I’ve got my hand on Reeve’s head, holding it below the surface. It doesn’t matter that he’s got the body of a Greek god. His strength is no match for me.

Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified. She darts toward the pool edge, but I make the pool stretch wider with every step closer she takes, so she never makes up any ground. She can’t get close to us. “Please stop!”

“You’ve been a crappy friend to me, Lillia. You broke our pact, you forgot about me, and you fell in love with the one person you shouldn’t have.”

She touches the necklace, her mouth agape. Then she runs to the diving board and falls onto her stomach. She’s reaching out, trying desperately to get a hand on Reeve. “Mary, please! He’ll drown!”

“Yes, he will. When Reeve dies tomorrow, remember that I’m the one who killed him.”

*  *  *

I lift my hand from her forehead.

See you tomorrow, Lillia.

Chapter Thirty-Five

LILLIA

WHEN I WAKE UP, I know that I had a bad dream, but I can’t remember what it was. I’m lying in bed trying to piece it back together when Reeve calls.

“Come over,” I say, rolling onto my side.

“I’ll stop by after I go work out my legs at the school pool.”

Hearing that makes me nervous. I sit up in bed. “Your leg isn’t hurting, is it?” Reeve’s been working out so hard these last few weeks, following the coach’s plan so he’ll be fully ready for the prep school’s summer session.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m just being proactive.”

“You’d tell me, though, right? If it was hurting you?” I wonder if I’ll ever not feel guilty for what happened to Reeve on homecoming night.

“You sound like my mom,” Reeve says, laughing.

I make a tsk sound. “Well, we both care about you, dummy!” He’s right, though. Mrs. Tabatsky and I are both on him about not pushing himself too hard. And we’re both a little obsessed with Reeve’s protein intake.

I know Reeve was just joking, but I’m still thinking about it an hour later, when I’m sitting in the kitchen eating cinnamon toast and fingering the necklace he gave me yesterday. No girlfriend in the world wants to be compared to her boyfriend’s mother. That’s the opposite of hot.

So I get an idea to surprise Reeve at the pool, for old times’ sake.

If only I had a new bikini to wear. Something Reeve hasn’t seen me in. Nadia’s downstairs watching a movie, so I sneak into her room and go through her drawers. I find a brand-new one that she bought at the end of last season. It’s a tiny triangle top and a skimpy bottom in iridescent lavender, the kind of bikini I’ve only ever seen girls wear in Miami. At the time, I tried to veto it, because I felt like it was a bit much for her, but she acted like I was being a prude. She clearly never wore it, though, so she must have agreed with me deep down.

I change into it and check myself out in Nadia’s mirror. I tug at the bottom so it covers a little more. It’s definitely sexier than any bikini I’ve ever owned, but at least Reeve won’t be comparing me to his mom anymore.

Chapter Thirty-Six

MARY

Many ghosts are motivated by a deep psychological issue, about which they tend to be single-minded and obsessive. Be warned that if a ghost makes him- or herself known to you and does not solicit your help, he or she likely means to do you harm.

Reeve doesn’t see it coming, even though I’m there, kneeling on one of the diving platforms. Even though I got the idea from his very own dream.

He takes off his towel. After a few arm circles and knee jumps to get warm, he hops into the water at the shallow end. He pulls a pair of swim goggles down over his eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and begins swimming a long straight lap, right toward me. I lean over the water and wait for him to come up and take a breath. His last. When he does, I’ll be the final face he sees. And then we’ll both be free.

To become visible a ghost must vibrate at the specific life frequency of the intended witness.

I close my eyes and use everything, every last drop of power, to set myself in sync with Reeve. A low buzz turns into the crystal-clear beat of his heart pumping him through the water in my empty shell. The in-and-out and in-and-out of his breath fills my atrophied lungs as he rotates his head from the surface to underwater. The bursts of blood coursing through his veins feel like thousands of electrical pulses waking up my numb extremities.

