Afton, true to her word, is here, too. She stubbornly sat with Michael and the rest of the Wongs on the bus. Avoiding even so much as looking at me.

I don’t know why she’s so mad at me, but I kind of get it. I was mad at her over it, too. I don’t know what to do about it, so I try to act like things are normal, for Abby’s sake. I take a lot of photos with my phone so I can go back and do some watercolors off them later. I love the wooden ki’i statues with their gaping smiles and wide grimaces. The place reminds me a little of Notre Dame, when the conference was in Paris four years ago. Pop wore Abby in a baby carrier strapped to his chest, and she went totally quiet in the cathedral, her little rosebud mouth forming a silent O as she stared up at the stained glass. This place feels the same, like the sand we’re standing on is holy, the air charged with an ancient and wise energy.

It’s peaceful, I think, being here.

“YOU’RE A DOUCHEBAG, YOU KNOW THAT?”

Afton’s voice echoes off the walls and the rocks and the trees. Everyone—even the people who aren’t part of our group—stop to stare at her and Michael standing in the coconut grove. Afton’s face is red, her fists clenched at her sides.

Michael’s looking down at his flip-flops. “Hey, look, I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Save it,” she snarls, and stalks off down the beach.

“I guess that honeymoon’s over,” says Marjorie from somewhere in the back.

I stare after Afton. I bet this outburst has to do with the infamous Melanie. I happen to know exactly how that feels. Like screaming, “Fuck you, Leo!” in a crowded parking lot.

“Is Afton okay?” Abby asks. “Is she winning?”

“Winning?”

“You said you were in a competition to see who had the worst broken heart,” Abby reminds me.

I snort, then nod. “Yeah. I think she might be winning now.”

“Everyone’s yelling all the time,” Abby says with a sigh. “I wish it would stop.”

My heart squeezes. “Well, I won’t yell anymore, okay?”

“Promise?” She holds out her pinkie.

I take it with mine. “Promise. And remember what Pop said. Afton’s tough. She’ll be okay.” It’s the rest of us I’m not so sure about. I try to mash Afton’s words down in my brain: This is all your fault. Blaming me the way I blamed her for taking Abby to hula, which led to me discovering Mom and Billy. It wasn’t Afton’s fault. And it’s not mine.

“All right, people,” says Kahoni in disgust. “It’s time to go.”