I find a table alone at breakfast. There's no way I'm sitting near Finn, and I'm fed up with the awkwardness of Angela's group. For the past few days all they've every talked about is "the hike", a mysterious camp activity that may or may not be taking place in the distant future that nobody really seems to know anything about. I'm rarely in the mood for gossip, and I have no interest in trading conspiracy stories; so with both Finn and Angela's tables out of the picture, I have no choice but to sit by myself.

I know that I look like a loser sitting by myself in the corner. It's nothing new to me. I've been that girl before— the one that people avoid, and whisper about. They can say whatever they want about me. It doesn't bother me anymore. 

I'm digging listlessly at a half-baked chicken pot pie when my name rings out through the Mess Hall. At first, I think that I must have misheard, but then it goes off again: "Becca Fisher. Is Becca Fisher here? You've got a letter waiting for you."

Dully, I remember that it's mail day. The ceremony usually goes by without me noticing, because nobody ever sends me letters other than my abuela. She must be writing to check up on me again.

I make my way slowly to the front of the room. The stares of more than a few campers follow me there. I don't have the energy to glare back at them— I haven't had the energy to do much of anything, lately. I'm the river the fuels the rumor mill, and there's no turning back the tide.

Someone bumps into my shoulder. I turn to give them a dirty look, but hold back when I see it's only Jasper. For some reason, he's wearing a pair of heavily-tinted sunglasses and a pained expression. "Sorry," he mutters. "Didn't see you there." He shuffles away, clutching a generous glass of water in his hands. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he was hungover.

When I finally reach the podium, Karen gives me a brisk once-over before stuffing an envelope in my face. "Your letter," she says shortly, before returning to her megaphone. "Levi? Levi Hoffman? You've got a package!"

I take the letter and retreat back to my corner. The return address is from Mariposa, Arizona— my hometown— but the handwriting isn't that of my abuela. It's a slanted print, tentative as it scrawls across the page, like every letter is afraid of bumping into the next. I flip the envelope over. The seal has been taped down with a smiley face sticker.

Usually, I don't open letters during breakfast to avoid prying eyes, but the curiosity is killing me. I don't know anybody else in Mariposa who would send a letter all the way to Alaska for me. The only person I know who cares about me like that is abuela. And it's not like I'm getting any fan mail from Santy or his friends.

Forgoing patience, I tear the envelope open with my fingernail and rip out the letter. Then I unfold it and begin to read.

The first few lines nearly knock the wind out of my chest.

Dear Becca,

Hello. It's Julia, your cousin.

(I don't know why I added that part. Of course you know that we're cousins. You don't need a reminder.)

Julia. My cousin. My cousin, who lives in Mariposa. Julia. My heartbeat quickens. I'm suddenly terrified— and I don't even know what I'm terrified of.

Please ignore my terrible introduction. This is my fifth version of this letter and I can't bear to start over and write another one. At this point, it would just be a waste of paper.

A semi-hysterical wheeze escapes my throat. I was Julia's partner in enough English classes to know that her writing abilities are adequate at best, but not for lack of effort.

I've never been good at putting my thoughts into words, so here goes nothing:

I'm sorry that I haven't written to you all summer. It was selfish of me to ignore you, and I can't apologize enough if I caused you any harm. These have been a very hard few months for me and I wanted nothing more than to pretend like they didn't happen. But forgetting about all that time meant erasing you from my memories too, and that was such a shitty mistake on my part.

I started therapy after I left rehab. It's been very helpful so far. One important thing that my therapist told me is that I need to talk about my feelings instead of holding them inside. She says that things got bad after my dad died because I ignored the pain inside of me, and that ignoring your feelings is the same as ignoring a bleeding cut on your skin. If you don't tend to your emotions, they fester inside of you, and only get worse with time. So, I'm going to try to be open with you. I'm going to let my feelings out, instead of holding them in. Some of this isn't easy for me to say. I know it won't be easy for you to hear. I just hope that we can both bear the weight of what we have done.

