Willa and Finley were in the same grade at school—but not friends yet—when the Boys and Girls Clubs partnered with the sailing club to offer lessons to underprivileged kids. That summer Willa showed Finley that the tiny girl who was always picked last in gym class was the first to learn how to sail. Finley saw Willa in a new light. She saw her as a sailor.

When school started in the fall, Finley invited Willa to sit with her friends in the cafeteria, and Finley always found spare lunch tickets in her backpack for Willa so she could join them eating terrible tuna casserole and Friday pizza. Mrs. Donoghue altered Willa’s uniforms to fit her properly. Once Finley’s mom gave Willa a pair of shoes, claiming she’d accidentally bought the wrong size for Finley. Even after Willa was old enough to realize the depths of their generosity—that Mrs. Donoghue had been buying extra lunch tickets all along—Finley and her mother never made Willa feel like a charity case.

“It looks like you’re all set.” Mrs. Donoghue smiles, but sadness lingers in her eyes. Willa has no idea how she’ll ever get over losing her best friend, but she can’t begin to imagine how Finley’s mother must feel. Mothers aren’t supposed to lose their daughters. “But before you go, I have a couple of things for you.”

She hands Willa a prepaid debit card. “It’s Finley’s savings for the trip.”

“I really—I can’t accept this.”

“Please don’t be stubborn, Willa. Finley wanted you to have it, and I don’t want you girls to be caught short.”

Being given a substantial amount of money is a much bigger deal than a pair of school shoes or lunch tickets, but Willa’s biggest fear is that her meager savings won’t carry her through the entire trip. Taylor frowns at the debit card, and Willa worries this will become another wall between them, but she needs the money. “I’ll, um—I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mrs. Donoghue wraps her arm around Willa’s shoulder and kisses her temple. “If I learned anything from my daughter, it’s that you only get one life. Make the most of it.”

Willa nods. “I will. Thank you.”

Finley’s mom turns to Taylor and offers her a small glass bottle filled with what looks like gray sand. “We didn’t honor any of Finley’s funeral requests because . . . well, can you imagine my eighty-eight-year-old mother at a bonfire party on Cedar Point Beach? But Finley’s dad and I thought you girls might like to scatter some of her ashes when you reach Key West. She’d approve, don’t you think?”

Taylor nods, her eyes shining with tears as she takes the bottle, leaving Willa to speak for both of them. “Definitely.”