“Oh my God,” I mutter. “You and your hair.”

“Nobody’s going to whiff,” Sawyer says. “We’re invincible.”

I shiver when he says it.

“We’re here to learn the basics, mainly because I think rope might be our friend tomorrow. So we’re going to learn how to tie knots and effectively throw ropes for rescue and use the belay apparatus just in case, and we’re going to do a little practice climbing on the wall, too.”

• • •

We learn the ropes (har har) of rock climbing for a couple of hours. We decide not to do too much because we don’t want to be sore tomorrow, but the instructor shows us a lot of useful things that might come in handy in rescuing people from a sinking ferry.

The rest of the day we wander around our neighborhood and the elementary school playground, looking like your typical hoodlums, talking through our plan, enjoying the sunshine, and watching the clouds build in the west. “There’s our storm,” Rowan says. “It’s causing flight delays in Minneapolis right now. Tomorrow morning’s forecast for Milwaukee is now seventy percent chance of thunderstorms, occasionally heavy with gusty winds.”

And while that scares me, it also reassures me, and pretty much guarantees that we’re doing things right.

I sit on the swings and talk to Tori for a bit. “She’s hanging in there,” I report to the others after I hang up. “The vision has calmed down a little.” I look at my shoes, dusty from the playground. “I think this is the most prepared we’ve ever been.”

We go over the list of victims—now sitting at twenty-seven, according to Tori. We note what they’re wearing and discuss our plan to find them in advance and split them up so we each have five or six to monitor.

When it starts to get dark and our stomachs are growling, we reluctantly part. Sawyer goes to Kate’s, Ben drives back to UC, and we three Demarcos head inside our house, lured by the smells of something delicious cooking in the kitchen and the pleasant faces of two seemingly normal parents who are happy to see us and enjoying life. Bizarre.

All I know is that if anything happens to us now . . . it’ll pretty much wreck everything.

Thirty-Eight

We all sleep terribly for about five hours, and are extra quiet getting ready so our parents don’t wake up. Which they never do. Their body clocks are permanently on restaurant time, which means late to bed, late to rise. I see their faces before school so rarely I can count the number of times on one hand.

Shortly after three, we’re off. Clad in wet suits and sweats, each of us carrying a duffel bag containing a life vest and rope, we are a glaringly obvious group of kids who are clearly skipping school and running away from home. Rowan, who can do Mom’s voice best, remembers to call the absentee hotline and report us all absent so Mom and Dad don’t get a call later.

We pick up Sawyer first, who is waiting at the entrance of Kate’s apartment building. He holds my hand in the backseat, not saying much, his face strained. By four, the rain has started. We reach the UC campus and Ben hops into the backseat next to me. He’s wearing contacts today, not his usual glasses. He gives my arm a friendly squeeze and whispers, “We got this, kid,” for which I am more grateful than I expect to be. The journey continues.

The wind picks up, blowing unidentifiable bits of floaty garbage across the highway, and the rain is steady. Occasional lightning streaks across the sky. There’s not much traffic heading out of Chicago at four in the morning, and we make great time, reaching the ferry terminal before five thirty. Trey parks the car and we sit for a moment, listening to the rain on the car’s roof and spraying the windows.

“I have to pee,” Rowan says. It breaks the mood, and I’m glad she’s here.

“Good luck with that,” Trey says.

It might be our first mistake, putting these wet suits on at home. “I blame Ben,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says. “I forgot about that part. It’s not as easy to pee in the suits if you’re not actually in the lake.”

I look at him. “Are you saying these suits have been peed in by strangers?”

“I’d say that’s pretty likely.”

I close my eyes as the giant wave of grossness washes over me.

“Why do you think I told you not to go commando?”

There is silence.

“We clean them, though, obviously,” Ben adds.

I hold up a hand to him. “Okay, no. Let’s pretend we never had this conversation.” I take in a resigned breath and loop my fingers around my duffel bag. “Come on, guys. Let’s do this. Are you ready?”

The murmur of agreement is soft but resolute. We have a plan.

• • •

Ben hands over our tickets and we board. The ferry is bigger than I pictured, and I imagine how monstrous and strange it’ll look tipped on its side. I grip my duffel bag tighter.

I catch a glimpse of the vehicles driving onto the ferry and wince, wishing I could tell everyone to leave their cars on land. And themselves. One good thing about the weather this morning is that it’s probably keeping people from using the ferry. But there are still plenty of passengers boarding.

We take a tour of our surroundings. There’s a private room for first-class passengers. I peek through the open doorway, and hastily back out when a guy in a suit gives me a cool stare.

And there’s the banner. WELCOME TO OUR 13TH SEASON, it reads.

“Lucky thirteen,” Rowan remarks.