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Almost.

“Help me get him up the ladder,” she called to me, spitting water from her mouth and gasping.

“No,” I said.

“Sydney! Please, we can’t do this. Please! Help me!” She inhaled water and then spluttered and choked it up. Her head disappearing below the surface for a minute. I climbed down the ladder and kicked hard at his body to get it away from her, but she held tightly to him. I am certain he was already dead but still she clung to him, trying to raise his face, putting his body above hers.

I grabbed the ladder with one hand, then held tight to her wrist with the other and put my foot on Graham’s shoulder, trying to sink him back beneath the waves as I pulled her up.

She was crying hysterically and shouting for me to stop and then I watched it happen. A large wave came cresting in and threw her against the base of the peer knocking her unconscious. It pulled her down where I couldn’t see her anymore. And only Graham’s body was bobbing there streaming blood.

I felt light-headed. I screamed her name and dove into the cold waves. I swam in the choppy water trying to see her. I thrashed in the water in my soaking cumbersome clothes for what seemed like an eternity. Minutes ticked by, each second a precious moment of my sister’s life. Then I caught a glimpse of her floating facedown far away—the wave that had crested had sucked her right out into the harbor. She wasn’t moving.

I knew that she was dead and that the water was already freezing my limbs making it impossible for me to swim. I climbed back up the ladder and raced to Graham’s car, looking for a cell phone or anything I could call someone from. There was nothing. I screamed for help but the whole idea of meeting at the abandoned pier is that there is no one to help. I looked for a rope I could throw to her—knowing as the minutes raced by that there was no way she could have survived this.

I heard myself scream as if I were drowning and then I ran. Fast. I had to save the only thing I could.

I put the key in the ignition, turned the car around and drove frantically to Graham’s house. His parents were not home—and if mine were they didn’t notice their dripping-wet daughter crying and whimpering as she fumbled for the neighbor’s house key and let herself in.

I raced up to his room and followed the instructions Becky had given me and got to the dummy site—logged in and then there it was. The swirling beach-ball timer showing how many girl-next-door videos were being downloaded.

I logged into Graham’s site administrator page and voided the sale of the videos. Then I called up the full list of other footage, selected them all, and hit delete. I knew I was destroying evidence. But the boy who had committed that crime had already paid. And so had my sister. I would not let him be the one who controlled what people remembered of her. I would not have people know her for anything other than what she really was. Not a piece of meat, or some girl who should have known better, or all the other terrible things people say about girls when boys hurt them and use them. I had gotten rid of all the disgusting images he made of people because he thought that they weren’t real or were just for his own entertainment or his own way to make money.

When I got back to the pier, their waterlogged forms still bobbed in the waves and I was wracked with guilt. I had made sure Ally’s life would speak for itself. But she was still gone.

It didn’t seem possible. I’d tried to save her, and now she was floating below me in the harbor she’d loved, beside the boy she never should have loved. I couldn’t let her drift anymore. I dove into the icy waves to drag her out, pull her up the ladder, to feel her hand in mine one last time. And I rocked in the waves, swimming with her head against my chest, clinging to my sister’s body as if it were my own.

We still don’t know exactly what happened. It seemed they fell in together. Or might have been attacked by a third party, who we haven’t yet found. Both of their faces were smashed. One from a flat, blunt object, the other from the pier. They died maybe ten minutes apart.

The strangest part was the boy’s home.

His bedroom was covered with puddles of ocean water, his computer equipment partly wrecked, all his files destroyed, sometime after the accident. His car seat was soaking wet, but the car was still parked where he left it by the pier. And no fingerprints anywhere. Not one.

We questioned Becky and Declan, but they hadn’t seen Phil Tate’s daughter in over a week before it happened. She’d been staying home. We talked to the parents and they said the same. The girl seemed preoccupied but fine.

We don’t know what we are looking at here. We don’t know if this is a murder or a double suicide or a jealous fight that got out of hand. There are only two bodies. Two kids that lived next door to each other.

We do know that Graham Copeland found trouble wherever he went and that this time trouble found him.

Rockland Mourns the Loss of National Merit Scholar, Avid Sailor

Allyson Sydney Tate (1998–2015)

Allyson Sydney Tate died last week in a marina accident. “Tate,” as she was known to her friends, family, and teachers, was to be the valedictorian of her class. She worked for a year at the Pine Grove Inn, sailed with her father, skateboarded, and sold muffins at fund-raisers for the Rockland Historical Society. She won several science fairs for Rockland High School, but most people remember Sydney for her exuberant spirit, quick wit, keen ability to debate, and her love of skateboarding. She could always be seen doing tricks at the skate park on a board she built herself. Sydney was known for her independence, her stylish flair, and her love for punk-rock music. Her dream was to go to Stanford with her friend, class salutatorian Declan Wells, and study chemistry. Calling hours are Tuesday 6–8 p.m. at Shady Point Methodist Church. In lieu of flowers donations can be made to the Tony Hawk Foundation, which builds skate parks in urban areas and helps keep neglected kids out of trouble.

I am extremely grateful to my agent Rebecca Friedman for her friendship, intelligence, and insight. She has made this book possible. My editor, Claudia Gable, is a superhero. Her integrity, creativity, and intellect have helped guide this book from idea to reality and I’m lucky to have the opportunity to work with her. I’m also tremendously thankful to Katherine Tegen for her genius and vision; so proud to be a part of her list. Melissa Miller, Alexandra Arnold, and the whole team at Katherine Tegen Books are talented and dedicated people. What a pleasure it is to write among such company.

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