Somewhere in the night, both Rachelle and Marisol fell into a fitful sleep. Lavender became drowsier and drowsier until even the cold and the hunger and the animal sounds could not keep her awake. Still, she refused to let herself sleep. Someone needed to watch over the others and guard the dying embers of the fire.

Lavender stood. She staggered back and forth. She slapped her own face, pinched her arm, and bit the inside of her cheek: anything to stay awake. The long night stretched on and on, and Lavender could not sleep, would not sleep, and so it was Lavender alone who watched as the clouds overhead broke and the night grew bright with moonlight and starshine. Late in the night, she heard a rustling noise, and Lavender looked over to see her friend’s eyes glitter in the reflected light.

“You awake?” Marisol whispered to her.

Lavender nodded. “Too much on my mind,” she said. “How about you?”

“My ankle,” Marisol answered. “It really hurts.”

“How can I help?” Lavender asked in a whisper so they wouldn’t wake Rachelle.

“Having you next to me—knowing we can talk—is enough. At least it gives me something else to think about.”

“Then … can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

Lavender bit her lip. She was almost afraid to ask, but if she didn’t just say what was on her mind, she might never get a chance. So despite the cold and the hundred aches and pains, she took a deep breath and asked, “Why did you ditch me for Rachelle?”

Marisol was silent for so long that Lavender didn’t think she would answer, but then Marisol said, “Just because we’re best friends, that doesn’t mean we can’t have other friends. You never want me to hang out with anyone else. You even joined choir when I did.”

“I thought you wanted me to be in choir,” Lavender said.

Marisol cocked her head to one side. “Do you really like being in choir?”

“I like to sing. I really do. But I don’t love it, not like you do, and choir practice gets really boring sometimes.” Lavender paused before adding, “I guess I can think of other things I like better.”

“Then you should do those things. We have to be our own people. My mom said that it’s healthier to have our own lives.”

“I thought your mom liked me. Why would she say that?”

“She does, but I was crying after I failed my ham radio test.”

“You took the ham test?”

“I tried and—”

“You should have told me! I could have helped you study. You’re so smart. You could easily pass.”

“But that’s the thing. I didn’t really want to do it. I was only trying because you wanted me to take it. And that’s when my mom told me that it’s okay for us to have some things that belong to just us. She said that I shouldn’t always try to do what you do … and then, I guess if I’m being one hundred percent honest, I got mad at you, too.”

“Why?” Lavender asked with a small shiver.

“You always get all the attention from everyone without even trying or realizing it. You’re just always better than me at, like, everything.”

“No, I’m not. I can’t speak another language. I can’t sing like you. I wasn’t Alice in the school play. That was you …”

Marisol held up a hand and Lavender’s voice faded away. Marisol said, “I just mean that, like, singing is my thing. And I was really excited about my solo. If we had just waited, Mrs. Jacobson would have come back and restarted the song. Everything would have been fine, but you jumped to the front and got all the attention, and I was so thrown off by everything that I didn’t sing very well, and … and I just wanted some space. I probably could have found a better way to talk to you. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings exactly, but I was upset and I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

A slight breeze stirred the air.

Lavender shivered and edged a little closer to the fire.

Marisol’s words were slowly sinking in. As much as Lavender wanted to explain and defend her motives—she’d only been trying to help—maybe Marisol did have a point. In a way, it wasn’t that different from what John had said. Sometimes it was better to listen to others than to just jump in and take over.

The silence stretched on until Lavender broke it by clearing her throat.

“And you know I’m sorry, too? Right?” Lavender said. “For tricking you and getting us stranded out here and lying and—and for trying to take over and ruining the concert for you. I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Marisol said.

“And you really do forgive me?”

“Without forgiveness, no one would ever stay friends.”

For an injured sixth grader who was stranded in the woods and on the brink of dehydration and starvation and hypothermia, Marisol was really wise. Lavender felt curiously reassured and whole and safe. And suddenly she wanted to laugh. She shook with silent, semi-hysterical laughter.

Marisol must have felt her moving. “What’s the joke?”

“Next time,” said Lavender in a voice that still quaked with laughter, “let’s not wait until we’re about to die to be honest with each other. Like, would we ever have talked if we weren’t lost out here?”

“Good point.” Marisol gave a little laugh. “It’s a deal. Next time, it’ll be different.”

A cracking twig made Lavender jump, and Marisol inhaled sharply.

“What’s that?” Lavender whispered. Marisol lifted her head, trying to look beyond her carefully elevated, restrained foot. Lavender sat up on her knees and scrabbled to grab a handful of rocks. The noise could be anything.

A hulking figure on hind legs emerged from the trees.

“It’s a bear!” Marisol rasped out the words.

Drawing back her arm, Lavender threw the handful of pebbles, the only weapon she could locate, at the creature.

The bear raised its arms to shield its face and cried out, “Ow! Stop. It’s me.”

“John?” Lavender dropped the remaining rocks and rushed over to the shadowy figure. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Oof—” John grunted as Lavender launched herself toward him and flung her arms around his middle.

“You came back!”

“I had to,” he said. “I found water.”