“Luna…” Rosie held my hand now. She stared at our laced fingers like she was committing the image to memory, before it was too late.

I tried stopping the shudders rippling through my body, the tears that demanded to come out. How come my parents hadn’t told me it was this bad? But of course they hadn’t. I’d been so busy on me-me-me island, I never bothered to sail to other territories and check in on her. Sure, I’d asked. But why hadn’t I called? Why hadn’t I done more?

“I’m not sure how long I have,” she admitted, “and I need your help regarding a few crucial matters.”

I already hated the sound of this, because I knew whatever she was going to ask me to do would break my heart, and that I was going to do it without fail. Because she wasn’t being melodramatic. She was dying.

I nodded.

“I need you to be there for Knight, even when he pushes you away. And he will push you away. He will do anything he can to make sure you don’t see him break. But he will break—in outstanding fashion, as he does everything else,” she chuckled the words.

Yes. I rubbed my thumb along her hand, back and forth. This one was easy. “Even if he pushes me away. Even if he refuses it. I will always be here for him.”

“When the time comes,” she said, flipping my hand over and staring at my palm contemplatively, “I want you to give him and Lev something very important. Something I want us to make together. Paid work, of course. And we don’t have much time. It will require some writing from you.”

“Writing?”

“You are a writer, are you not?” She smirked.

I wanted to be. I didn’t know if I had it in me. But what better excuse to try—and to fail—than honoring Rosie’s request?

“Anything,” I stressed. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“It will require some back and forth emails. We don’t have much time. It will be intense. Will it interrupt your studies?” Her expression turned cloudy.

“Anything, anything, anything.” I shook my head, almost violently, squeezing my eyes shut. The hell with my studying. “What more? Tell me. Please. I’ll do it.”

“My final request is somewhat controversial, but important nonetheless. I want you to do something very special for me, Luna. Something I can’t ask from my sons for obvious reasons, but it would break my heart to know this wish was not fulfilled.”

My heart was about to explode. I held my breath.

“I want you to make sure Dean moves on. He is far too young not to experience love again. He is far too beautiful, inside and out, not to be admired. I know my husband. He wants to be a martyr. To show me that he cares, that I was—am, am—” She coughed again, her voice strained. “—the only person for him. But it’s a title I never claimed. I know his love for me is the Big Bang. I don’t mind him settling on another quiet planet afterwards. He needs to move on, Luna.”

Dumbfounded, I blinked. Up until now, I’d agreed to do things that were up to me. I could fulfill this mysterious writing project, even if I had to spend sleepless nights and drop out of school. I would be there for Knight, even if he kicked me out, demeaned me, and fought against my attempts to make amends. But how could I convince my godfather, my dad’s best friend, to fall in love again after losing his wife?

Rosie saw the doubt on my face and brought my hand to her beating heart. It beat so slow, I could barely feel its faint pulse.

“It’s very easy, really. I know the way. Grab your notebook. I’m going to give you the play-by-play of how this is going to happen.”

I took out the notebook and my seahorse pen, and I started writing.

“You’re coming with, Saint Luna, and I really don’t care that you’d rather skin a live elephant. It’s about making a statement.” Daria flung her lush, blonde hair back, applying another layer of shiny lip gloss in front of my mirror.

New Year’s Eve was my idea of hell, especially if it was celebrated with a wild party.

I was still shocked that Daria was here to begin with. In my house. In my room. Daria and I had never been close. I was too shy to try; she was too exasperated with my general weirdness to understand. We’d reached some kind of understanding when she moved away, but I still treaded lightly around her like she was a magical unicorn: with equal measures of fear and respect.

“Team Daria, woot woot.” April pumped her fist from the monitor of my MacBook, on Skype. It felt surreal, having two genuine girlfriends. Not that they replaced the hole Knight had left in his wake. It was a different kind of friendship—less intense, but entertaining all the same.

“So what’s the plan?” April leaned forward, her gaze following Daria around my room, star-struck.

I couldn’t blame her. Some girls were born to rule the world. Daria was painfully clearly one of them.

Daria plopped on the chair in front of my MacBook. “We go to the party, Knight sees Luna looking like a million bucks, and he dumps the English tart.”

“That’s not nice,” I pointed out, shifting inside the red skater dress Daria had handed to me and insisted I wear.

“Oh my Marx, who claimed to be nice?” Daria stared at me, horrified. “What a mediocre goal to have in life.”

April gave us two thumbs-up, nodding. “Yeah, dude, this chick is your ex’s current girlfriend. You’re not supposed to protect her. Why did you two break up, anyway? You never even said.”

“Break up?” Daria lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

No. No, no, no. I’d totally forgotten I’d told April this little white lie to cover for the fact that I was an emotional mess when I arrived at Boon.

Daria swiveled her head to me, screwing her pouty lips into a scowl. I thought of signing to April that Daria didn’t know. Daria would get the hint. She wouldn’t rat me out. But it didn’t feel okay to lie to April anymore. She was a friend now.

“I’m sorry,” I signed, my shoulders sagging. I really was.

April shook her head. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it when we get back to Boon. Break a leg, Lu.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Oh, and Lu?” April smiled, just as I was about to close the MacBook. “You’re not the girl I met the first day we arrived at Boon. You’re much stronger. Make sure he knows that.”

The beach house where Daria threw the party belonged to one of her rich friends and sat on Huntington Beach. The owners were two architects who lived in Europe half the year. It looked like an elaborate fishbowl. The floors and walls were all made of glass. You could see the blond sand and tranquil ocean under your feet. The living room, huge and mostly empty, spilled onto a large deck with crystal bannisters. The only proof people inhabited the carefully designed space was the second floor I’d caught a glimpse of when we parked. There was some light furniture scattered around there.

Who could live in such a place?

“Stephannie!” Daria squealed as she hugged a girl who looked like the dark-haired version of her. They held each other for what seemed to be a century before disconnecting. Daria introduced us and told Stephannie (who pointed out that her name was spelled with a double N. Why couldn’t rich people just let normal names be?) that I couldn’t talk, but I could hear and text, waving it off like it was hardly an issue.