He shrugs. “Some.”

His voice is so cool, so aloof, that it startles me. I stop in my tracks before we cross the highway. “What is going on with you?”

He won’t look me in the eye. He just hitches his shoulders again. “Nothing. Come on. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for me; he starts jogging so that I’m trailing two steps behind him. We cross the highway and find the path toward the Outfitters. When we’re near the door, I inspect the wipe-off board that talks about the daily activities. It says:

TODAY the RIVER is at 7,500 CFS

Dinner at 6 p.m. will be franks and burgers

Be SAFE out THERE!

Thank You for Choosing Northeast Outfitters

But nowhere at all does it say that tonight is Movie Night on the terrace. I’m about to ask Justin how he knows that there’ll be a movie when I’ve never seen it posted anywhere, when he turns to me and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out this kind of crushed, but still very pretty, red rose, surrounded by a little baby’s breath. The petals are black and wilting around the edges, and some of them fall off in his hands. “Crap,” he mutters.

I stare at it, openmouthed. “What is that?”

He lets the loose petals fall to the ground and holds it up for me. “It used to be a flower. I think.”

I just stare at it. “It’s a corsage? For, like, prom? Where did you—”

He nods. “I bought it Wednesday.”

“I don’t get it,” I say as I take it from him and affix it to my shirt. I look kind of silly wearing a corsage on this ensemble, especially since we’re just going to watch a movie. He opens the door to the Outfitters, and when I walk in, Spiffy is giving Justin the eye. They communicate soundlessly, and I do a tennis match head-swivel to see what each of them is trying to say, but it’s just raised eyebrows, winks, and nods.

“This way,” Justin says, pulling me into a room. A sign on the door says it’s the KENNEBEC ROOM, which I think must be on the way to the terrace. It’s dark inside, like a movie theater.

But suddenly a speaker begins to crackle, and music begins to pour out of it. It’s some cheesy slow song I’ve never heard before. Disco lights begin to flash white circles around the room. I strain in the dizzying moving pattern of darkness and light but don’t see a movie screen or chairs. It’s just a big, empty room with lacquered wood floors, like a gymnasium. In the corner is a banner, painted with big black lettering: WAYVIEW HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR PROM. I turn to Justin. He’s looking at it, scratching his head, which is what he always does when he’s embarrassed. “Justin, what is going on?” I ask.

His shoulders sag. “This was way better in my mind.”

“No, it’s … nice!” I say brightly, relieved.

So this is why he was acting so strange. He never could keep secrets from me. Justin is just too simple, too honest for something like that. I’m relieved it wasn’t anything bad, like … well, I don’t know what.

“You said you didn’t care about prom, but I know you did,” he says softly. “You’re a good person for going along with us. And I know it’s missing all the best things about being at prom, like getting all dressed up and seeing all your friends, but—”

I smile and pull him to the center of the room. I draw him to me, lean my head against his chest so I can hear the thumping of his heart, and we begin to sway. “You’re wrong,” I whisper into his neck. “The best thing about prom would be going with you, the best boyfriend in the world.”

I close my eyes to lose myself in the music, but he’s stopped moving. He’s standing there, stiff. I pull away and look into his eyes. The lights flash in rhythm on the deep ridges of his frown. And I know there is something else.

He will not look me in the eye; instead, his focus is somewhere over my head. He opens his mouth to speak. At first nothing comes out. Then finally the words come. “I kissed her. I kissed Angela.”

My breath hitches. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat it. He doesn’t have to, and I don’t want him to. I heard him perfectly the first time, and I don’t want those words scraping my eardrums again. But I just don’t want to believe it. He swallows. “It was a mistake. It meant nothing.”

I shake my head. “Kisses always mean something,” I say softly.

“Well, this one didn’t mean anything. Really,” he says. “We came back from the hike and we were setting up the streamers here, and …”

He keeps speaking but I’m not really listening because I’m looking at the streamers. I didn’t notice them before, but the entire room is decked out in our school colors, with bright red and yellow streamers everywhere. Angela helped him with this. It must have taken hours. I realize that he kissed her here. Right where we’re standing. Something thick is building in the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow, hard even to breathe. My boyfriend. And my best friend.

“And we were just joking around, dancing, and I lost my mind for a second because the next thing I knew I was kissing her. It’s not Ange’s fault. It’s mine. It was just …”

He says “stupid” at the same time I say “what you’ve always wanted.”

I don’t know why I say it, maybe because, deep down, I’ve always thought that. He’s shaking his head, only shaking his head, back and forth, like some stupid dog trying to dry its fur. Maybe if he’d say the word, actually say “No, never, I never wanted that, God, Ki, it’s you I’ve always loved,” maybe if he fell to my feet and covered the room with apologies, I could believe him. But he’s just standing there, shaking his head, mute. I fight back the tears with everything I can but they’re spilling over my cheeks as he grabs me by my elbows, pulling me toward him. I rip myself away from him and shove against his chest as hard as I can. Usually it’s like trying to move a mountain, but this time, he steps backward, stricken.

I tear the corsage off my T-shirt, not paying attention to the hole that it leaves in the fabric, revealing my lacy black bra. He’s still standing there, frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, but again no words come out. Why does he have no words for me? He’s supposed to know me better than anyone! We’re supposed to be able to talk about things! I hurl the corsage at him and fly out the door, into the cold air, down to the river.

“Trey!” I scream into the blue night. “Trey! I’m ready! Take me across.”

The wind picks up and the tips of the tall pines are swaying, almost bowing to me. Bowing to the newest Mistress of the Waters. Because that is what I was destined to be. And right now, that is what I want to become. I race through blackness, unsure if I’m headed toward the river, but the rocky embankment is growing steeper and steeper as my legs fly beneath me. Too fast. Soon I am sliding, and as I reach out to steady myself the toe of my boot slams against something hard, sending me stumbling forward. All at once I am flying through the air. The last thing I remember is the crushing pain in my chest, and maybe, probably, it’s the breaking of my heart.

Chapter Seventeen

My nightmares are worse than they have ever been. Justin and Angela, walking away from me as I slide down the muddy embankment toward the river. I’m screaming for help, but they are too enamored of one another to hear me. I claw at the earth, but my fingers just rake through mud. The girl in the pink party dress is standing over me. She spews more mud from her mouth, then reaches toward me. At first I think she is going to help me. Instead, she entwines her fingers in the hair at the top of my head and pushes my face into the soft earth. I can’t breathe; all I can do is taste the thick, gritty stuff as it spreads into my mouth and nostrils. Now even screaming isn’t possible. Someone is chanting something. You’re a stupid girl, a female voice whispers in my ear. Stupid, stupid.