Smiling at Mark and Trisha, I rearrange the weight on my shoulders and make myself enthuse about Missoula and what lies ahead. I won’t break their hearts or dishonor my friendship with Jenna. I will do the sensible thing and adhere to the route Jenna mapped out for us, for me.

My smile falters, my brain staging one last rebellion.

It’s a stupid plan. I might not even be able to pull it off. But when Mark’s homemade banana pudding is brought out, to be eaten straight from the serving dish, I clear my throat.

“So,” I begin hesitantly, the plan seeming more ridiculous now that I’m voicing it aloud. “I’m thinking about driving to Michigan. I’ll probably miss our dinners next week.”

I say it to my spoon, but I don’t miss the shared glance of worry. I eat a mouthful of pudding and try to summon strength from Jenna’s empty chair.

“It’s not a big deal or anything,” I rush after swallowing. “I mean, I know it’s a long drive to Michigan, but I got this book and—”

“Michigan?” Trisha interrupts. “What could possibly be in Michigan that warrants such a trip?”

“I got a book in the mail that I didn’t order,” I say, again wishing I had planned out a script. Suddenly telling the parents of my dead friend, “Hey, I think your daughter is trying to communicate with me from the beyond using our favorite book, and/or she might be in a pirate’s possession,” sounds not only crazy but also insensitive. “I Googled the store it came from and it’s in this really cool, tiny town in northern Michigan. There are sailboats and chocolate shops and—”

“And you just want to leave,” Mark says. “You want to get away.”

When he puts it like that, I feel guilty, because there’s truth to his words. Part of me wants to run as far as I can go, to a place that has never borne the mark of Jenna and doesn’t taste or smell or feel like her.

But I also want to see if she had anything to do with this mysterious 101st copy, if that knowledge will give me answers to questions I’m not even sure how to ask.

Is it possible to want to run both from and to someone’s memory?

“How will you get there?” Mark asks.

“I was thinking about renting a car. It’s the cheapest way.”

Nobody is paying any attention to the pudding, and I can practically hear the bananas browning in the thick silence.

“You should go.”

It’s hard to tell who is more surprised at Trisha’s sudden verdict—me or Mark.

“Trish, you can’t expect her to go up there alone.”