Dad looked to Mom, nodding to ease a hesitant sentence out of her lips. “We made a few calls while you were asleep,” she said to me. “You’ll be returning to Camp Califree at the end of the month.”

She wanted this to resonate. Be a big moment where I broke down weeping, grateful. What could be better than gigantic slides that tossed me into a wide-open lake? Relay races and tugs-of-war and Pizza Fridays? Suntans and curfews and loosely structured days spent hugging other kids who’d experienced real trauma and grief?

Summer in Cadence was better. My messy bedroom and my messy friends. Marley.

“Whatever,” I whispered, clenching my teeth to keep from crying. It would do me no good to protest, even though my every breath seemed to be laced with searing rebuttals. I knew I should show them joy, but I was too tired to perform that much.

I should’ve seen this coming. I’d been out in public with Nick Cline. I’d run out of the memorial crying. I hadn’t meant to make my own perfect storm, and yet there I sat in the eye of it, watching the chaos swirl around me with stunning efficiency. I stalked out of the office and back to the comfort of my bedroom, shutting my door and locking it behind me. I had to come up with a way to get out of camp.

The Adventure had only just begun.

I couldn’t miss a single day.

July 11

Five Years Prior

Mrs. Bricket opened Marley’s door at exactly eight in the morning. The hinges squeaked to announce her presence right as the quail started his song, cheerful and off-key as ever.

“Marley,” she called out in a hushed yell. “I need to go to work. The Stantons said you’re all spending the afternoon at their house. Please eat breakfast there. I don’t have enough food for all of you.”

Marley didn’t answer her mother. She pretended to sleep, which was ridiculous, because she’d been painting her nails mere moments before. The bottle was open on her nightstand and the room was sharp with the unmistakable metallic scent that only came from fresh polish in a closed space.

“Marley, I know you hear me. Can you please acknowledge your mother?”

Marley started fake snoring.

All of us were awake. Our collectively held breaths pressed down on the silence, everyone wondering how far Marley would push her disrespect.

“I’ve got it, Mrs. Bricket,” Aidy said. “I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you, Aidy, but I’d prefer for my daughter to tell me herself.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, Marley. Don’t be a brat. I’m not in the mood.”