I open up my notebook, start going down the checklist, and say, “So far we’ve only sold twenty tickets to prom. We really need to work on outreach, you guys.”

“Actually, I’d like to address that,” Alex says from the other end of the long library table.

I’m careful not to look directly at him. “What is it, Alex?”

He looks out at the table. “It’s been brought to my attention that—”

Reeve chuckles, and it makes Alex’s mouth snap shut. “Sorry. You just sound like Principal Tortola.” Reeve looks at Derek and makes a smirky face, and Derek smirks back.

Alex continues as if Reeve didn’t speak. “It’s been brought to my attention that some people feel the price of prom is too expensive, and that some people who’d like to go can’t swing it.”

“What do you mean?” Ash asks, frowning. “Who’s been telling you that? Your chorus friends?”

“It’s just a lot of money, when you stop and think about it. Last year tickets were, what, fifty bucks? And now they’re a hundred? That’s crazy.”

I speak up. “It’s because Rennie changed the venue from the Water Club to that club in the city, remember?”

Derek groans. “It’s gonna take us an hour to get there.”

“Plus, the point of prom is to celebrate the end of high school with the whole class,” Alex says. “I mean, twenty tickets? Half of those were bought by the people on this committee! If it’s just going to be us like always, why are we even bothering?”

I press my lips together tightly. It wasn’t my idea to move prom! I wanted to keep it at the Water Club so we could get nice pictures on the dock. “You guys were all sitting at this very table when Rennie brought up the idea of having the prom off island. Not one person objected.”

“Rennie had a way of convincing people,” Alex admits.

“Oh, wait up!” Derek says. “Speaking of Rennie, Lil, do you know if our flight back from Jamaica is direct?”

I frown. “What flight?”

“For spring break.”

Alex groans. “Weren’t we just talking about prom?”

I completely forgot about our spring break plans. We made those plans before Rennie’s death, before everything. Rennie had found some package online through a travel agency that included airfare and hotel at an all-inclusive resort. We gave her the deposit money last summer, before school started. “Um, I don’t even know if that’s still happening,” I say. Everyone’s staring at me, slack-jawed. “I mean, I don’t know if she ever gave the second half of the deposit or what. I don’t even know which website Rennie found the deal on.”

Reeve lifts his head off the table. Underneath he grabs my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

Derek groans. “Are you serious? But you were, like, her right-hand man . . .” His voice trails off.

I bite my lip. This isn’t my fault. It’s not like I was in charge of the trip. Any one of us could have asked Rennie about it.

“Well, then, where’d the money go?” Ash demands.

Reeve and I exchange a look. I’m sure he’s thinking what I’m thinking. That there is a very good possibility that Rennie used that money on something else—like, say, her over-the-top New Year’s Eve party—and was planning on paying it back with the cover fee she charged that night for people to get in. She’d done it before with cheerleading money. But there’s no way I’m saying it now when she isn’t here to defend herself. “I have no idea.”

Ash pouts, “If this trip is ruined, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Everything else will be booked up.” She casts a dark look in my direction. “Thanks a lot, Lillia.”

“Hey, how is this her fault?” Reeve demands. “If we lost our spot, we’ll just go somewhere else.”

“How?” Derek snaps. “I don’t have money to put toward a new trip. I gave Ren everything I had saved.”

Alex starts packing up his things. “Look, don’t worry, guys. If we can’t go to Jamaica, I bet my uncle Tim will let us take his boat.” He turns his back on Reeve and me, and to the rest of the group, he says, “He’ll hire a crew to take us. They’ll cook for us and everything. Trust me, it’ll be better than Jamaica.”

Everyone starts talking at once, all excited, and I get up to throw away my lunch. Reeve follows me over to the trash cans. He whispers, “I have a feeling we’re not going to be welcome on Tim’s boat, Cho.”

“Fine by me,” I say, and I mean it. With everything that’s happened this year, I really am fine to sit this one out.

Chapter Thirty

KAT

I’M IN THE FUNERAL PARLOR in my black dress, black tights, black-patent leather Mary Janes—the same outfit I wore on my first day of school in sixth grade.

Dad puts his arm around my shoulders. “We’ve just got to make it through one more hour, and then we can go home.”

Confused, I peer around him and see a long line of people waiting to pay their respects. Next to us is the polished mahogany edge of a casket, its hatch propped open for mourners to take one last look.

There’s music playing somewhere.

This does not mean

I don’t love you

I do, that’s forever

I wipe a tear from my eye. The song is “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” My mom said those lines to me over and over near the end of her life. I think the thing she feared most about dying was that she wouldn’t be able to love us once she was gone. The song gave her comfort.

Oh my God. This is her funeral.

I snap my head around, fast. I don’t want to see her like this. I don’t want to see my mother’s dead body.

Mrs. Tabatsky steps forward and takes my father’s hand. She’s crying. “Oh, Patrick. I’m so sorry.” Reeve leans against her. The other Tabatsky boys, along with Reeve’s dad, stand silently behind them in their suits.

I realize I haven’t seen much of Reeve since summer ended and he transferred to the Montessori on the mainland for seventh grade. Before he left, I teased him about going to a fancy school full of nerds and how he was going to turn into a huge geek. He acted all cocky and told me that when he was a millionaire, maybe I’d be lucky enough to fix his Lamborghini. Reeve was always fun to fight with, because he had comebacks as good as mine, and the two of us could rag on each other for hours.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me. He keeps his eyes down on his church shoes.

Wait a minute. Is this a memory? Or am I dreaming?

“It’s a dream,” Rennie confirms. She comes up beside me with a glass of water. “Isn’t this dress the cutest?” she says, and does a spin. It’s bright pink, sleeveless and short. “This was the one I wanted to wear to your mom’s funeral, but you wouldn’t let me.”