I want to start off by saying that I owe you my life. I know that's a pretty intense statement to make, but it's true. You saved me. I would have died on those cold bathroom tiles if you hadn't found me and called 911. I don't know how you knew I was in trouble. Maybe it was coincidence, or fate. I've decided not to question such things anymore. What matters is that you found me before it was too late. I'm sure that you're beating yourself up over not finding me sooner, but I'd like to let you know that I was pretty far gone before the drugs were even in my system. I entered that bathroom lost and hurting. Either way, I was ending up in a hospital.

Now comes the hard part. I really struggled with this, so it's hard even to write down, but here it is: my biggest fear is that I hurt you, too. I was in such a dark place back then, and now I worry that I dragged you down into it with me. Your abuela told me about what happened to Sammy and it shook me to my soul. I never wanted you to hurt him like that. I never wanted that kind of revenge. It's true that Sammy should be punished for selling drugs to teenagers, but what you did to him wasn't punishment. It was violence. And the Becca I know never would have had it in her heart to do something so violent to another person.

I think that I did this to you, and I'm so, so sorry because of it. Abuela tells me that you're in a camp now, one for teens with issues. I think that it's all my fault. When I whispered Sammy's name in your ear, I was sick. In so many ways. Back then, I couldn't see past the pain inside of me. I was blinded by my grief and fury. But I see so much more clearly now, and I see that getting revenge against Sammy was wrong. Maybe one day you will see that too. Maybe you already have.

I can only hope that I haven't turned you down the same dark path that almost killed me. It's easy to become obsessed with revenge; to dream about getting even with the people who have wronged you. Revenge is such a raw desire. It can be more addictive than drugs. (Trust me, I would know.) Some people get a taste of it and are never the same again.

When you found me, it wasn't too late. I can only pray that it's not too late for you, either.

Over the past few weeks of recovery, I've realized this: It's not about hurting other people. It's about healing ourselves. Call me cheesy, but my favorite Bible passage is Romans 12:20-21: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink... Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." I think this summarizes my message very nicely. "And eye for an eye" is such a cruel, thoughtless saying. It's easy to hurt people. It's much harder to forgive them. If we stopped taking our enemies' eyes, and started giving back their sight instead, I think the world would be a much better place.

I love you very much, Becca. No matter which path you choose, I will always keep you in my heart.

—Your cousin, Julia

"Becca, are you okay?"

The letter crumples abruptly in my hand. I look up, startled to see Finn's freckled face hovering over me.

"Finn," I exclaim, a bubble of emotions popping in my throat as I say his name. "What the fuck do you want?"

Finn draws away, his face turning bright red. "I'm— I'm sorry," he stammers. "I know you told me to stay away from you, but I saw you crying from the other side of the room and I had to come over and make sure—"

"I'm not crying," I say, but when I reach up to touch my cheeks my fingers come away wet. "Oh. Fuck."

Finn looks at me with something like pity in his eyes. "Do you want to go outside?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine." But it's obvious that I'm not fine, because even as these words fly out of my mouth, fresh tears start to slide down my face. No. No. I can't let these campers see me cry. Can't let them witness my tears. So I hide my face behind my hands, as if that'll do anything to make my breakdown less obvious. I'm going to be the laughingstock of Lightlake, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Hey, it's okay," Finn says reassuringly. He looks like nothing more than a blob of freckles between the slits in my fingers. "Breathe, Becca. Just breathe. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I'm fine, I really am, I didn't even realize—"

There's an outburst of laughter on the other side of the room, and I feel my heart drop to my feet. I'm sure that the laughter is directed at me, at my runny nose and my blotchy cheeks, and my eyes still wet with tears. I must look so pathetic. Crying at Lightlake is the equivalent of social suicide; if the other campers see my tears, they'll eat me alive.

More laughter. I grab a napkin out of the dispenser and press it against my face, hoping that it'll look like I'm trying to plug up a nosebleed instead of hold back my tears. Then, letter in hand, I leap out of my seat and head for the exit.

"Becca? Where are you going? Becca!"

I open my mouth to shout at him, but then Julia's words echo through my head, cutting me short. It's easy to hurt people. It's much harder to forgive them.

