Chapter one
Imagine two ships sailing side by side, even though they’re headed toward different horizons. The girls on each ship believe they’ll reach the future together, even as their decks tilt in opposite directions. Near the wheel lies half of a heart necklace — the kind we bought when we were six, promising we’d connect them every week for the rest of our lives.
A week before the phone call, Rina told me her dream.
When people grow, they shed skin — and sometimes they shed the person they trust the most. That person was me. I was a numbing reminder of a life that had already sailed away, a walking memory of the girl she used to be.
Back when I was twelve, I woke up in my room on a Saturday. The whole place felt unsteady, like the ground beneath it wasn’t fully solid.
My eyes wandered to the little white fur balls on my black carpet. A glob of lotion sat on my desk, untouched. I didn’t clean the problems in my cup; I just let the milk grow mold.
Being twelve came with a lot of downsides. You’re not a kid, not a teen — just stuck in the middle, staring at the clock while adults warn you your body is about to change.
My skin tried to break free in red welts, but I told it to shut up. I covered my blank canvas with makeup, turning it bright red.
Seattle was growing, and so were the possibilities for friends. I loved the city lights and the people drifting beneath them. Even at twelve, I could find my way through the streets. Mom called it a good sense of direction; I called it knowing how to read a map.
Mom warned me about the horror stories that happen in cities — like the twelve‑year‑old girl, Rebecca Sand, who got kidnapped in an alleyway. She signed me up for karate lessons for self‑defense.
I opened my door and walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, my face looked red, so I grabbed my cleanser and started washing. The bottle promised to cure pimples, redness, and bumps. I believed it and ignored the part about side effects.
I put on moisturizer and then did my makeup. I heard my Mom’s voice, so I stepped out of the bathroom.
“What?” I yelled while brushing the knots out of my hair. I pulled a chunk of brown strands from the brush and tossed it in the trash.
“Rina is here to hang out!” she yelled back.
“Okay, I’m coming!” I yelled again, and matched her tone. I chucked the brush into the basket on the floor.
As I stepped into the hallway, I saw Rina. Her hair was shiny, her skin glowing. I could smell her detergent from across the room — flowers and vanilla. I smiled at her, and she smiled back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I thought we were hanging out at twelve?”
“Oh, right… I slept in.” I walked up and hugged her tightly. She smelled like a recurring memory.
“I woke up at nine,” she said as she bent down to take off her sneakers.
“I’m so hungry…” I glanced toward the kitchen.
“I think your mom just bought you a cinnamon roll,” she said, shifting her weight.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed the giant cinnamon roll on the counter. It dripped with white, gooey frosting. Mom sat on the couch, sipping from a mug. I took a bite. Frosting smeared around my mouth, but I didn’t wipe it away.
“Did you want something to eat?” I asked, my mouth full.
“I ate before I got here,” she said, sitting at the table.
We went to my room and sat on the rug. Rina’s eyes met mine, then drifted to the poster on my wall — Marilyn Monroe in a white lacy dress.
“Rina, did your mom finish her painting?”
“Not yet, but it’s almost done,” she said, playing with her hair.
“Do you think she’ll get famous?”
“I don’t think so. No one really gets famous for a painting until after they’re dead. And she won’t die anytime soon.” She nodded to herself, then looked down at the rug.
“What?” I asked.
“I had this horrible dream last night,” she said. She started picking at her fingernails. Her eyes weren’t shallow — they stretched on for miles. I searched for familiarity at the bottom of her eyes, but I only found erased memories.
“What was the dream?”
“There was a car crash,” she whispered, shuddering as her eyes met mine.
“You don’t even have your license yet,” I said.
“I wasn’t driving.”
“Dreams aren’t real.”
“My parents died in the dream.”
“That won’t happen in real life,” I said. I thought about Dad. He said car accidents are the most common way to die.
“But sometimes bad things happen, and how it happened…” She looked down.
“Listen, Rina, nothing bad will happen.”
“I know,” she said. “But everything feels perfect right now, and when something feels perfect, it usually means something’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong, Rina. Okay?”
“You’re right… Bad things only happen in books and movies…”
“Totally,” I said, even though I knew bad things happen in real life. “This isn’t a fictional story. You’re Rina. I’m Mal. And this is our connection.” I made a heart with my hands.
“I think without these heart necklaces, we’d fall apart. They’re the lid on the jar. Without it, we’ll expire…” She held up her half‑heart necklace.
“You think we need them to stay besties?”
“I do..."
She pulled her necklace from under her shirt. I lifted mine. We brought them together, and the magnets clicked. They stayed connected for only a second. Then we pulled them apart, and the necklaces fell back against our chests. From twenty‑three feet away, they’d look like a whole heart — full and put together. But in reality, they weren’t. In reality, the hearts were distant. One was above ground, and one was six feet deep.
