She climbed down from her ladder and sat on the counter. “Muir. I haven’t painted or touched clay since last year. I feel like a failure and I’m embarrassed; I feel so sorry for myself, being dragged from the only home and friends I knew, and Katiana is my punishment for that self-pity. I gave up the thing I loved most so easily. I’m scared to death of them, I still am—and then you came here. And talked to me and let me be your friend when I didn’t have anyone. I didn’t have myself. You’ve made yourself into this person who can live anywhere; you’ve raised yourself to be a person who can’t stand not making things right, and I think you do believe, deep down secretly, that you deserve to be happy, or else you wouldn’t have bothered defending yourself from that—I can’t even say his name—chad. I imagined you doing that, saving yourself from him, and I thought, I am done dicking around. I am an artist. And here I am.”

“Kira,” I said. “It’s not—”

“You are worth having a life with people who love you; you have just as much a right to happiness as anyone. If you want to stay here, if you want to go to school, then do it. There are ways—I watched those movies, and they scared the absolute shit out of me. I get why you’re so careful. And I understand you’re scared of being trapped, but I know about the ways to stay, the ways to do things like school. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

I blinked fast, unable to say what I was thinking: that no friend had ever said anything so nice to me, ever. That I did believe her; I knew she meant every word, how much I wished it could all be true. And how truthfully scared I was to try to live alone.

Then the coffeemaker clicked on and started brewing another pot. I walked behind the counter and unplugged it. “I’m cutting you off. You and your ways.”

“Whatever. I’m done anyhow.”

I stood beside her sitting on the counter, and we admired her manic, glorious creation, the ink on her arms spattered in dust of every color.

“I’m going surfing next weekend at La Push,” she said. “I haven’t surfed in months. I miss it so much I ache. I’m done punishing myself.”

“Oh, Kira.” I wished I could see her in the ocean, brave and daring in the wild, freezing waves. Maybe one day she would invite me. But I understood this was hers.

“And Elliot is coming here tomorrow to take pictures of this for me,” she said. We gazed up at her masterpiece.

“What exactly are that young man’s intentions?” I asked. “He being good to you?”