But then the boy picked up a rock and threw it at her. Ivy let out a shout of pain, and the boy laughed. A girl picked up a second stone and threw it, and then it seemed they were all bending down and searching the ground for stones.

Ivy reached for the wooden crutch her gran had left her and held it out like a weapon.

“Come, Shilling,” Ivy said. “Run!”

Ivy swung the crutch, and the crowd parted. She and Shilling ran, rocks nipping at their heels, through the villagers and into the trees. They ran deep into the forest, stopping only when they came to the clearing where they had buried Gran. There, Ivy collapsed upon a bed of white snow.

Shilling whimpered and nudged his warm nose against her body.

“No, Shilling,” she said, stroking his head and planting a soft kiss on his nose with her flickering lips. “You’ve done all you can do for me. You should go now.”

The wolf dog gave one last cry before he turned away and loped off into the darkness.

Then Ivy closed her eyes and waited to disappear completely.

When I finish writing the chapter, I lie back on a bed of fallen leaves. I close my eyes, the journal lying open against my chest. Tears streak down my cheeks.

I’ve only been there a few minutes when I hear it.

SNAP.

Boomer growls. My heart seems to yank the rest of me up from the ground. I look around, wide-eyed. And then I see her.

Standing between two trees, one hand on her hip, is Fina.

“Hi, Emma,” she says.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wiping the tears away.

She knots her arms in front of her chest and takes a couple steps forward, looking serious. “I went to your house. Your mom said you come back here a lot. It took me a while to find you, but . . .” She takes a step closer. “We need to talk.”

I bite my lip. Has Edie sent another message to the whole school? Or is Fina here to tell me she doesn’t want to be friends anymore? “About what?”

She looks at her feet and kicks a little pile of leaves. “I miss you,” she says. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

More tears well in my eyes. They start out as tears of relief, but then a lump rises in my throat and I sink back to the ground, my face buried in my hands. And Fina is there, lifting me up and hugging me while I cry for what feels like a really long time. Boomer sits loyally on my other side, occasionally nudging me with a concerned nose.

When finally my sobs slow down, I drop my hands from my face. “I don’t—I don’t want to disappear, Fina,” I say. “I don’t want to stop being me—being Emma.”