“What happened?” Joy asked. She remembered leaving Kevin’s house. She remembered driving because Judy was drunk. But Judy had fallen asleep and then a car had been heading right at them. A game of chicken on the rim of the world and they’d lost. Joy had swerved out of the way and Judy’s car bounced down the mountainside. She recalled grabbing Judy around the waist and holding on for dear life. Then she didn’t remember anything other than darkness.

“Be here soon.”

“What?” Judy wasn’t making sense. Joy closed her eyes, her vision darkening. If she could sleep off the pain, all would be better.

“Hear sirens. Getting closer.”

Joy groaned. Would she stop talking? It was too early.

“Don’t tell. Get in back.”

“Uh-uh. Sleep.”

“Get in back,” Judy said with more force. “I was driving.”

Judy’s meaning slowly penetrated Joy’s foggy mind and she unbuckled her seat belt. Judy didn’t want whoever was coming to know that Joy had been driving. Underage and unlicensed. Would they arrest her? She didn’t want to find out. Her movements sluggish, Joy dragged herself over the seatback, grunting and gasping. She bumped the side of her ribs and screamed in pain.

“Something’s broken,” she cried out, tearing up.

“Go, keep going,” Judy urged.

Panting, sweating, shaking, Joy dropped into the back seat. After a brief struggle with the latch, Joy buckled herself in.

“Never tell. Promise me,” Judy said, her voice noticeably weaker.

Joy struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Promise me you’ll never tell. Promise!” Judy ordered. Then she whimpered like an injured animal.

“Promise,” Joy whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Had she fought to stay awake, had she remained in the driver’s seat and taken responsibility for her actions, she might have noticed the piece of glass that had punctured Judy’s abdomen. She might have realized that her sister was slowly dying. But Joy hadn’t done a thing, and she’d been punishing herself ever since.

“You pegged me from the start, Dylan. I’ve been wearing vintage clothes like Judy did and listening to her favorite music. I wanted to experience this trip as she would have, since she can’t. She’s dead because of me.”

Dylan stared at her. He hadn’t spoken a word in quite some time, making her feel more uneasy than she already was.

“Say something,” she whispered with urgency.

Dylan snapped out of his stupor. His eyes softened and he grasped her wrist. “You’re not at fault.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He held her hand against his racing heart. “Feel that? That’s fear. I was so scared for you. But Judy? What the hell? How could she ask you to drive? You were thirteen, for Chrissake.”