For a moment, Cali and I stand there silently, watching Kjersti walk away, her sleek panther-like form striding down the sidewalk and catching glances from men and women alike. Professional athletes are like beautiful aliens, similar to humans but perhaps one stage further along in their evolution. I realize too late that I never fully appreciated the beauty of the body I had; I was too obsessed with its mechanics.

“So, uh, Katie? Bomber?” Cali says finally.

I give her a sheepish look, but at least she’s smiling, taking it in with cheerful grace. Dread is pooling in my stomach. I know she thinks she can handle it, whatever it is. I’ll forgive her if she can’t. I’m new in her life, I tell myself, and she’s new in mine, it will only be a surface wound if I lose her.

“Ye-ah,” I say.

“I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about my past, but an alias is kind of next level.”

There’s really no choice now, I think. We can’t be friends any longer with this hanging between us. I can’t pile another lie on the ones I’ve already told her—the fake name, the altered backstory. After all, before Penny was a killer she was a liar. I can’t keep this up.

“I want to tell you, but it’s hard to know where to start,” I say as we make our way to a bench that looks out onto the Drake Passage. The bay is both eerie and beautiful: the clouds above it are constantly churning, and the water, the light, the sky are never still. Beyond it, there’s only the forbidding Antarctic.

“Well, how about we start with why you told me your name was Liz?”

“Liz, well Elizabeth, is my middle name. My actual name is Katie Cleary.” I realize that this piece of information might save me from having to explain the rest. “Does that ring any bells?” My voice gets soft.

She thinks about it. “I mean, yeah, vaguely. But, to be honest, I don’t really follow ski racing.”

I smile sadly. That’s not why she recognizes my name.

“How about Penny Cleary-Granger?” I say.

Cali’s eyes grow wide with recognition. I can’t be sorry that I didn’t tell her until now; at least now she’s less likely to jump to every horrible conclusion in the book, now that she knows me. Maybe.

“She’s my older sister.”

I hear the sharp intake of Cali’s breath and my heart races. I envision her backing away from me or screaming for help. The weight of not having told anyone, of finally telling her, is crushing me.