There’s a part of this trail I’ve always loved—less of a location than a moment, really. Not the moment when you begin to hear the waterfall, or the moment you realize the path isn’t making your thighs ache anymore, that it’s starting to slant downward. Not the moment when you pass through a muddy dip and the foliage curls in close around you like the translucent emerald shell of an egg.

It’s the moment when you break out of it all, when the leaves give way to rock, and the waterfall bursts into view, a multitiered veil of frosty white. It’s like waking up on a day that’s full of exciting plans, a day that you know is going to be wonderful.

Jordan is already beside the falls, taking photos. Nick and George collapse onto the rocks, panting and groaning. They don’t seem to feel the magic of the moment.

But Jay looks at me, his brown eyes wide and warm. The smile that curves his mouth is gentle with wonder.

That look of his sinks right through my flesh and bone, down to my heart, where it thrums and glows.

My love for him awakens quietly, like drifting out of a nap, like remembering the lyrics to a song. I love him differently than I did when I was fourteen, and differently than I loved Tom. This love pulses harder, more insistently—and it feels deeply essential to my existence. I’ll always need it to live, whether I’m ever happy again or not.

Tom, Myrtle, and the others emerge from the bushes, a collection of humid bodies, sweating and sulking, but Jay keeps watching me, as if I’m more beautiful than the waterfall. Phrases form inside my head, silly poetic things I could never say to him out loud. A few sparse words are all I can manage.

“You look so cool.” My voice is a drifting current, barely audible over the ongoing susurration of the waterfall. “How do you always look so cool?”

Tom does a double take. He eyes Jay’s unadorned ears and fingers, his basic jeans and gray T-shirt, his tumble of sweaty brown hair. There’s a natural grace to Jay’s stance, a generous openness to his face. It’s the only accessory he needs.

Then Tom shoulders his way between us, stinking of sweat and jealousy. “You call this a waterfall? It’s a lot shorter than I expected.”

I crane my neck to look up the rocky cliffs to the top of the falls. “Really, Tom?”

“I think it’s perfect.” Jordan steps to the edge of the path, staring down into the churning froth. Then she looks up at the cliff. “I can climb this. Maybe slide down part of it, or do jumps across the falls.”

Horror vibrates through me. “Jordan Baker! No way. You really will die this time if you try that!”

“Oh, no I won’t.” She grins at Jay. “I’ve got my insurance policy.” And she leaps for the slick black rocks beside the falls and begins to climb while we all gape at her. She’s always been athletic, but the speed and strength with which she scuttles up the cliff is something else entirely.

“Oh my god,” Myrtle whispers.

Tom shrugs. “It’s not that steep, and there are lots of handholds and footholds. I could climb that thing, easy.”

“So could I,” Myrtle’s brother pipes up.

“Shut up, George,” Myrtle snaps. “Your arms are like skinny little Popsicle sticks. God. Don’t be stupid.”

George shrinks under his sister’s words. I throw him a sympathetic glance and then focus on Jordan, just as her foot slips on a wet rock. Her body jerks for a second, as if she’s going to fall—and then she finds her footing.

“Someone needs to go up there and help her—make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” I gasp.

“She’ll be okay,” Jay assures me. Somehow he ended up at my side.

I grab his arm. “She thinks you’re her insurance policy or something. Talk to her, Jay. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

He chuckles, and there’s an intense light in his eyes, the gleam they used to get when he had an exciting secret. “The rest of you definitely shouldn’t go up there. But trust me, she can do it. And so can I.”

He starts to climb, fast as a spider scuttling up a wall, hands barely gripping the black stones before he’s reaching again, hauling his lithe body upward quickly, higher and higher. He’s already gaining on Jordan.

My fingers flutter to my mouth. “Show-off,” I whisper.

What if he falls? What if Jordan falls? I’ll lose two friends at once.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” Myrtle giggles, elbowing Catherine. “I could watch him climb all day.”

Tom grabs her hand roughly. “Let’s go find somewhere to cross.”

He drags Myrtle toward the pool beneath the falls, where large rocks create a path to the other side. McKee, Catherine, Nick, and Bek follow them. But I stand rooted, watching Jordan and Gatsby scale the cliff like a couple of free-climbing experts.

“I could climb it, too,” says a voice at my elbow. Myrtle’s brother, George. His face is flushed with heat and shame. “My sister never thinks I can do stuff.”

“Myrtle doesn’t know everything,” I say, barely listening.

“Right? She doesn’t know what I’m capable of. No one ever does.”

Part of me resonates with those words, on a deeper level than he could possibly know. I’m at a different stage of life than he is, but I feel just as frustrated, just as lost, just as desperate to discover my “thing” and prove my worth to the world.

“I’m sorry you feel like that.” I reach over and squeeze his shoulder for a second, and he blushes deeper. “But you don’t have to listen to your sister about everything. You should follow your instincts and be brave. Show people what you can do.”

I let my voice trail off as I spot Jay glancing down at me from high above, with a grin of wild glee on his face. He never used to be this athletic, and I’m not complaining, exactly, but I’m not sure I can have two daredevils among the people I love.

By watching this, I’m encouraging both of them.

“Risk your neck if you want,” I yell up to Jay. “But I don’t have to stand here and witness it.”

Deliberately I turn my back to the cliff and focus on the glitter of the sun-dappled pool and the frothy foam of the waterfall. Tom is showing off too, crowing about how fast he can spring from rock to rock across the pool.

I don’t want to attract his attention, so I walk a little farther downstream and occupy myself by tossing a few pebbles from the bank into the water, enjoying each satisfying plop. Then I pick out a different crossing for myself—a chain of smaller stones and a falling log that juts out from the opposite bank. I step to the first stone, spending only a second on its uneven surface before I move to a flatter rock with better footing.

It’s a struggle not to look back at the cliffside, to check on Jay and Jordan’s progress. Please be okay, please be okay…please reach the top safely… Oh god, and then they’ll have to come back down…

I hop to the next rock, watching the glossy flow of the water over the pebbled floor of the pool. Everything’s fine as long as I don’t hear anyone scream…

Screw it… I have to look back and check on them. I have to know they’re okay. I’m poised on a jutting stone, so I have to turn carefully or I’ll lose my balance.

Jay has just reached the top and is hauling himself up to stand next to Jordan…

And George Wilson is about halfway up the cliff.

Shit.

Did the kid think I was telling him to climb the cliff to prove himself, or to spite his sister? That’s not what I meant at all… I was giving life advice, not urging him to do something incredibly dangerous.

I’m too far away to try my persuasive voice on him. It requires a low, gentle tone, and he wouldn’t hear me from this distance. I want to yell at him to get down, but I’m petrified that a shout from me might startle him and make him lose his grip.

I clench both hands, my nails digging into my flesh in an agony of suspense. George isn’t as athletic as Jordan and Gatsby. He’s going to fall.

Myrtle is standing on the bank with her back to the cliff, pulling the heads off flowers. She gives me a scornful look. “What are you gawking at, Daisy?”

I can’t speak. I don’t dare.