Reeve swims closer and closer. A few feet out from the wall, he sucks in a big last breath and takes the final stretch underwater. He starts rising back up to the surface, and I reveal myself like I read in Aunt Bette’s book. We lock eyes before he hits the air. His face contorts.

Good-bye, Reeve.

I leap into the water and wrap my arms and legs around his body. Reeve flails and thrashes, but I squeeze him like a vise and sink him down, down, down to the dark bottom of the pool.

He’s fighting me so hard, it doesn’t take long for him to run out of gas. His hum quiets, quiets, quiets.

It’s almost over. I’m so glad it’s almost over.

And then, a shock of white before things come in flashes.

His mother’s face.

Brothers throwing him up to the sky.

A hug from an old woman.

A dog snarling and snapping at his hand.

Running and sliding on wet cement.

His dad, drunk and swinging his fists.

This is Reeve’s life, flashing before his eyes. And because we’re in sync, I can see it along with him. Every bit of this mystery boy is unfolding for me like a movie of a billion different frames.

Baseball home run.

Hiding under a bed.

Walking into the Montessori lunchroom.

A flash of me, soaking wet on the ferry, bawling my eyes out.

Reeve running home, sobbing.

At the ferry the next day, looking for me.

Our teacher, breaking the news.

Reeve vomiting in the boys’ bathroom.

Reeve inconsolable, my pocketknife in his hands.

Opening the blade, staring at it.

It’s starting to hurt now. Feeling every emotion Reeve’s ever felt, all at once.

At the Jar Island lighthouse. Climbing his way up to the peak.

Screaming he’s sorry into the wind.

Staring over the edge.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think my death affected Reeve that way. Enough to make him do something so drastic, as drastic as I did. He did care. His skin burns in my grip, crazy hot. I fight the urge to let him go.

A park ranger grabbing him, pulling him down.

The show slows along with Reeve’s heartbeat. He’s dying in my arms. Almost done, I tell myself, because it’s stinging me like fire to hold on. Keep going. It’s almost over. The last image, brighter than bright:

Lillia Cho.

I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it for another second. I drop him.

*  *  *

When I open my eyes, I’m back at my house. Lying on the floor. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying.

I couldn’t do it. After all this time, after all he’s done to me, I couldn’t do it. Through his eyes I saw everything. I felt everything. Pain. Joy. Despair. Regret. Everything. All the things I’ve forgotten how to feel.

Love.

I know now that I’ll never be able to kill Reeve. That’s why I haven’t done it already, when I’ve had so many chances. I’ve been holding back. I’m never going to be able to kill him.

But he still has to pay for what he did. Otherwise I’ll never be free. But if not me . . .

And then I remember.

Reeve was the one who tormented me into doing the unthinkable. Taking my own life. He’s got to be the one to do it. There’s no other way.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

LILLIA

I PUSH THROUGH THE POOL door, and the first thing I notice is how quiet it is. How eerily quiet. Then I let out a scream that bounces off every wall. Reeve’s body is floating in the center of the pool, facedown.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

“Help! Somebody help!” I scream. Then I jump into the pool, thrash over to him, and drag him to the side.

As soon as the air hits his face, Reeve takes a guttural, bubbling breath. His skin is white. I try to hoist him out of the water, but he’s too heavy, plus I am crying my eyes out. I’m just holding on to the edge of the pool, trying to keep us both afloat.

He takes another breath, and then another, and the color in his face slowly returns. He looks at me and starts coughing and wheezing and trying to get air into his lungs. He launches into a coughing fit. I push myself out of the water and drag him up with all my might. He helps hoist himself up, but he barely has any strength. He sits bent over, his legs dangling in the water, trying to get a good breath.

I scramble to my feet and run over to the bleachers, grab his towel, and drape it over his shoulders. He’s shaking; he won’t stop shaking. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just—need a minute—to catch—my breath.”

