I’m starting to feel panicked. That music is so powerful for me, and I’m a little afraid of it. I guess Willa sees that on my face, because she says, “Just let us see what you showed me at auditions, and you’ll be beautiful.” She puts her hand on my arm. “That’s what made me see you as Eden in the first place. You were so honest in those moments. And that’s what good acting is all about. It’s not about pretending. It’s about becoming. Just for a little while.”

“All right,” I say. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

I move to the edge of the stage to make my entrance, and I close my eyes, just for a few seconds, to center myself before I step into Eden’s world. I let her thoughts fill my mind and her feelings swell my heart.

She’s remembering the first time Orion kissed her.

Then I correct myself.

I.

Not she.

Reliving. Not remembering.

I feel Cole’s lips on mine. His fingers in my hair.

Reliving.

And then the music starts.

My music.

First it fills me up. Then it lifts me up.

I stop fighting. I give in and let it move me.

Stretching.

Reaching.

Twirling.

Spinning.

Lithe and limber.

I am a breeze blowing through the dune grass.

Movement. Memory. Motion.

And my feet aren’t even touching the ground.

Because I am finally free. No more hiding. Someone finally sees me.

Someone knows me.

Someone loves me.

The rain is coming down. And the river is so close. It’s rising. Getting higher. I can’t even hear my melody anymore. Not over the sound of the water. But it doesn’t scare me. The water is just a different kind of music. And I can dance to that, too.

Because Cole loves me.

Water swirls and bubbles.

It falls into my mouth.

Fills up my ears.

I spin in a slow circle, arms outstretched, and the music of the water is replaced by the soft tinkle of wind chimes. It’s an ominous sound. Like the creaking of a door when you’re alone in the house.

Footsteps on the stairs at night.

The quiet breathing of the monster under your bed.

I blink, and I can see my mother. She’s standing at the edge of the cliff. She screams. And I know it’s her voice. I recognize it now. She yells my name. Calls me April.

But I’m crouching in the damp night air. Hiding. The grass is thick and wet. I feel it sticking to my bare feet. Clinging to my legs.

My mother is there. And then she’s not.

She’s vanished. Over the edge.

I stand up and scream for her.

And then I’m blind. Staring dead-eyed into a light so bright it hurts.