I swallow my words and my tears and I just keep walking, and walking, and walking, and then I'm outside and the sun, bright and burning, hits my eyes and the floodgate opens up and suddenly I can't stop crying. But I need to put the Mess Hall behind me so I don't stop. I just keep going until I'm deep in the forest, where nobody can see my tears.

I sit down in the shade of a towering pine-tree. Pine needles claw at my bare legs, prickly and demanding. Even in the woods, the sun is still too bright. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn't stop the tears from coming.

There's a crunching sound next to me. I don't need to open my eyes to tell that it's Finn, crouching down next to me. "Becca," he says softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm just being ridiculous."

"You're not. Don't say that."

I blow my nose into the napkin and chuck it aside. There are still tears dripping down my face; fat and warm and salty. "You don't understand. I haven't cried in front of someone else since I was ten years old."

"Congratulations. Now you better pick that napkin up, because that's littering."

"Finn, I'm really not in the mood—"

"Too bad. You don't get to abandon your principals when you're upset," he says, his tone suddenly turning harsh. "I don't care if you're crying. Pick up your trash."

"Why are you so angry with me? It was just a napkin."

"It's not just a napkin. It's the fact that you're lying to me. You always talk about how honest you are, how you always tell the truth. So why are you saying you're okay when you're not?"

"It's not.... This isn't your business, Finn. Leave me alone."

"No."

"I told you that I need space—"

"So what, you're just going to sit out here and cry alone? Stop acting so pathetic. The Becca I know is stronger than this."

The Becca I know never would have had it in her heart to do something so violent to another person.

A shudder racks my body, followed by a fresh bout of tears. I cup my hands over my face and force out, "Please. Just leave. I don't want you to see me like this."

"I already told you, I'm not leaving. Tell me what's wrong with you."

"It's a long story."

"We have twenty minutes left of breakfast. I can wait."

More tears. I press my palms hard against my eyes, wishing that I could dam up the flow, but then I feel warmth— Finn's hands, folding over my own, guiding them down.

"You can't hide from this," he tells me, much more gently than before.

"I know. I know."

"Who sent you that letter? Was it your parents?"

"No, they would never write to me. Ever since I got sent to this camp they've been pretending that I don't exist." I choke back a laugh, the air turning sour in my mouth. "It was from my cousin. Julia."

Saying her name releases something inside me. I exhale sharply as more tears pour down my cheeks; a perfect summer shower of saltwater. The floodgates have broken open. I can't hold back this torrent anymore.

"I've done everything wrong," I gasp. "Everything."

"I don't understand. What have you done that was wrong?"

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry, I just can't. Some secrets— they are too terrible to say out loud. Too painful."

Something glints in his eyes. A spark. "What if you didn't have to tell me in English?"

"I don't... what?"

"If you tell me your secrets in Spanish, I won't know what you're saying, but you'll still be able to say what you need to say out loud. It's a win-win— I don't find out anything about your personal life, but you'll still be able to get some of the weight off your shoulder."

Slowly, I let my eyelids peel open. The forest is still a dazzling array of colors, overwhelming in its brightness— but when I focus on Finn, everything starts to quiet down. The dappled sunlight flickers across his face like the reflection of a disco-ball. It's beautiful, the way the shifting beams throwing some of his features into shadow while illuminating others at random— brown eyes set ablaze, curved cheekbones twinkling— and when a breeze blows through the treetops and sends the leaves into a frenzy, the light dances around him so frantically that it almost looks like he's falling apart, and I have to catch my breath.

Forgiveness. That was what Julia wanted to teach me. I'm not a good student, but if I start slow, maybe I can learn.

I can only pray that it's not too late for you.

"I'm listening," Finn says.

I take a deep, steadying breath. Then I wipe away my tears and start at the beginning: "Ella era mi mejor amiga en todo el mundo."

"What was that?" Finn asks.

"The introduction. You didn't understand?"

Finn shakes his head. "Not a word."

"Bien," I tell him, and slowly, a smile starts to spread across his sun-speckled face, and I realize, in that moment, that I haven't gotten everything wrong afterall.