Sharps was playing with the ducks, pulling them under to bob to the surface and fly away quacking. Turning from the sight, Trent leaned his back against the railing and crossed one ankle against another, his position mirroring mine exactly. We were two people meeting by chance, sharing a few words and the sun. Ri-i-i-i-ight.

“If it gets out,” he said, his eyes on the distant bathroom behind me, “I’ll make the records concerning my father’s little camp public. You and every one of those sorry little snots will be tracked down and treated like lepers. That is if they don’t simply cremate you out of fear something will mutate and start another Turn.”

My knees went loose and watery. I had been right. Trent’s father had done something to me, fixed whatever had been wrong. And Trent’s threat wasn’t idle. The best-case scenario would involve a one-way ticket to the Antarctic. I moved my tongue around on the inside of my mouth, trying to find enough spit to swallow. “How did you know?” I asked, thinking my secret was more deadly than his.

Eyes fixed to mine, he pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to show a nicely muscled arm. The hair was bleached from the sun and his skin was well-tanned. A ragged scar marred its even smoothness. My eyes rose to his, reading an old anger.

“That was you?” I stammered. “That was you I threw into the tree?”

With motions short and abrupt, he tugged his sleeve back down, hiding the scar. “I’ve never forgiven you for making me cry in front of my father.”

A childhood anger flared from coals I had thought long extinct. “It’s your own fault. I told you to stop teasing her!” I said, not caring that my voice was louder than the surrounding water. “Jasmin was sick. She cried herself to sleep for three weeks because of you.”

Trent jerked upright. “You know her name?” he exclaimed. “Write it down. Quick!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Why do you care what her name was? She had a hard enough time without you picking on her.”

“Her name!” Trent said, patting his pockets until he found a pen. “What’s her name?”

Scowling, I tucked a curl behind an ear. “I’m not going to tell you,” I said, embarrassed that I had forgotten it again.

Trent pressed his lips together and put the pen away. “You forgot already, didn’t you?”

“Why do you care anyway? All you did was pester her.”

He looked cross as he tugged his hat lower over his eyes. “I was fourteen. A very awkward fourteen, Ms. Morgan. I teased her because I liked her. Next time you recall her name, I would appreciate it if you would write it down and send it to me. There were long-term memory blockers in the camp’s drinking water, and I would like to know if—”