With no time to sit and eat breakfast and no stomach for it anyway, I grab a bagel and rush to my first class. I can barely concentrate in calculus, and English and world history fly by as I think about the message Gravelle sent me. I still haven’t found the right moment to tell my friends about it.

Ollie snags me on my way to lunch and falls in step with me on the path to the dining hall. I instantly tense, thinking of last night. Are we going to talk about that photo of me and Levi, or are we going to pretend the whole incident didn’t happen?

But Ollie’s on another topic altogether. “When were you going to tell me you leaped from a moving vehicle? Or is that a new hobby you picked up last year while I was gone?”

I pause midstep and look into his gray eyes—relieved to see he’s not angry. He looks like he always does. Warm. Generous. Open. Not mad, thank God. “Let me guess. Maude told you about that?”

We start walking again, more slowly now. I keep pace with Ollie.

“I knew something was up, Emma. Come on. That car? The huge rip in your jeans? Think you might want to reconsider the next time you contemplate breaking every bone in your body?” I sense worry behind Ollie’s eyes. Worry for me. “Pippa said you drove that Volvo. Was she messing with me, Emma?”

“Nope,” I answer. “I had to. Harlowe had the Similars locked up, and I had to find them. And you! You would’ve done the same thing. And if I was okay enough to drive… That’s proof that the car wasn’t going very fast when I jumped. Really, it wasn’t a big deal.” I’m angry at myself for how easily I can lie to him. That car was going fifty miles an hour. At least.

“I don’t believe you, but okay.” He laughs. Then he stops, staring off at the horizon. I do the same, wondering if he’s going to bring up the slideshow now. My stomach starts to churn with anxiety. That photo is proof that Levi and I weren’t just friends.

“He’s staying on Castor Island,” I blurt. It’s too late to take it back, though I instantly regret it. I don’t want to talk about this with Ollie. I can’t.

“Levi?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Levi. Ollie, that photo—”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No. I mean, yes, we do. Levi and I. Last year…”

“Was the worst year of your life,” he finishes my sentence for me. He isn’t smiling, not now. He looks pensive. Pained.

“Of course it was,” I whisper, his words throwing me back to the misery of junior year, without him. “I almost didn’t survive it. You know that.”