“Shhh.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. My stomach spins as though I’m standing on a cliff with my toes dangling in

thin air. A wonderfully daunting rush.

“It makes me think I’m looking at the stars,” Jace says, standing close enough that our sleeves are

touching.

“Yeah. Stars.”

I try counting the beads but I give up after fifty-seven. I’d rather watch Jace. “Have you ever

counted them all?”

“No. Think it might be impossible.”

“Like Stonehenge. No one knows exactly how many stones exist.”

“Really?”

“One guy tallied them once. He recounted to make sure and he came up with a new number. Every

time he counted, he came up with a different number.”

The coolness of the stagnant air sends creeps over me. I rub my hands together and peer at Jace

over my fingertips.

Jace beckons me outside. “You know a lot about rocks and stones, don’t you?”

“As much as you know about music.”

He slows his steps, staring toward the creek. “What is the difference between a rock and a stone,

anyway?”

I move to the creek and stand on a large flat boulder. “They have different feelings.” Jace joins me,

his weight shifting the rock underneath us like a seesaw. We move instinctively to balance. “To me, a

rock is massive—something that portrays strength. Rocks are complicated clusters of minerals that have

baked for a long time.”

I jump off the boulder to the stones edging the creek. Jace gracefully leaps off too. I pick up a small

white stone that shines in the moonlight. “A stone is a fragment of a rock. Like a snapshot of a bigger

picture.”

“Is that why you collect them? A stone for every memory?”

I hand him the stone, forcing myself to ignore the heat that rises in me when my sensitive fingertips

brush over his soft palm. “If you collect enough stones and minerals and heap them together, does it

become a rock?”

Jace rolls the stone and lifts it midair. “I don’t know. Is this a moonstone?

“No. River stone.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

He shrugs. “Nah. Moonstones are pretty cool, don’t you think?”

“They’ve been revered for thousands of years,” I say as we re-enter the path. “Hindus believe that

moonbeams form stones that can reveal your future if you hold it in your mouth on a full moon.”

Other than a shared smile, we’re quiet until we approach the trees that fringe Jace’s backyard.

“I don’t know if that would be a blessing or a curse. Knowing your future, I mean.”

“True, I guess.” Pine needles brush against my cheek. “It’d frustrate me to know all my future

mistakes but not be able to stop them from happening.” He laughs.

We don’t exchange words until climbing up the stairs to our rooms. Jace stops me at the top. “I

want to say something else.” I raise an eyebrow. He looks fleetingly at me and whispers, “We’re not

better than you. I wish you wouldn’t think that.”

I pause. “What? How do you know—”

“You’re defensive.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I can read it.” He hesitates, then glances

back at me. “That’s what I used to think of you and Annie. Before Dad moved here, I always wondered

why. I thought it was because you were better than me and Mum somehow. But it’s not like that.”

My belly thickens like stodgy old porridge. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I just—” Jace starts, and I shake my head.

“No.” I move past him and charge down the hall. He tries to catch up behind me but I shake my

head vigorously and he backs off.

pegmatite

Dad and Lila pile out of the rental van, and Annie, Jace and I spill out of the back in desperate need

of stretching our legs. One side of my leg still hurts from Annie pinching me sixty miles ago. Too

cramped, she kept muttering. The other side of my leg tingles from the friction of Jace’s shorts rubbing

against my knee.

Our first “family” trip—a day at Rainbow’s End theme park—is happening today, the end of

summer, a week before my second year at Newtown High.

“Sunscreen, guys,” Dad says, framed by a distant Rainbow’s End sign.

Lila smiles and passes Annie the sunscreen. Annie fishes into her day pack and pulls out her own.

Lila shrugs and lowers the bottle.

I take Lila’s offer, snap open the lid, and squeeze some onto my palm. Coconut—somewhat

refreshing against the harsh heat of the mid-morning sun.

Jace’s guttural sounds snatch my attention. He is standing a few steps away, yawning, arms clasped

and stretched overhead. His T-shirt rides up past his hips, the print of a grand piano and illegible

writing.

Neither of us slept well crammed in the double bed at the hotel last night. I kept tossing and

turning, and Jace tried pushing me out.

He finishes his stretch and we exchange scowls—our routine, but usually when we’re racing out of

our rooms to stuff our school bags so we’re not late.

“All right,” Lila says, slipping between her son and me, herding us toward the entrance of the park.

“Let’s have a day of adrenalin and adventure!”

Annie slumps along behind us with Dad, who’s telling her how much she used to love coming here.

“Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” Annie says loudly. “We went with Mum.”

It’s awkwardly quiet after that. We stand in line for ten minutes before Lila hands us our unlimited

day passes. “Okay, so,” she begins, but Jace and Annie skip off in two different directions.

I slip on my pass over my wrist. “Meet back here at four?”

Lila smiles. “We thought for lunch . . . never mind. You’ve all got money, I suppose.” She shrugs.

“Whatever.”

Dad kisses her, my cue to leave. I thread through the crowd in Jace’s direction. I’m not searching

for him per se, but increasing my chances of running into him.

What for? I’m not sure. At Dad’s house before the holidays, we were studying across from each

other in the gaming room. He frowned at his papers and dropped his pen. “Why does brass discolor in

air?”

I answered without looking up from my books. “Hydrogen sulphide.”

After scribbling with his pen he whispered, “Thanks.”

“Also, you know brass is an alloy of copper and zinc, right?”

Jace shook his head, and his lips quirked into a smile . . .

Screams from the roller coaster hit my ears, yanking me back to the reality of fresh popcorn and

candied nuts, people lining up for rides, spilled Coke and discarded gum on the sticky ground—

Jace. There he is. Sitting at an octagonal table, straddling the bench, sunglasses perched on his

head, texting on his phone. Lila allowed us to take them in case we needed something. Mine is vibrating

in my pocket. Wait, vibrating?

A text.

I glance over the heads of a group of girls heading toward the roller coaster.

I open the text. Bumper cars have no line.

A vague invitation? I accept. I’m not surprised the bumper cars have no line, considering they’re

not exactly the most adrenalin-pumping ride here. Jace startles when I straddle the bench in front of

him.

I jerk my head toward the bumper car arena across from the cafeteria. “Let’s go. I’ll totally bump

your ass.” I meant kick your ass but it came out decidedly wrong and . . . weird.

I laugh.

Jace blinks rapidly and draws his sunglasses down over his eyes. “We’ll see who bumps who.”

Three minutes later, we’re climbing into bumper cars and swiveling around on the smooth surface.

Jace rocks to one end, me the other. He’s taken his sunglasses off and his engine is brrrring. Other cars

zoom around, bumping everything in sight. I narrow my gaze onto Jace and his car.

We move too slowly—it almost feels comical—but then we collide with a thunk and bounce off