I look at him.

“I was a coward,” Gat says.

“Yeah.”

“It was cruel. To you and to her, too.”

My face burns with remembered jealousy.

“I am sorry, Cady,” Gat goes on. “That’s what I should have said to you the first day we got here this year. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

I nod. It is nice to hear him say that. I wish I weren’t so high.

“Half the time I hate myself for all the things I’ve done,” says Gat. “But the thing that makes me really messed up is the contradiction: when I’m not hating myself, I feel righteous and victimized. Like the world is so unfair.”

“Why do you hate yourself?”

And before I know it, Gat is lying on the bed next to me. His cold fingers wrap around my hot ones, and his face is close to mine. He kisses me. “Because I want things I can’t have,” he whispers.

But he has me. Doesn’t he know he already has me?

Or is Gat talking about something else, something else he can’t have? Some material thing, some dream of something?

I am sweaty and my head hurts and I can’t think clearly. “Mirren says it’ll end badly and I should leave you alone,” I tell him.

He kisses me again.

“Someone did something to me that is too awful to remember,” I whisper.

“I love you,” he says.

We hold each other and kiss for a long time.

The pain in my head fades, a little. But not all the way.

I OPEN MY eyes and the clock reads midnight.

Gat is gone.

I pull the shades and look out the window, lifting the sash to get some air.

Aunt Carrie is walking in her nightgown again. Passing by Windemere, scratching her too-thin arms in the moonlight. She doesn’t even have her shearling boots on this time.

Over at Red Gate I can hear Will crying from a nightmare. “Mommy! Mommy, I need you!”

But Carrie either doesn’t hear him, or else she will not go. She veers away and heads up the path toward New Clairmont.

53

GIVEAWAY: A PLASTIC box of Legos.

I’ve given away all my books now. I gave a few to the littles, one to Gat, and went with Aunt Bess to donate the rest to a charity shop on the Vineyard.

This morning I rummage through the attic. There’s a box of Legos there, so I bring them to Johnny. I find him alone in the Cuddledown great room, hurling bits of Play-Doh at the wall and watching the colors stain the white paint.

He sees the Legos and shakes his head.

“For your tuna fish,” I explain. “Now you’ll have enough.”

“I’m not gonna build it,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Too much work,” he says. “Give them to Will.”

“Don’t you have Will’s Legos down here?”

“I brought them back. Little guy was starved for them,” Johnny says. “He’ll be happy to have more.”

I bring them to Will at lunch. There are little Lego people and lots of parts for building cars.

He is ridiculously happy. He and Taft build cars all through the meal. They don’t even eat.

54

THAT SAME AFTERNOON, the Liars get the kayaks out. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Going round the point to this place we know,” says Johnny. “We’ve done it before.”

“Cady shouldn’t come,” says Mirren.

“Why not?” asks Johnny.

“Because of her head!” shouts Mirren. “What if she hurts her head again, and her migraines get even worse? God, do you even have a brain, Johnny?”

“Why are you yelling?” yells Johnny. “Don’t be so bossy.”

Why don’t they want me to come?

“You can come, Cadence,” says Gat. “It’s fine if she comes.” I don’t want to tag along when I’m not wanted—but Gat pats the kayak seat in front of him and I climb in.

I do not really want to be separate from them.

Ever.

We paddle the two-person kayaks around the bay side under Windemere to an inlet. Mummy’s house sits on an overhang. Beneath it is a cluster of craggy rocks that almost feels like a cave. We pull the kayaks onto the rocks and climb to where it’s dry and cool.

Mirren is seasick, though we were only in the kayaks for a few minutes. She is sick so often now, it’s no surprise. She lies down with her arms over her face. I half expect the boys to unpack a picnic—they have a canvas bag with them—but instead Gat and Johnny begin climbing the rocks. They’ve done it before, I can tell. They’re barefoot, and they climb to a high point twenty-five feet above the water, stopping on a ledge that hangs over the sea.

I watch them until they are settled. “What are you doing?”

“We are being very, very manly,” Johnny calls back. His voice echoes.

Gat laughs.

“No, really,” I say.

“You might think we are city boys, but truth is, we are full of masculinity and testosterone.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Oh, please. I’m coming up with you.”

“No, don’t!” says Mirren.

“Johnny baited me,” I say. “Now I have to.” I begin climbing in the same direction the boys went. The rocks are cold under my hands, slicker than I expected.

“Don’t,” Mirren repeats. “This is why I didn’t want you to come.”

“Why did you come, then?” I ask. “Are you going up there?”

“I jumped last time,” Mirren admits. “Once was enough.”

“They’re jumping?” It doesn’t even look possible.

“Stop, Cady. It’s dangerous,” says Gat.

And before I can climb farther, Johnny holds his nose and jumps. He plummets feetfirst from the high rock.

I scream.

He hits the water with force and the sea is filled with rocks here. There’s no telling how deep or shallow it is. He could seriously die doing this. He could—but he pops up, shaking the water off his short yellow hair and whooping.

“You’re crazy!” I scold.

Then Gat jumps. Whereas Johnny kicked and hollered as he went down, Gat is silent, legs together. He slices into the icy water with hardly a splash. He comes up happy, squeezing water out of his T-shirt as he climbs back onto the dry rocks.

“They’re idiots,” says Mirren.

I look up at the rocks from which they jumped. It seems impossible anyone could survive.

And suddenly, I want to do it. I start climbing again.

“Don’t, Cady,” says Gat. “Please don’t.”

“You just did,” I say. “And you said it was fine if I came.”

Mirren sits up, her face pale. “I want to go home now,” she says urgently. “I don’t feel well.”

“Please don’t, Cady, it’s rocky,” calls Johnny. “We shouldn’t have brought you.”

“I’m not an invalid,” I say. “I know how to swim.”

“That’s not it, it’s—it’s not a good idea.”

“Why is it a good idea for you and not a good idea for me?” I snap. I am nearly at the top. My fingertips are already beginning to blister with clutching the rock. Adrenaline shoots through my bloodstream.

“We were being stupid,” says Gat.

“Showing off,” says Johnny.

“Come down, please.” Mirren is crying now.

I do not come down. I am sitting, knees to my chest, on the ledge from which the boys jumped. I look at the sea churning beneath me. Dark shapes lurk beneath the surface of the water, but I can also see an open space. If I position my jump right, I will hit deep water.

“Always do what you are afraid to do!” I call out.

“That’s a stupid-ass motto,” says Mirren. “I told you that before.”

I will prove myself strong, when they think I am sick.

I will prove myself brave, when they think I am weak.

It’s windy on this high rock. Mirren is sobbing. Gat and Johnny are shouting at me.

I close my eyes and jump.

The shock of the water is electric. Thrilling. My leg scrapes a rock, my left leg. I plunge down,

down to rocky rocky bottom, and

I can see the base of Beechwood Island and

my arms and legs feel numb but my fingers are cold. Slices

of seaweed go past as I fall.