Before she graduated, Marion had been an excellent student, and I’d followed in her footsteps, always doing more than required and never cutting class. But on the day of the accident, Raney had looked at me scornfully when I’d first refused her invitation and said, “I never thought you’d be a coward,” so upsetting me that I’d walked the twins to the main door, gone to my classroom, claimed a stomachache and walked back out. Partly I still wanted to please her. Partly I couldn’t stand for her to do one more daring thing without me. She loaned me a dress so I wouldn’t have to wear my everyday waist and skirt, and we ran to the boardinghouse where the two Navy aviators she knew were waiting to take us for a ride in a motorboat. Palmer, who was taller and had a wonderful nose, took the picnic basket from Raney. Elly lifted a canvas tote and said, “That blue suits your eyes.” We were almost at the dock when Palmer stopped and turned his head toward a buzzing sound. “I’ll be damned!” he said. “He’s taking the new one up.”

“Who?” I said. “What?”

He pointed to an aeroplane rising from the field.

“That’s Link,” Palmer said, referring to a famous flyer who dropped by now and then but hadn’t been around for some months. “Want to go see?”

“Why not?” Raney said. We’d been watching the flights all summer but neither of us had seen Link perform and Elly said his machine was brand new.

As we crossed the flats, Link landed and then took off again. A crowd of curious people swarmed across the grass, surrounding the machine when it touched back down. Palmer, or maybe Elly, said it was always worth watching Link fly. Elly, or maybe Palmer, pointed to the canvas tent sheltering the hydro-aeroplanes.

“Sometimes we watch each other from the ridgepole,” he said. “Great view—think you can follow me up?”

Maybe I nodded. Maybe I showed him my sturdy wrists. Raney, when he turned to her, said, “You bet.”