I remember.

Earlier that morning Rennie called to see if she absolutely had to wear black. She had something else in mind. I got so mad and said, Of course you do, stupid, and I hung up.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, but come on, Ren. Who wears hot pink to a funeral?” I ask her, laughing.

Rennie starts laughing too. “Okay, fine. But your mom told me I looked pretty in this dress once, so I was going to wear it as a tribute to her.”

“After I hung up on you, I worried that you might not show up,” I say. “But you did. You and your mom were the first people here, and you stayed with me the whole day. I remember you always made sure you were blocking my view of the casket, because I didn’t want to look. I couldn’t handle seeing her corpse, painted in makeup she would never have worn, surrounded by that ugly silk liner in the coffin. Judy wasn’t silk. She was blue jeans.” I start to cry.

Rennie smiles tenderly and pulls me into a tight hug. “Of course I’d show up, dummy. I was your best friend.”

Rennie was a good friend, mostly. And she was there for me when it really counted. “I’m glad we made up before you died,” I tell her, hugging her back.

She groans, “Ugh. I freaking hate that girl.”

As soon as I let go, Rennie disappears. “Wait! Ren!”

I turn and see that the next person in line is Mary. “Why are you crying?” she asks in a very curt voice. “Rennie made your life miserable, remember? You said you hated her. You said you were happy that she was going to finally get what she deserves.”

“I—I know that. But we made up.” I wipe my eyes. “And she didn’t deserve to die.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “You’re such a traitor, you know that? You wanted this! Don’t you remember our pact? You’re a terrible friend who breaks promises, and you’re a liar. I’m glad your mom gets to see who you turned out to be.”

It kills me to hear her say that. “Mary, wait. Come on, let me explain.” But she suddenly starts pushing me toward the casket. “No! I don’t want to look! Don’t make me look!”

But Mary is so freaking strong. And my shoes slip along the floor. I squint my eyes tight, because I can’t fight her off. I feel myself hit the casket, the edge of it smacking into my stomach.

“Open your eyes!” she screams.

“No! Please!”

Her fingers peel apart my eyelids. “Look at what you’ve done!”

I’m hysterical.

And then, suddenly . . . nothing.

“Kat, sweetie, it’s okay.”

I open my eyes, and there’s my mother by my side. She looks like she did before she got sick. Healthy. And so beautiful.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” I say, clinging to my mom.

“She’s lost, Kat. And that makes her dangerous.”

*  *  *

I wake up in the den, sprawled out on the couch. Dad and Pat are standing over me with the weirdest expressions on their faces. Even Shep is there, barking like mad and panting his hot breath in my face.

“What?” I say, and wipe the drool off my cheek.

“That must have been some dream, daughter.” Dad says. “You were thrashing.”

It was a crazy-ass dream, and I know it ain’t going to be in my dream dictionary. But as crazy as it was, I’m not happy to be awake. I wish I was still asleep with my mom next to me.

*  *  *

On my way to class the next day, Alex casually drops a paper hat onto the top of my head as he walks by.

It doesn’t even occur to me that it’s a note until I pull it off my head at the insistence of Mrs. Hetzel. That’s when I see Alex’s handwriting on the underside. I peel back the folds and find an invitation to join him and his friends on a boat trip for spring break. As part of his graduation present, Alex’s uncle Tim hired a crew to sail his boat around and basically attend to our every whim. Alex can invite whoever he wants.

I find him practicing his guitar in the chorus room during his free period. Right away he grins at me and is like, “Are you in?”

“Maybe.”

He’s surprised. “Why not?”

“First off, I said maybe! Are Lil and Reeve coming?” Alex looks away. “Did you even invite them?” When he doesn’t answer, I flick his ear, hard. “You invite all their other friends but not them? Oh my God, you know what, Al? This vindictive thing you’re doing”—I wave my finger in a circle—“is not a good look on you. I get it. Reeve stole your dream girl and Lil picked another guy. But also, BFD. Don’t hold on to this shit and let it turn you into something you’re not.”

He sighs. It probably is exhausting for Alex to keep up this level of anger. It’s not in his nature. “Do you want to come or not?”

“I’m not friends with your friends,” I remind him.

“They aren’t that bad. Plus, I’m inviting a couple of kids from chorus too.”

I roll my eyes. “Ashlin is that bad.” Last week, as I was walking through the school parking lot, I spotted her picking the pennies and nickels out of her center console and tossing them out the window like they were old gum wrappers or something. I mean, I get that pennies are basically worthless, but nickels aren’t. Who in their right mind throws away nickels? A homeless person would love him some freaking nickels.

Alex shakes his head, like I’ve got it wrong. “She’s nice. And she’ll be nice to you. I promise. It won’t suck. I mean, you do remember my uncle’s yacht, right?”

I have to laugh, because of course I remember. That’s where we hooked up last summer. “Eww, dude. Please. You’re like my brother. I don’t want to think about kissing my brother.”

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying. What else are you going to do?”

I open my mouth, but close it just as fast. I don’t have jack shit going on for spring break, besides obsessively checking my mailbox for word from Oberlin. Danner said she’d send in my letter after the benefit, so I’m assuming I’ll hear something soon.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. “But I want to talk to Lil about it first, because I’m not a jerkface.” I emphasize the last part for Alex’s benefit. It feels weird to say yes, to go away with Alex and his friends, when I know she isn’t invited.

*  *  *

When I see Lil next period, I get right to it. I tell her about Alex’s spring break invite and watch her face closely for any signs that she’s pissed. But she doesn’t give me any.

“Yeah, you should go,” she says. “Definitely.”