I choked on this last word. It almost scratched my throat as I forced it out.

“Colie,” he said softly. I could feel him watching me; he was that close.

“They didn’t care about what it did to me,” I said. “It almost killed me.”

“But it didn’t,” he said, and then he reached over and lifted my chin, so I was looking at him. “You knew the truth all along, Colie. That’s all that matters. You knew.”

Now the last year was flooding my mind, all the taunts and terrible things, every ounce of me that had been taken.

Chase Mercer’s face, framed in the sweeping arc of a flashlight, already pulling away from me.

Caroline Dawes huddled with her friends across a gym locker room, laughing, mouths open, as I tried to turn my back to change clothes.

The man at the tattoo place leaning in close with the needle toward my lip—this will hurt—as I closed my eyes.

My mother sitting across from me at the dinner table in a brand-new house, pleading for me to tell her what was wrong.

My own angry face reflected back at me as I stared out the train window, pulling into Colby, the last place I wanted to be.

Sitting in Norman’s universe, it all began to swirl, faster and faster, and I felt my fingers tightening, holding on.

Let it go, I heard Isabel say in my head. Let it go.

The whirling seemed to get louder, and louder, carrying everything with it. And in the center the two of us, sitting so still, rode it out like a storm.

I gripped the chair harder, closing my eyes. Norman was right: I had known it all along. And I’d carried that truth near my heart, shielding the most tender part of me.

Let it go, I heard a voice whisper in my head. Maybe it was Isabel again, still teaching. Or my mother, willing her miracles. Mira or Morgan, urging me on. Or Norman, taking that truth like the gift it was. Or maybe it was my own voice, silent all this time, but no longer.

Let it go.

And just like that, I did.

In that instant the swirling seemed to stop, each element falling back into place. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and opened my eyes, as Norman suddenly stood up and took a step back, as if he’d felt it too.

He was looking at me, and I wondered if my face had changed. If I would look different now, not the same girl he’d been recreating on canvas for so long.

The strangest thing was that I felt different. As if something pulled taut for so long had eased back, everything that had been strained settling into place: those forty-five-and-a-half pounds finally gone for good.

“The portrait,” I said quickly. I assumed my pose, adjusting my chin, my heart still racing. “We should—”

He glanced across the room. “Colie,” he said. “It’s done.”

“It is?”

“Yep.” He turned around and walked over to the easel, dropping his brush into the coffee can. “I put the last touches on about an hour ago.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You just looked like you were having a good dream.”

I got up and stretched, then started over to the canvas. “Okay. Let’s see it.”

He dodged in front of me—he could be awfully quick, that Norman—and planted himself right in front of the easel. “Hold on,” he said.

“Oh, no,” I told him. “I have waited and waited. You promised.”

“I know, I know. And I will show you. I just—I just wanted it to be special.”

“Special.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Look. Let me cook you dinner tomorrow night. And I’ll get it all set up and unveil it, make a big deal. So you’ll get the full effect.”

“Norman,” I said, suspicious, “if you are just jerking me around . . .”

“I’m not,” he said solemnly. “Cross my heart.” And then he did, for good faith. “Dinner and the unveiling. It’ll be awesome. Trust me.”

“Okay,” I said. It was like a date, a real date. “I’ll be here.”

We said good night, and as I started walking up around the house I remembered my dream. It came to me suddenly, making me stop in midstride.

I’d been at the beach, kissing a boy. I could feel the sun on my face, bright and warm like in the afternoons on the back stoop of the Last Chance. It was a good kiss and I was enjoying it; I pulled my head back and smiled at the boy, who smiled back.

It was Norman.

“Oh, my God,” I said. I stopped walking. Cat Norman was on the edge of the porch, licking his paws, and he glanced up at me, startled.

You looked like you were having a good dream, he’d said. And when I’d told him everything, he stayed there, close to me, until we were even.

Suddenly, I saw lights coming down the road. Fast. I heard the car before I saw it, gravel crunching and rattling underneath as it got closer.

I walked around Mira’s porch, wondering who would be coming so late. The little house was bright; Isabel was home, sitting out on the front steps with Frank, the guy she’d met on the Fourth of July. I could see the end of her cigarette glowing—she always smoked more when Morgan was away.

The car turned in to the driveway, scattering rocks, its headlights stretching past the trees before flooding the porch. It was the Rabbit. Isabel stood up, shielding her eyes.

“Who is that?” I heard Frank say.

The car sped up to the house, swerving slightly, before coming to a sudden, jerking stop. The driver’s door opened, and as the light came on, I could see Morgan.