My stomach dropped because I did remember. We had only been a couple of yards out when Max had tripped over a root and fallen to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Emily Snow had tossed her white-blonde hair and laughed, saying, Walk much, Max? I’d felt bad for him as he limped back to the trailhead with one of the counselors.

“I was resting in the picnic area,” he continued. “Do you remember where those picnic tables were? Level with the parking lot, above the trail. There was this great view of the river, and I was sitting on one of the tables taking pictures. I heard you all below, so I hopped to the edge with the idea I would get some shots of everyone. I was doing that when I noticed Emily stop to tie her shoe. You hung back with her, which I thought was weird because you two weren’t friends. And then you pushed her.”

The edges of my vision faded, and for the briefest of seconds, I could feel the fabric of Emily’s camp T-shirt beneath my palms, the sharpness of her shoulder blades as I gave her a quick shove. She hadn’t screamed, hadn’t even shouted. There had only been a sudden, shocked inhalation as she fell wordlessly off the trail and tumbled down toward the riverbank.

I hadn’t meant to cause permanent injury. I hadn’t even meant to cause minor injury. At most, I thought she would roll down the slope and into the river, emerging wet, muddy, and embarrassed.

Which was what she deserved. She should know humiliation for once. Emily Snow had spent the first part of the summer tormenting me, calling me “freak” and “loser,” yanking chairs out from underneath me and slamming doors in my face. As camp wore on, I’d grown numb to her abuse, and so, like the pretty little sociopath she was, she’d changed her tactics. She’d started pouring on the sugar, lending me her fashion magazines and inviting me to play truth or dare with her group of similarly pretty friends.

I fell for it. When she offered to do my makeup one afternoon, I sat eagerly on her lower bunk, thrilled to be welcomed into her inner circle. As she dusted pink blush across my cheeks, she’d told me that Dylan Carter, the cute camper from Texas, had a crush on me. In retrospect, I could hear how she was swallowing her laughter, could see her friends hiding smirks behind their hands. But I’d been oblivious, and had taken her advice to approach Dylan that evening in the cafeteria.

He had laughed in my overly made-up face. Everyone had. I spun around, vision blurring with tears, and discovered, to my ultimate mortification, that even the camp counselors were laughing.

Four days later, that humiliation still fresh in my mind, Emily had paused on the trail to tie her shoe. I was lagging behind the group, wanting to fade into the forest, and when she saw me, she asked in a singsong voice how Dylan was.