I have to hope that Kelsey got out some other way. And if she did not, I will be coming back anyway for all the girls I did not warn. When I do, I will get her out, too.

I will know it is time to go down once the firefighters start to leave—between now and then all I can do is wait. And that would be fine if the black tar rooftop wasn’t a giant sucking magnet for the sun’s rays. Within minutes, it goes from a little warm to burning hot in my hiding spot. I am so thirsty, too. I can no longer remember the last time I had something to drink.

Time grinds down. Minutes ooze into what could be awful, uncomfortable hours. Or maybe only more minutes. Everything feels muddled and confused. I try to think cooling thoughts. Cool, happy thoughts.

And, so, I think of the first cold, happy place that jumps to mind: Crater Lake.

THE LAST BIG trip my mom and I took before she died was our farthest ever, to Crater Lake in Oregon.

It was the third week of August—a week before the start of junior year. By then, Cassie had been back from her fitness camp for two weeks with her brand-new body, more stylish clothes, and notable disinterest in everything I had to say. I didn’t realize the change in Cassie’s feelings right away, but my mom wasn’t nearly as slow on the uptake. She could see the writing on the wall, which is why she suggested the long trip for just the two of us.

“I think we should do a full-on blowout this time,” my mom had said. “Northwest coast. We can hike up near Mount Rainier, then drive down to the Oregon coast. I have a whole extra week now that my trip was canceled.” Though she was also somewhat disappointed about this, I knew. The trip had been for one of her personal freelance projects. An anonymous source had said they were willing to give her a tour of some off-limits research facility (which sounded super sketchy to me) so she could take pictures that would reveal who knows what. And I guess she did take some. But then her source had disappeared—couldn’t be reached, wouldn’t return calls. Leaving her with time on her hands. “Come on, just you and me. It’ll be fun.”

Crater Lake was our last stop before heading home. And it was as beautiful as my mom had promised: fir trees lush and tall, and with a sharp blue sky endless off the water. It was hard to tell what was real and what was a reflection.

It wasn’t until we’d hiked most of the slippery distance down to the water’s edge that my mom even mentioned the whole idea of swimming.