rhonda. Across from you, Maddie fidgets, her gaze flicking between you and Mr. Martin. Charley sits next to her, unusually quiet.

“This is ridiculous,” you snap, cutting off Mr. Martin mid-sentence. “How are we supposed to ‘move on’ when I can’t even remember what happened to me?”

Mr. Martin’s calm demeanor only fuels your anger. “It takes time,” he says evenly. “The memories—”

“Time?” you cut him off, your voice rising. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask to be dead, and I definitely didn’t ask for some pointless group therapy session that doesn’t actually do anything!”

Rhonda shifts beside you. Maddie meets your glare with surprising determination. “At least some of us are trying,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.

“Trying to do what? Pretend this isn’t all pointless?” you snap back, and Maddie falters.

Before the tension can escalate further, Wally leans forward with his signature easy grin. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up a hand. “Look, I get it. Being dead isn’t exactly what any of us signed up for, but… It’s not all bad, right? No taxes, no homework, no stressing about college applications. Just endless free time to… uh, figure out how to deal with eternity. Could be worse.”

You glare at him, unimpressed. “Really, Wally? That’s supposed to help?”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he says, leaning back with a casual shrug. “It’s not perfect, but moping about it forever doesn’t do much either.”

His optimism grates on your nerves, but you don’t respond. Maddie glances at him, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face, but you’re too irritated to care.