For the second night in a row, Manning didn’t come to the dining hall after lights-out. Tiffany did—at least that meant she wasn’t with him. With Manning away, boys had been approaching her all night like bees with honey or moths to a flame. That’s what Tiffany was to them, whether they knew it or not. A honeyed-flame. One poor guy had been circling for an hour, working up the nerve to talk to her. Tiffany didn’t even notice him.

Tiffany, Hannah, and I sat in a circle on the floor with a few other counselors. Tiffany crossed her legs under her. “I don’t remember half these guys from high school. It’s like they haven’t seen a girl in months.”

“They probably spent four years thinking they’d never get a chance to talk to you,” Hannah said.

“Most of them are geeks.” She scrunched her nose. “I guess that can be sexy.”

I glanced around to make sure none of them were within hearing distance, then changed the subject. “How was last night?”

She checked her makeup in her compact. “Last night?”

“Your date.”

“Oh.” She snapped the mirror shut. “So good. So so good.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “Really?”

“Not even in a sexual way. Manning just made me realize I’ve been dating boys all this time when there are men out there.”

“How?” It came out as a whisper, so I cleared my throat. “What did he do?”

“He arranged this dinner just for me. We had a great talk, where he opened up so much.”

“About what?”

“Our relationship and stuff.” She shook her head. “His sister died.”

It came out fast, like an afterthought or an unwarranted slap across the face. I couldn’t believe he’d shared that with her after I’d asked about his family and he’d said he didn’t talk about it. With anyone. Not even me. He’d given Tiffany this intimate piece of himself and me nothing.

When the shock wore off, it hit me. He’d had a little sister. And she was gone. His gentleness with me, at times, could be almost brotherly, the way he didn’t smoke or curse in my presence. I couldn’t deny the attraction between us, but it made more sense, his sadness, his intensity, if he was a big brother without a little sister.

“Then he walked me back to my cabin,” Tiffany continued. “He never acts like I owe him anything. He was a gentleman, you know?”

That sounded like Manning to me. A gentleman, someone who’d never push me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. I wanted that for Tiffany, to be treated well, but not enough to give her Manning.

“Can you be more specific?” I asked.

“He was trying to be polite at first . . .”

At first. At first? “Then what?”

“Here’s a lesson you’re going to learn sooner or later, Lake, so it might as well be sooner. Men’s brains turn to mush with a little physical contact.”

My chest rattled with each breath, caving in on itself. I didn’t even know enough about men to understand if getting physical could mean just a kiss or if it was always more. What I wouldn’t give for a dinner date with Manning. And then to be alone with him afterward, to have our first kiss in the quiet dark under pine trees.

“I’m starting to like this place,” she said. “It’s romantic.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask for details. The boy who’d been pacing around like a predator finally pounced. “Tiffany, right?” he asked. “We went—”

“High school?” she asked.

His face lit up as he wrung his hands. He was definitely more prey than predator. “Yeah! You remember. Armando Diaz.”

If Manning wasn’t coming, I didn’t want to be here. “You can sit here, Armando,” I said, standing.

He took my spot without a glance in my direction. “Thanks.”

After saying goodnight to Hannah, I left the hall. My tennis shoes barely made a sound on the forest floor on the way to my cabin. Bushes I couldn’t even see rustled. There were no lights, just the sliver of a crescent moon, but even it was blocked by trees. Frogs burped a chorus by the lake.

I heard footsteps before I saw anyone. It unnerved me, not being able to see who was there, which direction they were coming from. I turned around. “Hello . . .?”

“You’re not making a very good case for walking alone in the woods,” Manning said.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to his big frame a few feet in front of me, shadowed, but undeniably his.

“Haven’t you ever seen Friday the 13^th?” he asked.

“No.”

“Is everyone in your family this stubborn?”

I wanted to make some remark about his family and how he’d betrayed me by telling Tiffany something it would’ve made more sense to tell me, someone who cared. But if it was true about his sister, a snarky comment didn’t seem right. “I’m not trying to be,” I said. “I didn’t want to stay in there by myself.”

“You have your sister. Your friends are in there. You have Hannah.”

I don’t have you. Before him, I would’ve loved having Tiffany treat me like a friend instead of a pest. Now, I didn’t care to be anywhere Manning wasn’t. I glanced at the ground. “Why didn’t you come tonight?”

“I’m on patrol. Supposed to be walking the site, checking on cabins.”

