“Thank you all so much for coming once again,” I said, my voice echoing across the water. “Happy Full Moon to everyone. As you know, this is a time for us to reflect on our community, to come together as a group to celebrate and remember and to raise money to help one lucky, deserving Woodard student attend college.”

Applause. We took turns giving our speeches, explaining the scholarship, pointing out the buckets at the food stand where people could donate.

“As you all know, thirteen years ago, a young girl lost her life right here in these woods,” Alice finished up. “It was a tragedy, a promising life cut short, but our community rallied together, and tonight we remember how fragile life is.”

We never went into details about the bridge or the suicide—we didn’t want to be downers.

Alice stepped to the side and passed me the mic again to finish up. I always ended with a quote about the moon. “Thank you all for your generous contributions to the scholarship. As an old saying goes—”

Maggie’s cameraman stepped forward, kneeling down to take footage.

“—‘Always remember we are under the same sky, looking at—’”

Beside him, Maggie whipped out a notepad and started scribbling, a smirk on her face.

Oh, dearest Queen Bee. Enjoy the spotlight while you still can.

“You okay?” Bettina whispered next to me, nudging me with her elbow.

I shook my head to clear it. “As I was saying, ‘Always remember we are under the same sky, looking at the same moon.’ Be kind to one another, tonight and always.”

Stronger applause this time as we moved into the crowd and lit everyone’s candles. The lights blinked off the still, black lake, and I felt, for a moment, that we were doing something good. Releasing positive vibes into the universe, to help counter the bad ones.

Someone announced the dance team, and the four of us shifted to the side of the stage as the girls filed out in their usual blue-and-black dance leotards with skirts, their hair back in tight buns. They seemed somber as they lined up, Sloane in the middle, all serious and dignified, like tragedy had struck her.

The dancers fell to the ground in poses reminiscent of the dead. I flinched. Poor taste. But Bettina looked on in awe, clasping her hands in front of her. Someone started up their Bluetooth speaker, and a bad recording of a song started. I recognized it as “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLachlan. Her mournful wail began, as the dancers, one by one, stood up and started waving their hands in an odd, drunken sway.

When the song was finally ending, Sloane skittered to the edge of the performance area to grab a rolled-up parchment. She held the end, and the other dancers unrolled it. It spelled out, WE WILL NEVER FORGET.