“All right. Why don’t you and your sister have a seat over there while we finish making sure you’re okay. We’ll bring you some water and some towels. Take some time to calm down, and try to remember everything you can about what happened.”

I knew everything, of course. Every detail. I could have drawn a flip book, showing how the bullet flew, millimeter by millimeter, toward the golden pillow, entering the fibers, then Marley’s body, pushing her back and in, turning off the light in her eyes forever.

But I’d never share all of that.

I would never share my Marley with anyone again.

15

When Teeny finished reading the last sentence of her letter, we tensed into an elevator silence—a group of people in an enclosed space, afraid to catch the potential conversations polluting the air. Unfortunately, no doors were going to burst open and free us of the unspoken obligation we’d all been avoiding.

There would have to be someone brave enough to speak.

It was going to be me.

It was always me.

Sentences curdled at the back of my throat, ready to spill. “Marley,” I whispered.

Teeny jerked her head to see if the girl of the hour had manifested in the spot where my dizzy gaze rested. She hadn’t. She wouldn’t. But every sentence I spoke would have to start with her name, because everything that had happened in the past three days started with her name.

Everything in the past five years started with her name.

“Told me to do the Adventure,” I finished.

I was greeted with “What?” and “What?” and “What do you mean?” and “Hold on,” and “Ollie?” and “What?” again.

I measured the quiet into spoonfuls, swallowed them back, let them digest, and said again, “Marley told me to do the Adventure.”

Part Three

Unbelievable Realities

16

A small part of me wished to step away from myself for the rest of the night. Decide that I didn’t owe anyone the rest of my truth. People got away with shutting down like that all the time.

But the great thing about the drink Harrison gave me was how it made my body slowly soften. Every few breaths, tension dripped off me, loosening years of knots I’d wound around myself to keep from giving away too much.

The others—eyes glued on me, waiting for my explanation—had not yet loosened. “Olivia, I’m not joking around; you need to explain yourself right this very second,” and, “You can’t just sit there,” and, “So now she’s some kind of statue. If this is some fake demon thing,” and, “It’s all right,” and a squeeze of my hand.

Nick’s palm nestled into mine.