I pulled in behind one of the police vehicles, parked, and jumped out of my car. As I ran up the walkway, two EMTs wheeled a black body bag out of the house, down the sidewalk, and past me. No no no.

“Excuse me!” I yelled. “What happened? Is someone—dead?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to say,” the tech at the rear of the stretcher replied.

I needed answers. I needed to know Mackenzie was okay. My vision grew disoriented with the flashing lights, the milling police, the burgeoning crowd of people collecting on the sidewalks. My heart thrummed wildly, deafening me against the din of speculating onlookers. And then I saw her through the parting bodies—Mackenzie, plodding behind a policeman with Aria tucked under her arm.

I ran up to her, crying happy tears. “Mackenzie, you’re okay! I thought . . . I thought that was you on the gurney.” Tears streaked down my face as I grabbed her in a hug. I had never felt so relieved in all my life.

Mackenzie stood stiff in my arms, but I couldn’t let go. I would never let go again. As I held her, her body loosened, relaxed, then she hugged me back halfheartedly.

“Owen . . . he died.” Her face was flushed and blotchy. Aria wilted next to her, sobbing, and for a brief moment I absorbed all of their sadness, all of their pain as if it was my own. I wanted to reach into the raging waters that Mackenzie was drowning in and pull her out.

“Oh, Mac, I don’t even know what to say.” I didn’t care about the damn fight, or the charges, or anything else in that moment. All I cared about was my friend who was hurting.

I nestled her head on my shoulder like a child, and she limply let me.

Then she looked up at me with watery eyes and said the strangest thing: “I don’t feel anything anymore. I think I’m broken for good.”

“No, honey, you’re not. We’ll piece you back together, I promise.”

Mac wiped away a streak of tears and I helped clean off a black smudge under her eyes.

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you,” I vowed.

I had left her to die once before, but I’d be damned if I did it again.

2001, BEAVER FALLS, PENNSYLVANIA

Mac and I had skipped all our classes together in a day of no regrets. We were more than just girls in a dorm, arranged together by some administrative coincidence. We were destined to be friends. Destined for greatness together.

If Mackenzie was solid ground, I was rushing water. She was steady and reliable while I was always moving, always flowing. But we worked, chaotically beautiful like a Wassily Kandinsky painting.