I let out a choked sob and sink down beside him on the ground. I thought he was dead. “Oh my God,” I say, and then I’m crying so hard, I can’t see.

“Cho, don’t cry,” he begs. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Through my tears I ask him, “Wh-what happened?”

Dazedly he says, “I don’t know. I—I must have passed out in the water.”

I wrap his towel tighter around his shoulders. Last night’s dream comes into focus. I remember Reeve in the water. Mary.

I dreamed that this would happen.

My eyes dart around the room. I can’t shake this feeling of unease. I rise to my feet; my legs feel weak and unsteady. “Can you stand up?”

“You’re soaking wet,” he says, touching my heavy sweatshirt hem.

I help him to his feet. I collect my shoes, his gym bag, my towel. We go out to the parking lot and climb into his truck, and Reeve looks at me and says, “Why don’t you get changed first? You’re freezing. Do you have any dry clothes?” He starts rummaging around in the back for my towel.

“Reeve, I’m fine! You’re the one who almost drowned.” I just want to get out of here.

Reeve starts up the truck. “Where are we going? Your house?”

Suddenly my home, my room, doesn’t exactly feel safe. I spot the ring of keys in his console. “Take me to one of your dad’s rentals,” I say, and I grab his hand and don’t let go.

*  *  *

We drive to the other side of the island, to Canobie Bluffs. It’s starting to rain, and Reeve is driving one-handed because I won’t let go of his other hand. I keep twisting in my seat, looking out the back, to the side, every direction. I don’t know what I’m looking for.

Yes, I do. Mary. I keep expecting to see Mary, even though I know she isn’t here, and it was only a dream, and there’s no way she had anything to do with what happened at the pool. But still. I’m afraid. More than afraid. I’m terrified.

We drive down an empty-looking street, all vacant rental properties with signs out front. Reeve pulls into the driveway of a gray Cape Cod cottage that faces the water. He has a grimace on his face. “Let’s get you inside where you can warm up and dry off.”

I look out the window. “Park the car in the garage.”

Reeve obeys. We get out of the truck and walk into the house. It’s dark. Reeve starts turning on lights, and I pull all the curtains closed. He goes over to the fireplace and starts stacking logs. “Go dry off. I’ll have a fire going in no time.”

I don’t want to let him out of my sight, so I just take off my wet sweatshirt and wrap myself in the throw from the couch.

After the fire’s going, he sits down on the couch next to me. He starts drying my hair with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he says, with so much tenderness I start to cry again.

I have to tell him. About Mary, about the revenge, about everything. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Just a sob.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m fine.” Reeve wipes my eyes with his sleeve.

Sniffling, I say, “You always take such good care of me, Reeve.” Why can’t Mary see how good he is? He’s not the monster she makes him out to be.

He takes off his sweatshirt. “Put this on.”

I push it away and start kissing him. His cheeks are cool to the touch. I could have lost him today. That’s what I keep thinking. And once I tell him what we did, what I did, I’ll lose him for good. There’s no way he’ll still love me once he knows the truth. What we have now, it will be over. Because it’s not just the drugs—that part he knows about, even if he’s never let me say the actual words out loud. It’s not just that I’m responsible for him losing his football scholarships and not finishing out the season. It’s the fact that the only reason I went after him in the first place was to pull a prank on him. And that all this time I’ve known his worst, darkest, most horrible secret, the secret he’s guarded so carefully.

I lean back against the couch so that I’m lying down, and I pull him with me. “I love you so much,” I tell him, over and over. I run my hands over his back, down his spine. His back muscles flex against my hands. I feel frenzied with wanting him near. Proof he’s here with me. I keep pulling him closer, closer. Our arms and legs are entwined, and we’re both breathing hard.

“Lil,” he groans. He tries to push away from me and sit up, but I won’t let him. I cling more tightly.

I whisper, “Don’t stop.”

“Let’s take a break for a second.”