Her hand instinctively moved toward the necklace hidden beneath her sweatshirt.
She had worn it since her mother died.
A small silver pendant.
Also shaped like half of something.
Emily pulled hers out.
For one strange second, she stared at the two pieces.
They looked similar.
Not identical, perhaps.
But close enough to make her stomach tighten.
“Yours?” she called.
The biker was squinting toward her through obvious pain.
“What?”
“This necklace.”
“Probably.”
He tried to focus.
“I had a bunch of old stuff in the bag.”
Emily placed it with his belongings.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
The biker leaned back against the ditch.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Emily.”
“Emily what?”
She smiled.
“You planning to sue me for bossing you around?”
Another laugh escaped him.
“Jack Mercer.”
Emily nodded.
“Nice to meet you, Jack Mercer.”
“You always stop for strangers?”
She looked toward the road.
Another vehicle passed without slowing.
“My mom used to.”
Something changed in Jack’s face.
“Used to?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
Emily shrugged, although the words still hurt five years later.
“She told me that if someone needs help, you help first and figure out whether it was convenient afterward.”
Jack looked at her for a long moment.
Then he asked quietly, “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen.”
He shook his head.
“World’s upside down.”
“Why?”
“Because seven grown adults drove past, and a sixteen-year-old girl stopped.”
Paramedics arrived moments later.
Before they loaded Jack into the ambulance, he caught Emily’s wrist.
“Hey.”
She looked down.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“I mean it. You didn’t know me. You didn’t know whether anybody would thank you. You stopped anyway. People remember things like that.”
Emily smiled.
Then the ambulance doors closed.
She retrieved her bicycle.
And rode home.
By dinner, she had almost convinced herself she would never see Jack Mercer again.
The graduation ceremony lasted seventy-eight minutes before Emily’s name was called.
She remembered almost none of it.
The principal spoke about courage.
A student speaker talked about friendship.
Parents laughed at jokes.
Cameras flashed.
Emily sat between Natalie and Daniel Kim, staring occasionally at the empty chair she had reserved for Martin.
She told herself it didn’t matter.
She was graduating at sixteen.
She had finished two years ahead.
She had earned a scholarship to Western Montana University.
She had survived losing her mother.
She had worked evenings shelving books and weekends at a grocery store.
She had done everything adults kept telling her successful people were supposed to do.
Surely she didn’t need anyone to clap.
“Emily Hart.”
She rose.
The first few seconds brought ordinary applause.
