After the picnic, we drop Michael off. He politely shakes my hand but I can’t bear to look him in the eyes. He tells Mollie to call him tomorrow and kisses her goodnight. Once he’s inside his apartment I move up to the front seat.
          We drive home in silence. She looks straight ahead at the headlights sliding in and out of focus. She won’t look at me. Her eyebrows form a strong v. “V is for vexed,” I blurt.
          “What?”
          “Nothing.” She glares at me suspiciously.
          I broach the subject. “What did you expect?”
          She lets out percussive laugh that’s both a sigh and a shrug. “That you’d get along. You’re not supposed to be this competitive. You’re supposed to be nice.”
          “Well, what if I’m not the nice guy anymore. What if I’ve changed?”
          “What? Now you’re an asshole?”
          “Thanks.” I stare at the red lights up ahead, counting the days until I leave.

We stick to the schedule. The next day she takes me up a trail behind a suburb. All the best places on the island are hidden behind cul-de-sacs. The muddy path follows a river up the mountain. I’m wearing flip-flops unfit for hiking, a typical tourist. Halfway up, I slip and fall, my whole right side coated in mud. Mollie laughs her beautiful laugh, then helps me up.
          I rinse myself in the cool mountain water and continue on to our destination: a waterfall.
          At the top we sit on rocks in front of the pool, watching locals climb up the slippery face to the diving ledge. Mollie leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”
          I watch as a girl with coffee-coloured skin releases her body to gravity. “It’s alright,” I say.
          I think about putting my arm around her, but she stands up.
          “Your turn,” she says, pulling me to my feet. I look up and see another body full of flailing limbs fall from the sky.
          “Oh no, not again.”
          She smiles. “Oh yes.”
          We wade through the pool to the fall. I fear for my life as we climb up its slimy surface. The ledge is only twenty feet up, but the pool below is a meager five feet in diameter. “Is this for real?” I ask.
          “You didn’t come all this way for the view,” she says, and pushes me off the ledge.

When we get home I’m exhausted, but Mollie takes me out the back door and up the ridge behind her house. We make our way through brambles to an abandoned bunker. The inside is full of graffiti and reeks of piss, but from the top there’s a nice view of the west coast. The sun is just setting and I’ve brought a cigar to share. We sit down and light it.
          “I’m glad you came,” she says, looking out at the sparkling white pillars down below, newborn resorts with manufactured beaches.
          “So am I.”
          It’s my last night on the island, and for once I seize the moment. I take her hand. “Mollie,” I say, leaning in to kiss her. She doesn’t turn but my lips brush against the side of her mouth, tasting her just for a second. She doesn’t lean in, but stays still, staring straight out at the sliver of gold on the horizon.
          My head feels warm. A rush of blood rises to the surface of my skin. Mollie stays silent, releasing my hand. Her face is stone.
           I take one last drag of the cigar and watch the smoke disappear.