I exhaled softly, quietly relieved. He hadn’t purposely been avoiding me. “Can I walk with you?”

He hesitated. “It’s not really a two-person job.”

“I’m not ready to go to sleep. Please?”

Silhouetted against the trees, he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll walk you back to your bunk, but we can take the long way.”

He passed me, and I turned to follow him in the opposite direction of my cabin. “Did you have a good day?”

“We have to be quiet. Don’t want to wake up the kids.”

“Did you have a good day?” I whispered.

His sigh ended in a light laugh. “It was hectic. Yours?”

“I got a bullseye during archery.”

“Yeah?” He sounded impressed. “None of my boys managed that. Me, neither.”

“I practiced a lot last year.” I shrugged. “This was my first bullseye, though.”

“Wish I’d seen it.”

It was a pretty cool thing on its own, but knowing Manning thought so, too, made me proud.

We walked a little longer in silence, me sneaking glances at him. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a paperback in his pocket. “Are you still reading that same book as before?”

“Nah. I grabbed something new from the cafeteria. You see they have a book exchange?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had time to read at all.”

“Started your dad’s list yet?”

I’d imagined him asking me this a few times since my last visit to the library. I wasn’t sure I’d be brave enough to say what I wanted, but it helped that he couldn’t see me blushing. “Not yet. I decided to take your advice and check out a book not on the list. One about something that . . . interested me.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

Despite the cool mountain air, my body warmed, because once I said what I’d chosen, it’d be obvious why. “Lolita.”

Manning didn’t respond.

My heart beat in my throat, getting louder as the silence stretched between us. “You know of it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s about—”

“I know what it’s about. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

I could almost understand why Manning shut down so many of our conversations when people were around, but we were alone now, away from everyone. I kicked a rock. Manning must’ve thought I tripped, because he reached out to take my arm. “What a surprise,” I said, pulling away. “Something you don’t want to talk about.”

I felt his eyes on me, but I refused to look up. “I talk to you about a lot of things, Lake. More than anyone else.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“You called me a liar,” he said. “You can’t say that’s nothing.” He waited, for what I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t going to apologize, because it was true. “I’m seeing a new side of you lately,” he said.

“How was your date with Tiffany?”

“Ah. That’s what this is about?”

“No. It’s just a question.”

“Date was good, thanks for asking.”

“Did you kiss?” It wasn’t my business, and I hadn’t planned to ask because I wasn’t sure what good it would do to know. But I had to. I wanted to hear it from him, not Tiffany, who exaggerated when it came to these things. At least, I was pretty sure she did.

“I told you yesterday,” he said, “that’s between your sister and me.”

I wiped my clammy palms on my jeans. I was nervous he’d admit they’d kissed. I was nervous he wouldn’t, leaving me to fill in the blanks. “So that’s a yes. You kissed. Maybe you did other stuff, too.”

“Lake,” he warned, an edge to his voice.

“I know you told Tiffany about your sister,” I blurted. “Why not me? She doesn’t even care. I do.”

He inhaled a loud breath. “That was private.”

“Sisters tell each other everything.”

“Do you talk to her about me? Does she know you and I spend time together like this?”

I closed my mouth, scolded. Of course I hadn’t told Tiffany about us. She’d just ruin it by calling me childish or teasing me for having a crush. He’d made his point. “No.”

“Good, and don’t,” he said. “That’d put an end to our friendship.”

I looked up at him, panic tightening my chest. “You’d end our friendship if I told Tiffany?”

“Not me, no.”

Somehow, I knew instinctively who he meant. Everyone who wasn’t us. “You’re not closer to Tiffany than you are to me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. You can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“Tiffany and I are friends in a different way than you and me, Lake. Our friendship—it progresses differently. It means something else.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” He waited, but I didn’t respond. “Would you rather I broke up with her?”

I opened my mouth to scream yes! But did I want that? Tiffany wouldn’t care too much—this was way more important to me than it was to her. That made it fair. “Would you?”

“Your sister’s more than meets the eye, but I think you know that. Maybe people don’t give her enough credit.”

I had thought the same thing more and more lately. As I got older, I began to wonder if Tiffany was as aimless and flighty as Dad made her out to be, or if she was that way because my parents didn’t understand how to push her. “I guess.” If Manning could see that, then he was getting to know a different Tiffany than most people. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Are you saying you like her?”

He scratched behind his neck and responded slowly, as if choosing his words. “I like Tiffany for a lot of reasons. But maybe there’s one thing about her that brings it all together. Like glue.”

