Suddenly, I feel an intense wave of remorse. Here I am, allowing myself to feel safe and happy when Levi is there, with that man. Hot tears threaten to fall as I change my course, heading not toward Cypress after all, but down the secluded path to the boathouse. I’m not thinking, only moving.

Ten minutes later, I burst through the brush and trees to stand in the exact spot where Levi and I spent our duty, exactly one year ago. As I stare at the boathouse doors, at the peeling paint we never did rectify, I remember the scream. Pru’s scream. And how, with Pru’s attack, everything changed. I saw glimpses of Levi’s kindness as he carried Pru to campus. I think I fell in love with him a little bit that day, and every day after, even if I only admitted it to myself much later.

I’ve run here faster than I meant to, and my heart is pounding wildly in my chest. Still, I keep going. I pull open the stiff wooden doors of the boathouse and clatter inside, past the row of canoes and the racing shells lined against the walls. I’m on a mission—to do what, I’m not sure. All I know is I don’t want to stop, to rest and feel the weight of it, of my sadness for Levi, of my acute longing to kiss and touch him and feel the electrifying rush of his skin on mine. My eyes race over the room as I spot what I’m looking for: stairs at the far end. They lead up to a loft. I’ve never been up them and have no idea what’s stored up there. I begin to climb the rickety stairs. A window waits for me at the top. I wrench it open, brushing cobwebs away, and peer out.

Below me is the ground, ahead of me is the pearly Dark Lake, and beyond is the edge of the boathouse roof. Perfect.