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looking straight at me. Her face was close to mine. Although her tone was tough, her look was soft. She was beautiful.
    â€œI love you,” I said. And I think she got the point.

Chapter Nine
    I didn’t speak to her again all that day. We agreed to that. And we agreed to meet at the kayak shed down by the water at eleven o’clock at night. I had a bad feeling in my gut. I didn’t want to admit I was scared. I didn’t trust kayaks or the inlet or a million things that could go wrong out there. But what else could I do?
    I lay in my bunk breathing raggedly, loud enough for Gerard to ask me to shut up. At ten minutes to eleven by my watch, I got up to pretend I was going to take a leak. The hallway was clear. Someone had fixed the screen in Chris’s room, I reckoned. There was no sign of Brianna, but I knew she’d be there. Or at least, I knew she would leave.
    I crept low along the hall. One of the other counselors had his room right by the entrance. His door was open, but a tv was on inside and maybe he was asleep. Who knows? All I knew was that the door to the outside was unlocked. Had Brianna already left? It swung open without a sound, and I closed it just as silently.
    Outside, it was very dark. I realized we should be waiting for first light in the morning. Leaving in the dark was insane. Everything about this was insane. We had no maps. No supplies. I had the jacket on my back, that’s all.
    I ran for the boathouse and slipped inside, where it was even darker than outside. I waited for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw her. She had found a pack and was shoving things into it.
    â€œBrianna.”
    â€œThe weather’s good,” she said. “No wind. No waves. I’ve got a few things that were around here. I have a good feeling about this.”
    â€œMe too,” I lied. My eyes were a little adjusted now. I needed to get my wits about me and make sure we did this right. I reached for the life jackets and tossed her one.
    She tossed it back. “I don’t think we need these things. You can swim, right?”
    Well, the answer would have been, “barely.” But it wasn’t about swimming. It was about surviving in that cold North Atlantic water if we dumped. “Brianna, you have to wear one.” My tone was harsh, insistent.
    There was a pause, and I caught a glimpse of her face. I thought she was about to tell me to get lost. Instead she said, rather sarcastically, “Fine.” And she put on the life jacket and snapped the clasps. I did the same. I knew we were carving out new territory here. I’d been reckless all my life, and now I’d hitched myself to someone more reckless than me. Great.
    â€œThis one,” she said, lifting a red kayak from the rack. “Grab that end. Walk it to the water.” I took the orders this time. Then we went back for a second one that was orange. Lift, haul. We went back for the pack, paddles and spray skirts.
    On the shore of the inlet, not a breath of air was moving. You could hear bugs, and tiny waves lapping, and there was now a quarter moon giving us a little light. We got into the kayaks in shallow water, and I waited as she pushed off.
    I almost didn’t go. I almost chickened out.
    But suddenly she was out there, a dark silhouette in a long narrow boat, already moving away quickly on the dark but sparkling water. And my heart sank. I had no choice. I pushed off the shallow bottom with my paddle, heard the hull of the kayak scraping over sand and pebbles, and then I was free of land.
    I wobbled a few times but paddled harder until my speed made me more stable. It took some serious effort to catch up with her. She was a strong paddler. When I came up alongside her boat, I could see the determination in her face.
    â€œWe did it,” she said, smiling. “We’re free. I’m never, ever gonna let anyone put me through that again.”
    â€œHow do you know we’re headed the right