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She had many flaws and had made so many mistakes, but someone who’s never failed never truly learned either. Mandy had studied, and reconciled, and had maybe even forgiven herself a little.

As she allowed the brush to find its place against the canvas, she smoothed and slashed and blended.

At some point her mother had brought her a plate of dinner, but Mandy didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Completing this project was the first step of many in Mandy’s future, and she had to get through it before she could move on.

A cool breeze pushed through the open back door of the garage, sending in the scent of someone’s fireplace nearby. It was a lot crisper than earlier in the day, but sweat dripped from Mandy’s nose as she moved in unison with her brush—bending and stretching as though it were an extension of her.

Acrack—the sound of something large moving outside—finally broke Mandy’s concentration, and she spun around.

There, in the cascading light from the garage, stood Isa. How long had she been there?

“What are you doing here?” Mandy’s voice was more surprised and less accusatory than the question itself seemed to imply.

Isa’s dark curls cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves. Mandy’s fingers itched to braid her hair like they had so many times before. But that was all in the past now.

Isa took a step forward and aligned herself in the doorway but didn’t come inside. “That’s incredible.” She gestured to Mandy’s painting. “I guess your trip was worth it.”

Mandy wasn’t sure if those words were meant to hurt, but they did. A direct hit. “I learned a lot.” Which was true in so many ways, not just artistically. “What about you? How’s school?”

“It’s good. Hard, but good.”

“Hard? Really, for you?” Mandy teased like no time between them had passed, but it had.

Isa laughed—or chuckled, really. “Yes, even for me. But it will be worth it. Eventually.” The smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes the way it used to.

“You’re going to make an amazing doctor one day,” Mandy said. And Isa would. It had been the thing she dreamed about since they were little. The thing she had been working toward her entire life—the thing that made her mom and abuela so proud.

“I hope so.”

Mandy knew so, but she stayed quiet. She wasn’t sure if it was quite her place to squelch the doubt that sometimes lingered in Isa’s head. Her role in Isa’s life at one time had been so defined, but not anymore.

For a moment they both stood there, neither moving. Only six feet of space between them, but they had never been farther apart.

Mandy opened her mouth, to say—what? She didn’t know. Isa stopped her.

“Why?” she asked Mandy. “Why did you do it?”

Mandy knew the answer to this question better than she knew her primary colors. Like a movie reel stuck on the same frame, she replayed her last hours in the US before leaving for England at the end of the most magical summer. She’d lived with the heartbreak of after. And part of what Mandy had learned when she was away was just how strong she could be. Because as much as she wanted to tell Isa everything, she couldn’t. “How are your mom and abuela?” Mandy asked instead of answering.

“They’re fine.” Isa squared her shoulders. “Now tell me why.”

“Really? Mom mentioned something about an accident.”

Isa huffed. “Abuela fell off a stool is all, broke her wrist. But she’s fine now—”

“That’s great—”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

“Was there a question? I guess I’ve never been as smart as you.”

“Don’t do that,” Isa scolded. “Don’t talk about my frie—just don’t. You know you’ve always been capable of anything. Look at that.” She gestured to the painting again, but Mandy didn’tlook at it. The painting would always be there, but Isa wouldn’t—Mandy’s heart ached. “So, I will ask again. Why are you avoiding the question?”

“I’m not.” She was.

“Then why?”

Tears threatened at the backs of Mandy’s eyes, but she didn’t allow any of them to fall.