She screams until her voice gives out. Willa rages her fists at the sky, as if doing battle with God. “Why the fuck are we allowed to even be alive in a world where Finley Donoghue is dead?”

Taylor’s skin burns hot as she’s forced to face the role she played in Willa’s pain. She takes over the tiller, keeping the boat steady in the channel while Willa’s tears fall faster than the hem of her tank top can handle. Taylor wishes she could pull over to the side of the river—like she would if they were in a car—because her own vision is blurred with tears. But they are in a remote stretch where there are no towns, no docks. They have no choice but to keep traveling forward.

“I wish I could rewind time to that day at the sailing club and take it all back,” she says. “I was so jealous that it was easier to hate you than admit I understood why Finley wanted to be your friend. She was right about you. You’re the coolest person I know, and I’m sorry. For everything.”

Willa pushes the heels of her hands against her eyes to stanch the flow of tears and sniffles wetly. “If I’m the coolest person you know, you really need to meet more people.”

“Well, that was a lie anyway. Captain Norm is way cooler than you.”

The corners of Willa’s mouth quiver. Not quite a smile, but almost. “Obviously.”

She goes down into the cabin to use the bathroom, and when she comes back out on deck, she is wearing a dry tank top and her hair is damp around her face. Her eyes are still kind of puffy as she sits down. Taylor takes a drink of the Budweiser, then passes the can to her. Willa takes a sip, then crinkles her nose.

“I know,” Taylor says. “It’s not fine Canadian hockey-flavored beer.”

Willa’s smile is cheerier this time, and she laughs a little. Taylor adjusts course slightly. “So . . . can we unpack the rest of your meltdown?”

“Do we have to?” Willa sounds congested from crying. “Maybe we can pretend I didn’t just lose my shit in the middle of the Intracoastal Waterway.”

“Whether he meant it or not, Cam was cruel to you, and I’m sorry.”

“I keep wondering what I did wrong,” Willa says. “Like, was I so boring that running away was his only option?”

“You’re the one sailing to Key West. If anyone is boring, it’s Campbell,” Taylor says. “It’s one thing to get accepted into an Ivy League school, but another to flunk out because you never go to class.”

“Wait . . . that’s what happened? He told me he left.”