"How can a psychology major want to kill herself, you may ask?" Roselyn leaned closer to the ledge, peering down at the gushing Monongahela below her. Beau considered grabbing her arm, but knew she'd jerk away if he tried. "Well, fact of the matter is, while you think you have friends, you just don't." She was wrong, Beau was her friend -- wasn't he? Was it at all possible to think you knew someone so well, when in reality, they were a total stranger to you? "Nothing is as pretty up close," Rose glanced back at him. "Especially not me."