Chapter 3

My cheeks burned as the table erupted in laughter. I kept my hands beneath it, my nails digging into my palms.

Ethan set his glass down hard. "Enough. We're friends. All three of us."

"Sure," Ryan said, grinning. "Just friends."

Madison tucked her hair behind her ear. "My mom was strict about dating in high school. Can you stop making this weird?"

"That explains it!" Brooke laughed. "You're graduating. What's stopping you now?"

Madison blushed, but didn't deny it. Neither did Ethan.

Then Brooke turned to me. "Alice, you'd be happy for them, right? That's what a real friend would do."

Every face at the table swung toward me.

I wanted to ask why my feelings were suddenly theirs to vote on. Instead, I forced my mouth into a smile.

"Of course I would."

Ethan's expression darkened.

"I'm not confessing anything in front of an audience," he snapped. "Drop it."

He hadn't denied liking Madison.

For the rest of the night, that was all I could think about.

Three weeks later, we graduated.

Mom cried through the ceremony. Dad took pictures until his phone complained about storage. Ethan appeared in half of them, hooking an arm around my shoulders and teasing me for taking so long to straighten my cap.

He acted like prom had never happened. It almost made it easier to pretend I was fine.

Outside the auditorium, Ryan suggested a summer road trip.

Madison exchanged a glance with Ethan. "We can't. We're leaving for San Diego tomorrow."

I looked at Ethan. "We?"

"Just a few days near La Jolla," he said quickly. "I didn't ask you because I know the ocean freaks you out."

As if he hadn't watched me spend years trying to get comfortable in the water for his sake.

"Anyway, we'll all be at UCLA soon," he continued. "We can go wherever you want over winter break. Just us, even. No Madison."

He sounded pleased with his solution.

I remembered the old map in my desk drawer. At fifteen, we'd written five hiking trails on the back, promising to complete them the summer before college. He'd drawn a sunrise beside each one.

"Ethan, I'm not going to—"

"Ethan!" Madison grabbed his wrist. "The hotel's saying our reservation didn't go through. Can you help?"

He followed her toward the parking lot before I could finish.

I watched them leave. Again.

A text came ten minutes later.

Ethan: Hotel problem. Sorry. I'll make it up to you.

I stared at his message, then blocked him.

It was the first time I'd ever done that.

That night, I booked a flight to Seattle for UW and a guided hike near Mount Rainier. We'd made the promise together, but I didn't need Ethan's permission to keep it.

Packing should have felt like freedom. Instead, I ended up crying on my bedroom floor.

A small stuffed rabbit had fallen from the closet shelf. Its fur was worn smooth, and one ear drooped where the stitching had come loose.

Ethan had given it to me when we were seven.

The summer before second grade, our families had gone to the beach. Ethan had waded too far out and gotten caught in a current. I remember his head disappearing beneath a wave. I remember swimming after him.

The next clear memory was waking in a hospital bed three days later.

The doctors told my parents I'd suffered a brain injury from the lack of oxygen. It hadn't taken away my ability to learn, but my coordination and processing speed had changed. Certain things would always take me longer.

Seven-year-old Ethan didn't understand any of that. He climbed onto the chair beside my bed, pressed the rabbit into my hands, and said, "It's okay, Allie. I'll wait for you."

For years, he did.

He walked beside me when other kids ran ahead. He waited while I tied my shoes and gave me time to finish my sentences.

Then freshman year came.

For the first time in our lives, I got to school before him. I was standing by the front steps when his car pulled up five minutes late.

Madison was in the passenger seat.

She'd needed a ride, he explained. She was funny and outgoing, and by lunch she'd already worked her way into our little world.

At first, I was glad Ethan had made a new friend.

Then he started leaving with her while I was still packing my bag. He laughed when she called me a human loading screen. When I asked him to wait, he'd say, "Come on, Allie. We can't stand around all day."

Soon I was hurrying through everything, afraid I'd look up and find them gone.

Ethan had nearly drowned as a child, yet he still loved the ocean. I was the one who feared it. So I took swimming lessons again, determined not to be the reason he skipped another beach trip.

One afternoon, my leg cramped halfway back to shore. I called out, swallowing seawater between breaths.

By the time I dragged myself onto the sand, Ethan and Madison had packed up and left.

For a long time afterward, I wondered what my life would have been like if I'd never jumped in after him.

But I never regretted saving him.

I only wished he hadn't made me feel that saving him had turned me into a burden.

The next morning, the doorbell rang.

Ethan stood on our porch with tired eyes and his phone in his hand.

"Allie, you blocked me."

I said nothing.

"I know you're mad about San Diego." He shifted his weight. "I checked flights last night. I'll buy you a ticket. Come with us."

I pulled up my Seattle confirmation and held it toward him.

He frowned. "You're going hiking? Without me?"

"It's a guided trip."

His eyes dropped to the rabbit clipped to my backpack. He looked at the destination again, and recognition slowly replaced his confusion.

"Our list," he said.

I nodded.

"Shit." He dragged a hand over his face. "I forgot. Alice, I'm sorry."

He looked toward his car, then back at me. For once, he seemed unsure what to say.

Finally, he straightened. "I'll go with you."

"What about Madison?"

"She can still go to San Diego. I made you a promise." His voice softened. "I want to keep it this time."

He reached for his keys.

"Unblock me, okay? Send me your flight information. I'll book my ticket, and I'll meet you at the airport."