Chapter 3

Mom's flightto Zurich leaves a few hours before my Cambridge flight. She's shaved it pretty close so that I don't have to wait around by myself in the airport for hours.

"You're going to have a wonderful summer, Rosalie." She's been repeating this like a mantra for days as if trying to convince me—or possibly herself. "Call me as soon as you land, darling."

"Bye, Mom," I say to her back and watch her tiny, determined frame stride off. She's left me to weather the long security line alone—her assumption being, I guess, that I'm safe enough around all these TSA guards. I'm sure she has some kind of plan for my protection at Cambridge. For all I know, she's hired a team of bodyguards to watch over me there, too.

Too bad I'm not going to Cambridge.

I rustle through my purse. Heart hammering, I pull out the ticket Tyler's uncle gave me. The plane to Bangor departs in ninety minutes. Plenty of time to check in, get through security, and make it to the gate. I've packed cool-weather clothes and sensible shoes. I can buy anything else I'll need at a local outdoor shop. I've got enough money to get a new ticket to Cambridge in a few weeks and I've packed Tyler's globe in my checked bag. I'm wearing his pendant around my neck.

If I go through with this, my mother will most likely send the National Guard to come fetch me. But she'll be stuck at a conference deep in the Swiss mountains. And I'll have arrived at my destination before she realizes what I've done. I'm sure she'll be able to make some excuse for my lateness to Cambridge.

Assuming I go at all.

Resolve pumps through me. I check my bag for the Bangor flight and hurry to security. The line is long but moves quickly.

I'm boarded on the flight to Maine before I can change my mind.

* * *

The seatbeside me is empty and I wonder if this was Tyler's seat. I imagine his lanky frame folded into it, his long limbs restless, thinking of what he'd say if he could see me now. It's as if, instead of the sensible, diligent honor student from Bayport Academy, a different, wilder Rosalie got on this plane. The Rosalie Tyler wanted me to be—hell, the one I've always wanted to be.

Not Rosalie. Rose.

It's the middle of the night when we deplane in Bangor and the spell breaks. I had no way to tell Tyler's Uncle Randy that I was coming. All I've got is a ticket for an island shuttle and ferry, with no way to contact anyone and a bunch of hearsay about an Aunt Millie who might be a senile recluse or six feet under. I glance around the deserted airport arrival lounge. Beyond the wall of windows, ink-black night presses in. I sigh.

This new wild Rose may be the definition of an idiot.

After claiming my duffel, I stumble onto a greenhouse garden lounge in the shuttered mall area, left open for weary travelers. Wandering between the rows of cacti, ferns, and orchids, I stop in front of a potted verbena. The plants are disconnected from their roots, but this little plant smells like my canyon garden and reminds me of my nights with Tyler. All those nights I wanted so badly to kiss him—and finally got my chance—only to lose him forever.

Maybe, somehow, I'll find a way to honor him by helping his island. But without Tyler by my side, I'll need my forum buddies' super-geeky support.

I pause to log into Climate Warriors and find DMs waiting for me from Q and Waverider.

Waverider: VX—ARE YOU THERE? We're dying here, waiting to know if you did the DEED—or stayed on your mother's leash.

VerbenaX: Yep. It's done. I'm beat. Will report in tomorrow.

As I pocket my phone, someone nearby clears their throat. A boy around my age, with close-cropped auburn hair the same shade as my own and alert brown eyes, watches me from a few yards away.

"Rosalie Gatell?"

Distracted by the verbena's delicate fragrance and my DMs, I never even heard him coming. I position my duffel between us like a buffer. "Uh…yeah? How did you know?"

"We were told you'd be on this flight." Striding closer, the boy smiles and extends a hand. "Wade Lambert. Randy's son. I drive the shuttle to the ferry. Shame about your friend." His fingers wrap around mine, warm and reassuring. "We heard what happened. Would have been nice to meet the guy."

"I thought you knew him," I say. "If Randy is your father, isn't Tyler your cousin?"

"Not really. Da just kind of checked in on him, him being an orphan and such."

I frown. "Does, uh, his Aunt Millie know what happened to him?"

Wade shifts from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. "Aunt Millie?"

"The woman who looked after him before he came to Bayport? Does she know what happened to him?"

Wade's brow furrows. "I'm not sure I know who you mean."

I bite my lip and finger the charm that dangles around my neck. Aunt Millie must be a real person; Randy knew who she was. But this guy Wade looks completely baffled.

Well, I can figure that out later. Right now, it's the middle of the night and I still have no idea where I'm staying. "Is there a hotel on the island?"

Wade laughs. "A hotel? You don't need to worry about a place to stay."

What is he talking about? Is he some kind of creeper? I consider calling Mom, apologizing, and asking her to rebook a flight to Cambridge. But would Rose do that? I should at least explore the island, report my findings to the Warriors, and find a place to leave Tyler's globe now that I came all this way.

"Welp," Wade says with forced cheerfulness, "the others are waiting in the shuttle. Everyone's pretty tired, so how about we get rolling?"

* * *

Shufflingaboard the squat boat with two other late-night shuttle passengers, I gulp down my queasiness. Exhausted, I nod off, and a few hours later, as dawn finally breaks, I peer out the window at a rocky speck rising from the murky waters. It looks like we've arrived at the ends of the earth.

"Here we are!" Wade announces.

I squint across the choppy water to make sense of the island's contours, but most of it is obscured by gray mist. "This is it?"

"Salttain Island," Wade says proudly. "It's uncharted. You won't find it on an ordinary map. Just the local ones."

Which means that my mother won't be able to find me here, either. I check for phone reception and feel instantly uneasy. "Is there cell service?"

Wade laughs. "Nope. Just the world's slowest dial-up at the General Store. We don't go in for that sort of thing around here."

So much for maintaining a lifeline to the Warriors. I'm basically on my own now. This whole trip is either a stroke of genius or the most insane thing I've ever done. Or both.

Wade and I are the only ones who disembark. He helps me with my luggage, and we stand together on the weathered dock as the little boat chugs away, carrying the remaining passengers to other islands in the archipelago.

My surroundings are still obscured by fog, but the air is filled with a fragrance so tantalizing, I forget my connectivity problems. Shot-glass-sized purple flowers peek through the gloom, drooping from the stems of a vine that coils lazily around the dock's railing. Inside each bloom is a blaze of red-orange, bright as headlights through the fog. I lean in closer and breathe their peppery-sweet scent. The aroma goes straight to my head, making me woozy.

The mist thickens, the bulk of the island still hidden beyond its white-gray veil. Wade checks his watch. "Morning fog usually clears at eight, like clockwork. We have another hour or so before you can enjoy the sights. In the meantime, there's someone who wants to see you really bad."

A figure emerges from the mist, and for one horrible, wonderful moment, I imagine it's Tyler. That he's pulled off an elaborate, sadistic hoax. But then shock crackles through my daze, slicing through layers and layers of hazy memory. The outline of the man's form is stooped, bulkier than I remember. I peer at him with disbelief that borders on panic.

I'm seeing a ghost, all right. Just not the one I'd imagined.

"Rosalie," says a familiar voice, the warm baritone dissolving years of pain.

I'm too stunned to question how or why.

Instead, I run into my dead father's waiting arms.