The walls of the long, narrow cabin are lined with a dozen or so bunk beds, and a threadbare green rug fills up the floor between them. Most of the other girls are already asleep, so Val and I tiptoe by cell phone light, try to keep things quiet. No sense in pissing off our new roommates on the very first night.

Her phone vibrates. It’s Chester. Again. CALL ME BABE. She shows it to me and rolls her eyes. Then she deletes his text without a reply.

I pull Cole’s sea glass out of my pocket and tuck it into my overcrowded dresser drawer, between my socks. I still need to finish unpacking, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I’m too tired to think about it tonight. “Where’s the bathroom?” I whisper. “I need a shower.”

“There’s a building out back,” Val mumbles. She’s flopped down on her bunk with all her sandy clothes on, and it makes me itch just thinking about it. “Like an outhouse, only with electricity and plumbing and stuff. Just follow the path.” I’m digging in my suitcase for some clean shorts. “Want me to come with you?” Her voice sounds so sleepy.

When I turn back to answer, her eyes are already closed, so I grab my things and head toward the door. But as soon as I step into the fog, I’m suffocated. Disoriented again. I wish I’d packed a real flashlight. Dad told me to, but I ignored him. Because I’m seventeen, and I don’t need to be told what to fucking pack.

Clearly.

I feel my way down the steps—one, two, three—until I hear the crunch of a gravel path under my feet, then work my way around the little cabin until my eyes find the flicker of a fluorescent light not too far away. I head in that direction, but it seems to take longer than it should to get there. Like someone keeps moving it just out of my reach. I’m relieved when I finally feel an old-fashioned doorknob under my fingers. The grit of crusted salt on smooth, worn metal.

It’s chilly in the bathroom, but at least the light is bright and the water is hot. I’m exhausted and my muscles ache. I lean against the shower stall and let the steam soak into my bones. Was it really just this morning that Dad dropped me off at the airport in Dallas? It seems like so long ago.

I think about the big fight we had back in February when I first told him I planned to apply for the summer intensive at Whisper Cove.

Pour l’amour de Dieu. Pourquoi?

For God’s sake. Why?

He’d shouted the words at me in our little kitchen, his hands white-knuckled, gripping the back of a chair.