She even bought a jean jacket of her own.

She wears it now as she passes far enough into the cemetery so that the dark trees have become solid dark walls, and the city of Samhattan, her hometown, is erased. Kennedy doesn’t consider herself neurotic, though she recognizes this as a neurotic moment in time. She knows other ballers from the team have issues of their own; it’s one of the perks of living on the fringe. From here, she sees. She also understands that right now they all have every right and reason to be afraid.

Two ballers have been killed. And if the rumors are to be believed, bare hands were used on both.

Kennedy looks at the cuffs of her jean jacket, rolled up to her wrists. The deeper shadows accept her, and she knows her friends will get here soon. She wants to stop thinking about Daphne by the time they do.

She knows she won’t.

And more: No, Kennedy wasn’t at Dana’s the night Natasha told the others the story Zach told her, but she heard enough the day they were all questioned by Detective McGowan to know the name is no longer only on her mind alone.

It’s everywhere in Samhattan.

As she walks the cemetery, confident in the tools she was born with, trusting in the person she is, she thinks of the lessons from the book.

Your Mind, Your Land

Yes. She believes in this because she must. With all her heart she believes she is capable of focusing on what she decides to focus on and not what the world tells her she should. It’s how she’s lived her entire life: outside. Like Daphne. Maybe. Yes. Even the city police overlook her as they stand guard outside every other baller’s house. Even while being part of a team, Kennedy has retained her autonomy.

Your mind, your land.

Indeed.

She hears her friends now. Her lifelong friends whom she has been hiding all this from. There’s the rattle of the fence. Do they hop it the way she taught them? The way she does it? The gravel crunches behind her. But when she looks back to where they should be, they’re not there. All the better. The cemetery shadows and the deep pockets of trees. The dead, buried here at the center of town. What a concept. She wonders if she’ll miss that out west. Will she frequent graveyards there? At night? On her birthdays?

Growing up in Samhattan does things to a person. Kennedy knows. And sometimes she takes pride in this.

She reaches her favorite part of the cemetery, and so she stops walking. It’s where the city lights just make it through the branches and gift a thin white beam upon the excess dirt beneath the heavy trees. She’s reached the far end of the cemetery now. The most private of spots. Her mind, her land. Here where the excess dirt is kept. She hears her friends upon the gravel. She wants to touch the earth tonight. Wants to remember her eighteenth birthday, this part of it, alone.