“It’s not that I didn’t want you to sit with me,” I say. “I just don’t want you to have to be Fina, the girl who’s best friends with that girl with vitiligo. I can’t escape my skin, but you can.”

Fina pulls a face. “Emma,” she scolds, “I am your friend because you’re awesome, and I’m awesome, and awesome people stick together. And by the way, it’s not just you who needs me. I need you, too. Moving really sucks, and you’re the only thing that’s made it kind of okay. I don’t know what to do without you.”

I feel my stomach twist with guilt. I’ve been so caught up in thinking about what I’m going through that it didn’t even occur to me that Fina might need a friend right now, too. That I may be missing Gram, but she’s missing her whole family back in California.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know,” Fina says simply. “And I don’t care what you look like or what people say, but for the record, I think you look great, and people are stupid.”

“I wish everyone thought that,” I murmur, feeling the lump rising in my throat again. “Or at least that my mom did. She cries a lot at night. I think—I think she’s ashamed of me.”

“I bet that’s not true,” Fina says. “I bet she’s just worried about you.”

“You don’t see the way she looks at me sometimes. Or how Lily stares at me like I really am a ghost.”

“Well, you can always come live with me and I’ll be your sister, and me and my mom will think you look amazing,” replies Fina, grinning.

I let out a little sob-giggle. “Even after I hurt your feelings?”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

“How?”

“By not giving me the silent treatment anymore,” she says, leaning over to pet Boomer, who is nudging her thigh with his wet nose. “And also by telling me what this place is.”

“It’s—” I start. But I don’t know what to say. How much can I tell Fina? How much do I want to?

“It’s really cool,” she decides before I can say anything, standing and climbing onto Throne Rock. “Look! This rock is like a big chair!”

“A throne,” I correct her.

“Oooh, like the one in Fernlace,” she says. “And look at that huge tree! It’s like the Council Tree where all the Goldengrove elders meet. The stream could be the Ivory River.”

Funny, I’ve never thought of it that way before, but she’s right.

“Yeah,” I say. “Except without all the deadly rapids. My gram’s been bringing me here ever since I was little.”