“What thing?”

“It’s not something I can really put into words . . .” He looked over my head and around. “Let’s say it’s because she makes me laugh. If I break up with her, then I’d miss laughing. You know?”

I frowned. “No. Surely she isn’t the only person who makes you laugh.”

“But let’s say she was. Let’s say, me laughing while Tiffany wasn’t around would be . . . people wouldn’t understand it.”

“So you wouldn’t laugh at all? Because of what other people thought?”

“Part of me doesn’t think it’s appropriate to laugh, either, Lake.”

Appropriate—I’d heard that word from him before. Laughing wasn’t appropriate the way our friendship wasn’t. “I think I understand.”

“I didn’t tell you about my sister because I won’t ever lie to you.”

“What do you mean?”

He stopped walking when we reached a wooden fence running the perimeter of the camp pool. We weren’t really by the cabins anymore, which made me wonder if he’d brought me here on purpose. He looked up, his feet apart, hands in his jean pockets, forearms tense. I could tell he was thinking, his eyes distant, but about what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I’d asked too many questions, and he was about to send me back to my cabin.

“Can you hop it?” he asked.

I realized he wasn’t staring into the distance but at the pool. There were only two ways in—the gate on the other side, and through the locker room and showers. Both were locked at the end of each day. I had no idea if I could get over the enclosure, but I said, “Yes.”

Leaves crunched under Manning’s feet as he surveyed the area. He motioned me over to the fence and picked me up the way he’d hoisted me onto the wall the day we’d met. I straddled it, jumping over the side. Manning followed right after, landing heavily on the concrete deck. He brushed off his jeans. “No trees in here,” he said. “It’s one of the best places to see the stars.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d looked at the stars, really looked. There were too many to count, a paint-splatter of silver on indigo. At home, I barely noticed them anymore, but as kids, Mom had taught Tiffany and me the constellations. I pointed, drawing in the sky. “Little Dipper.”

“That’s the big one,” he said, moving closer to me. He stenciled out his own square. “It’s part of Ursa Major, which means Great Bear.”

I looked over at Manning, a bear of a man. My great bear. “Ursa Major,” I repeated.

He shifted his index finger over. “There’s the little one. You can tell by the North Star. My sister used to make the same mistake. Until she knew more than I did, that is.”

I could feel her there, a presence between us, and I understood that the reason we were here had to do with her. She was part of the side of him that lived in shadows—a secret, but not just any secret. One that belonged to Manning, one I wanted to keep for him. “You did this with her?”

“When our parents fought, I’d take Maddy—” He tripped on her name. As he recovered, I tried it out in my head. Maddy. “I’d take her out to the front lawn and make up stories about the constellations. I didn’t know shit, but she started reading books about them.” He swallowed. The emotion in his voice was new for me, and he’d cursed, which he never did in my presence. “Soon enough,” he continued, “she was the one telling me stories.”

“How old was she?”

“Only nine. When she died.”

I audibly sucked in air. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say, but nine just sounded so young. It was the age of the girls in my cabin. I’d been nine seven years ago. Aside from a great aunt, I’d never known anyone who’d died. I couldn’t imagine my life without my sister. My childhood would’ve been completely different without Tiffany, especially if she’d disappeared in the middle of it. Poof. I tried to think of some way to express my sympathy, to make this moment easier on him. I couldn’t touch him, not that I’d know where or how. I’m sorry for your loss just felt like the worst thing I could possibly say.

Maybe talking about her life, instead of death, would help. “Will you tell me about the stars?” I asked.

I could feel his hurt from where I stood. I tugged on his arm and sat right there on the concrete. There was no grass in sight, just this and the pool. It seemed like a big deal for someone his size to sit on the ground, but he did. We both lay back, some distance between us.

“I don’t remember them all.” His voice was hushed. It could’ve been his grief, but I was pretty sure he kept his tone low in case anybody passed by. They wouldn’t know we were here unless they heard us. “It’s been a long time since I looked very hard at the sky,” he said.

I could feel my elbows and shoulder blades on the concrete. I wanted to hear about the stars, but I couldn’t stop trying to picture her. “What did she look like?”

“The opposite of you.”

“You told me once I remind you of her.”

“You do. She was smart and kind. Saw the best in people, always. She’s the only person who loved me as I am.”

Despite the balmy night, I got the chills. Not the only one, I wanted to say. I love you. But the thought of saying that aloud made my heart pound and shriveled my tongue. I wondered if I’d ever be able to admit it. Maybe he knew, though. Maybe that’s how he thought I was like her.

