To Marley, I was exactly who I was supposed to be.

She’d always been an obvious girl with a knack for the sleight of hand. Even when you watched her closely, you still missed what she was trying to do.

Like she’d done every summer when she was alive, she set out game pieces without giving all of the rules. The pageantry of her memorial, the chaos of her parents’ behavior, the unexpected arrival of Nick Cline—they were all pieces of the puzzle.

It was time for her final adventure to begin.

July 11

Five Years Prior

“Ollie, what are you doing?” Marley asked.

“Nothing,” I said, hurrying down from the couch cushions. It wasn’t clear who was intruding upon who. Marley always went to sleep last and woke up first. Somehow, I’d beaten her to waking.

“I hate that thing,” she told me, pointing to the birdhouse clock. “My great-great-grandpa made it. My dad’s mom’s dad’s dad, or something. All I know is that he died way before my dad was even born. I don’t think we should have to keep it. But apparently, we have to.”

“It’s pretty weird,” I said.

“I guess it’s our state bird in there. A real California quail that my great-great-grandpa taxidermied up. Nice, huh?”

She walked to where I stood. The two of us turned to examine the clock, our heads tilting as the thinnest of the three hands ticked down each second.

“That bird’s still alive, you know,” Marley said. Her lips spread into a sly smile. “Come on. Let’s go watch the sun rise.” She’d slept in nothing but a giant white T-shirt. It hit her at the shins and hung off her right shoulder, the sleeve so wide and long on the slouching side that it reached down to her wrist. She could pull her arms inside and make a blanket out of it if she wished.

I wanted to be covered like that. Fabric that could wrap around me until I was swaddled like a baby. I didn’t like being eleven. The world felt too big. The bird was dead but still alive. I’d seen it for myself. Marley knew it too. How did Marley know everything?

Neither of us had anything on our feet as we walked out her front door and down her driveway. The night before, Aidy and Teeny had braided the girls’ hair. Marley’s long french braid, blond and delicate, hit her exposed collarbone and snaked down the front of her shirt. It had stayed perfectly maintained, as if she hadn’t slept at all. Unlike me, who tossed and turned at night. No one but Nick would ever put their sleeping bag beside mine. Not even Ruby. She was already a light sleeper, and my apparent thrashing didn’t help the matter.