“Wild Horses,” Sage’s very favorite song, reverberated down the hallway from her room. It was supposed to be about Marianne Faithfull waking up for the first time after an overdose and saying those lines to Mick Jagger when she opened her eyes. But there was another story that it was Keith Richards who had written it. We didn’t know which one was true. Sage couldn’t say why it was her favorite, except that its emotion caught her, forgiving and still loving someone even when they’ve really hurt you or left you.

We’d both read Up and Down with the Rolling Stones that spring. Sage had started to dress like Marianne Faithfull and Anita Pallenberg, tops with billowing sleeves, hip-huggers, and feathers. But for me, the book was terrifying. Brian Jones, warlocks, drugs, black magic, Gram Parsons dying in a hotel room and his friends stealing his body and trying to cremate him; it said to me that chaotic and dark forces were spinning around us, one foot wrong and you’d be sucked into the vortex.

I knocked three times on the door and went in. Sage sat up on her bed and reached over to the stereo to turn it down.

“Libby, finally. Come on, we’re going up to the towers.” Sage was wearing a red tube top and faded denim cutoffs frayed to white threads in places. Silver earrings dangled to below her chin, the layers of silver leaves making a small rippling sound. I looked at my Converse, at my legs, covered with scabs, bruises, and scratches from the woods. I had still never shaven them. Marie had said that once I started, the hair would turn black and become like stubble. Sister Benedict wore nude pantyhose, and her leg hair was so wiry that it poked through the sheer nylon. Her legs looked like a mass of spiders squished against mesh. It put me off letting a razor anywhere near my legs. I looked at Sage’s; even her thighs were smooth.

I didn’t want to go to the towers. I’d thought Sage and I would stay in her room, talk and work things out. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, not just for the phone call, but for everything.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the door. “Someone’s getting kegs. Loads of people will be up there.”