I inched my hand along the warm concrete, toward him.

“She had black hair, like me,” he said. “Dark eyes. We looked a lot alike, except you could tell there was a whole universe behind her eyes.”

Manning could be that way. As if he were living in two different worlds, sometimes only half-present in this one. “How old would she be now?”

“Seventeen. I can’t even picture it.”

I did the math. “You were fifteen?”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched between us. It didn’t seem right to ask how it happened. I wanted him to want me to know, to just tell me. To give me something he hadn’t given anyone else, especially not Tiffany. The longer we stared up at the sky, the more I realized he wouldn’t. And what did that mean? Did he not trust me?

Eventually, he pointed at the sky again. “There it is. I was trying to find the three stars that make up the Summer Triangle.”

I looked for the ones he was talking about. “Where?”

“It’s not a constellation, but three stars from other constellations. That brightest one, it’s the bottom. Altair. About a foot apart is Vega. Through the middle is the Milky Way. You see?”

I still couldn’t find them, but he sounded so hopeful, I didn’t want to ruin it. “I think so.”

“I can’t tell it the way Madison did, but it was her favorite story. There are different versions, but Altair and Vega represent lovers from different sides of a river—or the Milky Way. They married behind their parents’ backs and her father punished them by keeping them apart.”

“With the river?”

“Yes. They were only allowed to be together once a year, the seventh night of the seventh month. The Japanese have a whole festival in July. There was no bridge, so, as long as the night was clear and it wasn’t raining, birds would carry Vega across the river to Altair for that one night.”

Of all the stories Manning could’ve chosen, there must’ve been a reason he picked that one to tell me. I’d learned about star-crossed lovers in English class. Maybe that’s where the term came from. People would try to keep me and Manning apart because of our age difference, but we had this—the stars, the lovers, the night.

“What about the third star?”

“What?”

“You said it was a triangle.”

“Oh.” His eyes roamed the sky. “I don’t know.”

“So the story is about Altair and Vega. It isn’t really a triangle at all.”

He reached up to make three points. “They’re all there, Lake. Can’t move the stars.”

“But the other one, it has nothing to do with this, right?” He must’ve heard the panic in my voice. It was hard to miss. “It’s about Altair and Vega. Just them.”

He looked over at me. “Yes. It’s about them.”

My heart began to pound. Hope lived strongly in me, and I knew with just those words, the same was true for him. It was a promise. No matter what, the story would only ever be about us.

I brushed my knuckle against his to acknowledge what I couldn’t say. Was holding hands physical? What would Manning do if I put my skin on his and asked for what I wanted? If, like Tiffany, I used touch to get it? I got up on my elbow and looked down at him. My hair fell forward, a curtain around us.

“Lake,” he said—a plea? A warning? I couldn’t tell.

I looked at his mouth. I had dreamed of it, the things it couldn’t tell me, of his lips, which couldn’t kiss me. We were alone, finally. He had told me in so many words, one day, we would cross the river to each other.

I leaned down.

He put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “We can’t.”

He was telling me no. Again. Like everyone else, he thought he knew better than me. Couldn’t he see that wasn’t true? That some things were bigger than right and wrong, bigger than us? Hot tears pierced the backs of my eyes. “Why not?”

“That’s just the way it is.” He touched his hand to my cheek, and I leaned into his palm. “This will have to be enough.”

I shook my head. “I’m not a child, Manning.”

“I know you aren’t. But at your age, it can be hard to think past the moment. To consider consequences. The future.”

“All I do is consider my future.”

“And you’re going to do and be great things. You’ll fly far, Birdy. See places most of us never will.” He moved my hair behind my ear. “I’m counting on it.”

I didn’t want to fly without Manning. I was content to stay here on the ground with him, learning of the stars, but he sat up, forcing me to do the same. We got to our feet.

All at once, the dreaminess of the night wore off, leaving the shameful truth—I’d tried to kiss him, and he’d told me no. Yet he’d gotten “physical” with Tiffany. What did that mean? Could there possibly be anything bigger than my love for him, something big enough to swallow it?

My vision blurred with tears. I still hadn’t figured out the Summer Triangle. There wasn’t even a cloud in the sky—I just couldn’t find the stars.

Manning turned away from me and walked back to the fence.

It wasn’t fair. I’d seen him first. I’d had him first. But was I losing him?

Was I losing him to Tiffany?