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hanging from her charm necklace.
    She must have remembered, too. So here we were, stuck on a ladder, looking up so we didn't look down.
    Once we reached the top and I looked out at the view, I understood. Lena was right. It was better up here. Everything was so far away that it didn't even matter.
    I let my legs dangle over the edge. “My mom used to collect pictures of old water towers.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Like the Sisters collect spoons. Only for my mom, it was water towers and postcards from the World's Fair.”
    “I thought all water towers looked like this one. Like a big white spider.”
    “Somewhere in Illinois, there's one shaped like a ketchup bottle.”
    She laughed.
    “And there's one that looks like a little house, this high off the ground.”
    “We should live there. I'd go up once and never come back down.” She lay back on the warm white paint. “I guess in Gatlin it should be a peach, a big old Gatlin peach.”
    I leaned back next to her. “They already have one, but it's not in Gatlin. It's over in Gaffney. Guess they thought of it first.”
    “What about a pie? We could paint this tank to look like one of Amma's pies. She'd like that.”
    “Haven't seen one of those. But my mom had a picture of one shaped like a corncob.”
    “I'd still rather have the house.” Lena stared up at the sky, where there wasn't a cloud in sight.
    “I'd take the corncob or the ketchup, if you were there.”
    She reached for my hand and we stayed like that, at the edge of Summerville's plain white water tower, looking out at Gatlin County as if it was a tiny toy land full of tiny toy people. As small as the cardboard village my mom used to keep under our Christmas tree.
    How could people that small have any problems at all?
    “Hey, I brought you something.” I watched as she sat up, looking at me like a little kid.
    “What is it?”
    I looked over the edge of the water tower. “Maybe we should wait until we can't fall to our deaths.”
    “We're not going to die. Don't be such a chicken.”
    I reached into my back pocket. It wasn't anything special, but I'd had it for a while now, and I was hoping it might help her find her way back to herself.
    I pulled out a mini Sharpie, with a key ring on it.
    “See? It fits on your necklace, like this.” Trying not to fall, I reached for Lena's necklace, the one she never took off. A tangleof charms, each one meant something to her — the flattened penny from the machine at the Cineplex, where we had our first date. A silver moon Macon had given her the night of the winter formal. The button from the vest she was wearing the night in the rain. They were Lena's memories, and she carried them with her as if she might lose them without proof of those few perfect moments of happiness.
    I snapped the Sharpie onto the chain. “Now you can write wherever you are.”
    “Even on ceilings?” She looked at me and smiled, a little crooked, a little sad.
    “Even on water towers.”
    “I love it.” She spoke quietly, pulling the cap off the Sharpie.
    Before I knew it, she was drawing a heart. Black ink on white paint, a heart hidden at the top of the Summerville water tower.
    I was happy for a second. Then I felt like I was falling all the way down. Because she wasn't thinking about us. She was thinking about her next birthday, the Seventeenth Moon. She was already counting down.
    In the center of the heart, she didn't write our names.
    She wrote a number.

The Call
     
    I didn't ask her about what she'd written on the water tower, but I didn't forget it. How could I, when all we had done for the past year was count down to the inevitable? When I finally asked why she'd written it or what she was counting down to, she wouldn't say. And I had the feeling she really didn't know.
    Which was even worse than knowing.
    It had been two weeks since then, and as far as I could tell Lena still hadn't written anything in her notebook. She was wearing the little Sharpie on her necklace, but it