IN THE ALMOST two weeks that I’d spent at Latham, I’d never wondered if there was a way out, or if that way out led anywhere interesting. I figured the woods were followed by more woods, and maybe a highway with a roadside stand where you could buy farm-fresh artichokes, because I’d seen tons of those on the drive up. I’d never once thought that after a mile, the woods would let out into a small town with an old stucco mission and a brightly colored main street. But that’s exactly what they did.

I still didn’t know how I’d let Sadie convince me to do this. We weren’t even supposed to be in the woods during rest period, never mind hiking a mile through them into town. And we absolutely weren’t supposed to leave Latham for any reason, particularly something as pointless as getting coffee.

About halfway there, Charlie was looking paler than usual and was having trouble catching his breath, so we stopped to rest. He leaned against a tree, closing his eyes for a moment while we all stared at each other uneasily.

“Maybe we should go back,” Marina said.

Charlie opened his eyes and glared.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just need a minute.”

After a couple of minutes, he joked that he’d photosynthesized some more energy, and we all continued on.

This ball of nerves lodged itself firmly in my stomach the moment Whitley came into view. The town looked like the places my family used to visit when I was little, driving up and down the coast with a guidebook directing us to quaint historic sites, while my father quizzed me on the history.

“You’ve done this before, right?” I asked.

“Lots of times,” Sadie assured me. “It’s no big deal. Just try not to cough in front of anyone and it’ll be fine.”

She dug a handful of cough drops out of her pocket and passed them around. As we unwrapped them, my heart started racing. We were really doing this—going somewhere that wasn’t Latham. And as much as I’d protested the trip, I had to admit that I was excited at the prospect.

“In case anyone gets nosy, we’re college students,” Nick said. “And we’re making a pit stop on the drive up to Berkeley. Now push down your sleeves to hide your med sensor.”

I dutifully pushed down my sleeves and crunched the rest of my cough drop, and we followed the root-ravaged hiking trail into town.

WHITLEY WAS ONE of those quaint storybook places, nothing like the sprawling suburbia where I was from. I was used to strip malls, not main streets. Even so, being in this tiny out-of-the-way place felt like walking into a huge city after spending time away from civilization.

It was warm out, with just a faint bite of breeze. Early October. The shops had started putting Halloween displays in their windows, and some of the doorsteps already had pumpkins. The lampposts were covered with flyers advertising a Fall Fest in a couple of weeks, which featured face painting and a hayride. There were more flyers, for a corn maze and a haunted house.

“I heard they used to turn Latham into a haunted house,” Marina said, reading the flyer. “Back when it was a boarded-up prep school.”

“I went to it once,” Charlie said. We all turned to stare at him. “When I was six. My cousins brought me, and I got so scared I started crying. My aunt had to wait outside with me.”

“That’s adorable,” Nick said. “You were afraid of the big bad plastic masks.”

“I was six!” Charlie insisted. “And that’s not why I was afraid. One of my cousins told me that if I was really bad, I’d have to stay there, with all the monsters, forever.”

“You’re making that up,” Sadie accused, but Charlie just shrugged.

And then he started coughing. He muffled it in his sleeve, and thankfully there wasn’t anyone walking nearby, but we all still glanced around nervously. I was convinced we’d be caught, that someone would spot us and know exactly what we were and where we’d come from. But that didn’t happen. Charlie caught his breath and mumbled an apology, and we continued on.

We passed a pet shop, a little bookstore, and some kind of organic juice place with a sign in its window urging customers to like it on Facebook. I’d spent so long brooding over the fact that I was cut off from everything, and trying to get back to the real world, but now that I had, it felt strange and misshapen. Or maybe that was me. I felt so self-conscious, like I wasn’t supposed to be here, and like everyone could tell.

When we reached the Starbucks, Charlie was flushed and sweating. I was pretty sure we shouldn’t bring him into a coffee shop, and Marina had the same idea.

“Hey, Charlie, want to check out the thrift store with me?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, brightening.

“Back here in twenty?” Sadie called.

“If we’re running late, we’ll text you,” Marina deadpanned, and for a moment, I believed her.

“Come on, troops,” Sadie said, holding open the door of the Starbucks.

Nick and I followed her inside. I’d expected the place to be mostly empty, but a surprising number of people were sitting at the tables with their laptops out. I was wearing my Stanford hoodie and jeans, and even though I was sure we stuck out, I guess we looked pretty normal. Just three clean-cut kids grabbing coffee. No one even glanced up at us.

“So, butterbeer lattes?” Sadie asked.

“I don’t think that’s on the menu,” I said.

“Ah, but it’s on the secret menu,” Nick said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He went on to explain that Starbucks had a treasure trove of unlisted options, one of which was the butterbeer latte.

“If it’s coffee, I’ll take it,” I said, following Sadie to the register.

This bored-looking blond dude with adult braces was reading something on his phone, and he didn’t notice us at first. Sadie leaned across the counter a little bit, examining a packet of cookies.

“Hey,” she said.

The cashier glanced up, and I swear his eyes bugged out at the sight of her tight black V-neck sweater. I didn’t blame him; I’d been trying not to get caught staring at it all day.

“Um, what can I get for you?” he asked, flustered.

“Five venti butterbeer lattes.” She smiled sweetly, as though daring him to say they didn’t make those.

The cashier laughed.

“Hey, Mike,” he called to the barista. “Can you do butterbeer lattes?”

The barista, this lumberjack-looking hipster dude, shrugged and said sure.

“No one ever orders those,” the cashier said, punching it in. “That’s awesome.”

I held out some money, and he reached out to take it, then stopped, staring at my wrist.

I glanced down to see what he was looking at, and tried not to panic. I’d pushed up the sleeves of my sweatshirt without thinking, and my med sensor was right there.

My stomach twisted, and I winced, waiting for everything to come crashing down.

“Is that one of those fitness bands?” he asked.

I’d never been so relieved in my life.

“Yeah, it is,” I said, tugging down my sleeve.

“I’ve been thinking about getting one,” he said, taking the money and counting out my change.

“They’re awesome, you should,” I said, and then I decamped to the island of napkins and straws, my heart still hammering.

Nick came over and started nervously fidgeting with the sugar packets.

“I told you to pull your sleeves down,” he said. “Thank God for yuppies and their stupid fitness tech.”

I glanced over at the little coffee station, where Sadie was chatting with the barista. He said something sharply and slid the drink carriers across the counter with more force than was necessary.

“Grab some drink sleeves,” Sadie said, coming over.

“What was that about?” Nick asked.

“Nothing,” Sadie said. “Let’s go outside before Michael throws a fit.”

“You know the barista?” I asked.

“Long story.”

She didn’t elaborate, and we brought the drinks outside the store and waited for Charlie and Marina.