“George!” The crowd is parting like the Red Sea for Willa now. She’s wild-eyed and frantic. I’ve never seen her like this. “What’s—”

She stops when she sees what we’re seeing. I hear her gasp. Then choke.

Glory is laid out on the weathered wood of the sea porch. I can’t stop staring at her wet curls. Soggy white sweater. Her staring eyes and the unnatural angle of her arms and legs. The paramedics are bent over her, working with an intensity and focus that tells me everything I need to know about how serious this is. One of them is doing chest compressions. I can’t see what the others are doing. Their bodies block my view. And I’m glad for that.

Some of the other kids are crying now. Hands over their mouths. They’re clinging to each other. A few are praying out loud. But I just stand there silent and staring. Cole on one side of me and Lex on the other. They’re both holding my hands again. But this time I know I’m not dreaming.

“What happened?” Willa’s voice cuts through the chaos. She’s regained her control now. Her composure.

“I found her down by the jetty,” George says. “I had a little—” He stops. Looks almost embarrassed. “I went down there for a smoke break is all. And that white sweater of hers. It caught the light. Got my attention. Just like—” He stops again. Nods in my direction. “So I pulled her out of the water. Brought her up here and called for help.”

Behind him, the paramedics are still working on Glory. They’re loading her up on a gurney to take her away. One of them looks back over her shoulder at Willa. “Ma’am, you wanna get those kids out of here? We need a clear path.”

Willa claps her hands. Like she’s signaling the start of a rehearsal. “Everyone to your cabins,” she announces. Nobody moves so she claps again. The musical sound of those jangling bracelets floats into my ears. “Now, my lovelies. There’s nothing you can do for Glory tonight.” She looks back toward the motionless body on the gurney. “There’s nothing any of us can do.” The crowd starts to drift away. Everyone is moving slowly. They’re reluctant to leave. Wiping at their eyes. Holding on to each other. Whispering. Looking back over their shoulders. “Breakfast is at seven tomorrow,” Willa reminds us. “We’ll talk about it all then. Together.”

I guess the show must go on.