AFTER A YEAR in Colorado, Dad wanted to see me again. In fact, he insisted on taking me to Italy, France, Germany, Spain, and Scotland---a ten week trip beginning in mid-June, which meant I wouldn't go to Beechwood at all, summer sixteen.

          No Minho.

          No Tiffany.

          No Taeyeon, if she's even going to be there.

          And no Liars.

          "The trip is grand timing," said Mummy brightly as she packed my suitcase. 

          "Why?" I lay on the floor of my bedroom and let her do the work. My head hurt.

          "Grandad's redoing Clairmont." She rolled socks into balls. "I told you that a million times already."

          I didn't remember. "How come?"

          "Some idea of his. He's spending the summer in Windemere."

          "With you waiting on him?"

          Mummy nodded. "He can't stay with Bess or Carrie. And you know he takes looking after. Anyway, you'll get wonderful education in Europe."

          "I'd rather go to Beechwood."

          "No, you wouldn't," she said, firm.

IN EUROPE, I vomited into small buckets and brushed my teeth repeatedly with chalky British toothpaste. I lay prone on the bathroom floors of several museums, feeling the cold tile underneath my cheek as my brain liquefied and seeped out my ear, bubbling. Migraines left my blood spreading across unfamiliar hotel sheets, dripping on the floors, oozing into carpets, soaking through leftover croissants and Italian lace cookies.

          I could hear Dad calling me, but I never answered until my medicine took effect.

          I missed the Liars that summer.

          I missed my person.

          We never kept in touch over the school year. Not much, anyway, though we'd tried when we were younger. We'd text, or tag each other in summer photos, especially in September, but we'd inevitably fade out after a month or so. Somehow, Beechwood's magic never carried over into our everyday lives. We didn't want to hear about school friends and clubs and sports teams. Instead, we knew our affection would revive when we saw one another on the dock of the following June, salt spray in the air, pale sun glinting off the water.

          But the year after my accident, I missed days and even weeks of school. I failed my classes, and the principal informed me that I would have to repeat junior year. I stopped soccer and tennis. I couldn't babysit. I couldn't drive. The friends I'd had weakened to just acquaintances.

          I texted Tiffany a few times. Called and left her messages that later I was ashamed of, they were so lonely and needy.

          I decided to call Minho, too, but his voicemail was full.

         So, I stopped. I didn't want to keep saying things that made me feel weak.

          When Dad took me to Europe, I knew the Liars were on-island. Grandad hasn't wired Beechwood and cell phones don't get reception there, so I began writing emails. Different from my pitiful voice messages, these were charming, darling notes from a person without headaches.

          Mostly.

          For Tiffany, for Minho, then for Tiffany again and for Minho again.

          No Taeyeon.

I WASN'T ENTIRELY surprised they didn't answer. Besides the fact that to get online you have to go to the Vineyard, Beechwood is very much its own world. Once you are there, the rest of the universe seems nothing but an unpleasant dream.

          And Europe might not even exist.

          I don't exist.