It couldn’t be. But there she was.

Blair.

Standing right there, in a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt and ripped denim shorts, her hair in a tight ponytail.

“Abby.” She had yelled my name a million times—across the dock, from her bedroom, on a thousand and one car trips to the Ice Shanty. Over her shoulder, yelling at me to follow her. The night we dug the telescope, telling me to keep watch. And I hadn’t heard it from her all summer.

“Abby,” she said a third time. She was smiling—a real smile, one that met her eyes—and opened her arms wide. Wide enough for both Jade and me. And as the three of us pressed together, I knew that whatever happened next, the power of three would not be broken. We were bound together—not by any secret, but by the sky itself.

We sat out on a dock, feet dangling. Blair and I looked across the lake, listening to Caleb’s band play bad covers.

“You’re back,” I said.

“I’m back,” she said. “You missed my graduation ceremony. Caps and gowns and everything.”

“Really?”

“No,” she laughed. “Just a hug from my roommate and some meds and an outpatient therapist to see in Washport.”

Blair was still skinny, but she looked more rounded out. The nooks and crannies of her knees and shoulders had been filled, and her skin had a bit of its shine back. I could hug her without feeling like she’d break.

“I missed you,” I said.

“I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you for a long time,” I said honestly. Longer than the summer; longer than the past year, even. She knew what I meant.

“You know why I went to Harvest Hills?” she asked, watching an eagle swoop down and snatch something out of the water.

“To get better,” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah. But I went because of you. The Joffrey thing, my accident on prom night, the cupcake . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, her brown ponytail grazing my face. “All I could think about was how you had seen me make really stupid decisions.”

“You were sick,” I said.

“I know! I know that. But still. I didn’t want you to see that and think that was how things should be,” she said. “I always felt like maybe . . . like you looked up to me. And this was one thing I didn’t want you to look up to. I saw you, after the Memorial Day . . . thing. I saw your face when Mom and I got in the car. And you looked like someone had just told you everything you’d ever believed was a lie. Confused. And scared.”

I nodded. “I was. My whole life, you’d been so perfect. And suddenly it was like maybe I’d never even known you.”

“You know me,” said Blair, her voice getting tight. “You know who I am without ballet. That’s something I’m still kinda figuring out.” She shifted, stretching her arms and arching her back to the sky. In that moment, she looked a little like the ballerina she’d always been.