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followed him outside, where Jameson stopped to ask out loud, “Which shacks have we been assigned?”
    “How do you know they’ll let us stay?” asked Spencer, always the circumspect one.
    Jameson looked at him pointedly and replied, “Because there’s no reason they shouldn’t.”
    Nolan scoffed. “That’s what I kept telling them,” he said, his ego bruised more than his nose.
    “Yeah…,” said Estelle, discomfort crinkling her nose. “It’s more in the way you said it, though.”
    “I said it loud and clear,” he retorted.
    “ That was the problem,” muttered Oscar, who was always more level-headed than my other cousins.
    From this exchange, I determined that Nolan had used his typically brisk manner and raised voice. And as much as I shouldn’t have been, I was proud of him. He wasn’t one to step down easily and I respected him for it.
    Ironically, Jameson had just shown the same determination, although he had been far more successful.
    “The shacks?” asked Mr. Caldwell, bringing us back to the conversation at hand.
    “Right,” Alison replied, holding up a finger and then using it to point in the direction where we could find them. “I’ll lead the way. They need a little remodeling, but Estelle has a few ideas for them.”
    The remodeling comment turned out to be an understatement.
    We learned that we’d actually been loaned several structures – the oldest and most decrepit in the village. Cobwebs clung to the windows, gaping holes allowed a view through the floorboards to the water below, and the furniture was sparse and rickety.
    No one seemed particularly excited about our living arrangements, least of all Charlotte, who repeatedly muttered that it might actually be better to be sequestered by The Sevens, until her mother told her she’d heard enough.
    We investigated the shacks, determining which ones we'd like to use during our extended stay here. Somehow, Jameson and I ended up alone in the farthest one.
    Because it was dusk, the room was dark enough that the corners were hidden in shadows, but it didn’t stop me from stepping inside. I hoped that Jameson would follow, and he did.
    With my back to him, I kept my voice low. “Jameson…did you really mean everything you said in there?” Recalling his declaration of love and his biased interest in keeping me here sent a pleasurable shiver through me.
    “You left me,” he said, cooly. He used this change of subject to address something that must have been festering the entire day.
    I hesitated and then faced him. “I had to get to my mother, Jameson.”
    “You didn’t do it just for her,” he stated. I turned to find he was frowning. “Did you?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “You did it because our fate says you will take my life and…” His jaw momentarily tensed in anger. “…and you intended to give up yours before I could lose mine.”
    My body trembled slightly as I registered what he’d said. His understanding of me was so much deeper than I realized. I felt as if he could see right through me, and wondered if the shame rising in me was visible to him. And, yet, I couldn’t understand why. I had every right to give up my life. It was my life to give.
    “Yes, that was my plan.”
    Although he delivered his response tenderly, it didn't lessen the impact. “Don’t use me as your reason for killing yourself, Jocelyn.” This blunt, emotionally-charged statement stunned me into silence.
    With that, he turned and walked away.

 
    3  COURAGE
     
    Waking up the next morning, I could tell someone had been in my shack.
    The canvas bag on the floorboards next to my bed was a telltale sign.
    Laying on my stomach, I leaned over the edge of the bed to investigate, finding it contained the basic necessities: clothing, hairbrush, toothbrush and, most importantly, the black belt that held my most treasured possession. Opening it, I found the cable of multi-colored hair and the seven pieces of dried skin fastening