The next day, Imani spots me at the shuttle stop. She looks like she’s about to cry. I pull away before she can hug me. I don’t want her pity.

 

I try to walk away, but she follows me, calling for me to slow down. When I don’t, Imani tackles me to the ground, grass and dirt flying. She’s got me in a tight, awkward embrace, and I’m too stunned to pull away. When she finally lets me go, she doesn’t lecture or scold.

 

“It’s OK to be sad,” Imani says. “It’s OK not to know what to do about Starburst.”

 

“And I suppose you, who’s always so kind and sweet, must be an expert on grief and loss?” I ask.

 

She flinches, and I instantly regret the sarcasm. “It’s just, you’re always so…happy…it’s—” I bite down to stop myself from saying anything worse.

 

Imani lifts her chin. Her smile is soft, but her eyes — how had I missed the sorrow in them before?

 

“Ever wonder what brought me here?” she asks.

 

“All the time,” I admit. It’s one of the few honest things I’ve said to her.

 

The silence stretches so long I nearly forget the question when she finally speaks.

 

“When I was 10, my parents left me in charge of my little brother. They went to the store, supposed to be back in half an hour, but…” Imani’s voice breaks, tears already choking her.

 

Her words pull me out of the fog I’ve been in all week. I reach out, but lost in the dark, my hand finds nothing but grass.

 

“I put him down for a nap…he was too heavy to keep carrying.”

 

Through her sobs, I learn that her baby brother died in his sleep. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, they call it. Her parents blamed her, and nothing was the same after.

 

“My mom…she went a bit mad. She didn’t want me near her second baby when she got pregnant again.”

 

I frown. “So she just sent you here?”

 

Imani shakes her head. “She doesn’t even know I’m here. No one knows I’m here. I found this place and disappeared one night. Anywhere felt more like home than my house.”

 

We sit together in silence until I finally reach for her hand. Perhaps I was wrong.

 

Maybe we haven’t been sent here as a punishment. Maybe every single student who wanders through these sacred halls will find peace if they sincerely search for it. I’m sorry for what Imani’s been through, but I don’t tell her this. And I will never again assume that my demons are less frightening than someone else’s.

 

***

 

Later on, the two of us fetch the dogs and take them for an early evening walk. Imani usually skips these walks, but she didn’t feel like kitchen duty today. It’s much better to be out here, where you can feel the salty breeze from the ocean wrap around you, waking you up, clearing your head.

 

As we pass the cliff, Imani stops to stare out over the edge. “Imagine if we just ended it all now,” she says. “Like that serial killer kid from the legend.” She wanders further out, her smile faltering. The dog at the end of her leash tugs, pulling her dangerously close to the edge. I reach for her, but before I can stop her, she teeters forward, laughing like she’s lost her mind.

 

“Imani, stop!” I grab her arm, yanking her back, but she jerks me with her. We lose our balance and then we’re both flying over the cliff.

 

The icy current takes her, sweeping her away before I can reach her. I try to scream, but cold saltwater floods my mouth. As I fight against the current, my head bobbing up and down, hands flailing, all I can do is watch as she drifts further away, her hand slipping under, vanishing beneath the deep, dark waters.

 

I can’t swim, but somehow I make it to shore. Drenched and shaking, I march back to the school to confront the teachers.

 

“This wasn’t part of your test,” Mrs Lunga assures me, her voice tight with pain. “We don’t do that any more. This was a tragic, unfortunate accident.”

 

The faculty offer to send me home, claiming they’d cancelled my test after the ordeal I’d suffered. But I decide to stay on. I’ll remain here, hoping that one day, Imani will come back.

 

Weeks pass, and I walk the cliffs alone, waiting, watching. Every night, I can hear her scream carried on the wind, growing fainter with each passing day, until it fades and nothing remains of her but this ache in my chest.

 

Tell us: How does friendship change when someone shares a painful story? What do you think it takes to truly support someone who has gone through a difficult experience?