“This is Maria’s fault too,” he’d told Delilah the day after graduation, when she visited him in the rehab place. “Can you imagine the look on her face if she’d been here to see that Kingsley committee guy call out my name?”

Delilah didn’t believe that. She didn’t think Maria would’ve cared about the prize anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

“Well, Maria’s not here,” Delilah used to tell Mateo when he talked that way. “Besides, none of this is anybody’s fault. Nothing is. Things just happen.”

Delilah still believed that.

But she’d been thinking for a long time. About how angry Mateo had been. About what exactly might have happened that night at the football field. About how she’d wound up in a bloody pile on the school’s front lawn.

“Do you still not remember anything?” Mateo asked her now.

“Nothing.”

It was the answer Delilah had been giving ever since she woke up. No, she didn’t remember the night of the accident. All she knew was that she’d had dinner in the dining hall, then woken up to the sound of a thunderclap three and a half weeks later.

That had been true, at first. As the months passed, though, bits and pieces had started to come back.

The first thing she’d remembered was running across campus to the gap in the fence. It was the last time she’d ever run. She remembered the air breezing past her face, her skirt whipping around her legs.

Next, she’d remembered laughing at the bar with Maria. Then a tiny capsule clasped in Maria’s fist.

Delilah hadn’t touched drugs or had a drink since she woke up. She never wanted to again. Still, though, laughing at the bar was the part of that night she liked to remember most. Her last memory of Maria.

Maria had been a good friend, once.

“Then I don’t remember anything either,” Mateo told her.

Delilah nodded.

Mateo and Maria had been found lying side by side on the wet grass, their hands clasped. He was unconscious, and she was gone. The doctors said the bolt hit him first, then passed through his hand to Maria, where she got the worst of it.

Still, Mateo kept saying it was supposed to be him.

But nothing was supposed to be anything but what it was. That was the thing about fate. It was bigger than any one of them.

Mateo jogged back to the track. Delilah watched him get smaller and smaller as he neared the curve.

She thought about them all the time.

Brandon. She hadn’t known him very well, but every time she’d seen him, he’d been smiling.

Lily.

She should’ve treated Lily better than she had. Lily was one of Delilah’s biggest regrets.

Most of all, though, she thought about Maria.