“You’re right,” Harrison countered, his voice soft. “But we’re older now. This is different.”

“It’s scary, is what it is,” Teeny said. “This kind of stuff gives me goose bumps. Letters from someone who died. It makes it seem…”

“I know,” Harrison agreed, cutting her off. “I used to think about the Adventure all the time. If she’d planned another one before she…”

No one would finish a single thought.

“I always kind of wished there was more from her we never found, but I don’t know if I mean that now that we’re here.” He turned to Aidy. “Didn’t I say that to you before? That I wanted to find stuff from her?”

Aidy shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Let’s look at the rest of it tomorrow,” I suggested again.

“We should definitely look at the rest of it tomorrow,” Aidy echoed. “This is a lot to handle in one night. On the anniversary, no less.”

Half of the group looked at me. Half looked at Aidy. I swallowed back words. It was my idea to wait until tomorrow.

“Who should keep the box while we wait?” Nick’s hand brushed against the small of my back.

“Ruby?” Bigs suggested.

The group nodded. Aidy was the best choice, but since I was her sister, and most of them didn’t trust me farther than they could throw me, Ruby made the most sense. She wouldn’t look inside until we all agreed someone should. The one thing we’d learned from the great Team One and Team Two debacle was that we had to share the things meant to be shared and keep what we got from them to ourselves.

We walked up the bowl and over to the playground, past the idling swings and swaying bridge. One by one, everyone mounted their bikes and waited, until only Harrison, Nick, and I were without.

“You’ll have to walk,” Aidy told Harrison. He shot a look to me.

What could I do? The bike was mine.

It was smaller than I remembered, even with the seat hiked up as high as possible to accommodate Harrison’s six-foot frame. Climbing onto it, I felt like Little Ollie yet again—young and small and unsure of my purpose in our group.

That wasn’t who I was. But I’d shed the skin of the me I’d been for five years. It was time to become the newest version of myself. The one Marley had prepared me to be. I didn’t know if I was ready yet, but I had to try.

I walked my bike to the spot that once belonged to Marley herself. She always pedaled at the tip of our V, her soft blond hair spiraling through the wind, thrashing across her rosy cheeks. “Close your eyes!” she’d scream as we rode across an intersection.

Now, it was me.