No matter what I was doing, I could always feel the weight of the secret pressing down on me. On the surface, everything seemed normal: In the last six months, I'd gone to my classes, played basketball, attended the prom and graduated from high school, college-bound. It hadn't been all perfect, of course. Six weeks ago, I'd broken up with Rosé, but it had nothing to do with what had happened that night, the night I could never forget. Most of the time, I was able to keep the memory locked away, but every now and then, at odd times, it all came back to me with visceral force. The images never changed or faded, the images never blurred around the edges. As though viewing it through someone else's eyes, I wouldn't see myself running up the beach and grabbing Hobi as he stared at the raging fire. 

What the hell did you do? I remembered screaming.
It's not my fault! Hobi had screamed back.

It was only then, however, that I realized we weren't alone. In the distance, I noticed Minggyu, Mijoo, Vernon and Wonwoo, watching us, and I knew at once they'd seen everything that happened.

They knew . . .

As soon as I grabbed for his cell phone, Hobi stopped me.

Don't call the police! I told you it was an accident! His expression was pleading. Come on, man! You owe!

News coverage had been extensive the first couple of days and I had watched the segments and read the articles in the paper, my stomach in knots. It was one thing to cover for an accidental fire. Maybe I could have done that. But someone had been injured that night and he felt a sickening surge of guilt whenever I drove by the site. It didn't matter that the church was being rebuilt or that the pastor had long since been released from the hospital; what mattered was that I knew what happened and hadn't done anything about it.

You owe me . . .

Those were the words that haunted me the most.

Not simply because me and Hobi had been best friends since kindergarten, but for another, more important reason. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would lie awake, hating the truth of those words and wishing for a way to make things right.

Oddly enough, it was the incident at the volleyball game earlier in the day that triggered the memories this time. Or rather, it had been the girl I'd collided with. She hadn't been interested in my apologies, and unlike the most girls around here, she hadn't tried to mask her anger. She didn't simmer and she didn't squeal; she was self-possessed in a way that struck me instantly as different.

After she'd stormed off, they'd finished out the set, and I had to admit I'd missed a couple of shot I ordinarily wouldn't have. Hobi had glared at me and—maybe because of the play of light—he'd looked exactly as he had on the night of the fire when I had pulled out his cell phone to call the police. And that was all it took to set those memories to loose again.

I'd been able to hold it together until we'd won the game, after it ended, I'd needed some time alone. So I'd wandered over to the fairgrounds and stopped at the one of those overpriced, impossible-to-win game booths. I was getting ready to shoot an overinflated basketball at the slightly too high rim when I heard a voice behind me.

"There you are," Rosé said. "Were you avoiding us?"

Yes, I thought. Actually, I was.

"No." I answered. "I haven't taken a shot since the season ended, and I wanted to see how rusty I am."

Rosé smiled. Her white tube top, sandals and dangly earrings showed off her brown eyes and blond hair to maximum effect. She'd changed into the outfit since the final volleyball game of the tournament. Typical; she was the only