Fifteenth Summer

I barely tasted the rest of my frozen custard. In fact, I threw my cone away when it was only half-eaten. This was unheard of.

But, of course, everything was different this summer.

My parents hammered that point home as we walked back to the car, doing our best to wipe our sticky hands with flimsy paper napkins.

“Your dad and I have decided that we’re going to move into Granly’s room,” my mom announced. “Hannah, you can have our old room so that you can have a quiet place to study. Abbie and Chelsea, we can split up the bunk beds for you if you want.”

“But—” Abbie began. It was pure reflex for her to protest the injustice of Hannah getting her own room. But then it all must have sunk in, because Abbie clapped her mouth shut.

Mom and Dad were moving into Granly’s room—her empty room.

It made sense. After all, the house was small and it was silly to leave an entire bedroom empty all summer.

But it was also incredibly depressing.

After we’d loaded ourselves soberly into the car, I pressed my knuckles to my lips.

Part of me wondered, why had we even bothered with this first-night outing? All our Bluepointe rituals were shattered now that the person at their center was gone.

But another (guilty) part of me was glad that we’d gone and I’d gotten another glimpse of Josh.

After we got home, I flopped into the rocker on the front porch. I didn’t want to go in and watch my parents move their stuff into Granly’s room. Instead I rocked slowly while the crickets sawed away outside the window screens. After a few minutes I picked up my purse from the floor where I’d tossed it and fished out my wrinkled memo pad and a pen.

What if? What if Granly was still here? What if I hadn’t run to town this afternoon? What if the library had been open? That whole “butterfly causing a tsunami with one beat of its wings” thing has always made me crazy. It makes it seem like there’s an either/or between everything—your grandmother living or dying. A summer spent in humongous Los Angeles or a tiny town in Michigan.

Why can’t you have both sides of the either/or? If my grandma was here, maybe I wouldn’t have met a cute boy today. Now I’ve met the cute boy, but I can’t tell my grandma about him. See? Either/or. I guess that’s just how life works.

I scratched out my exhausted thoughts until the pen almost fell out of my hand. Then I stumbled to my room and flopped into bed in my checkered shirt. I hadn’t unpacked yet and couldn’t find any of my pajamas.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the muffled (but still unbearable) sound of my mother crying from Granly’s room on the other side of the wall.

It didn’t wake Abbie up, because nothing ever woke Abbie up.

But just to test the theory, I grabbed the little flashlight that was always in the nightstand drawer. I flicked it on and aimed it at Abbie’s face—her utterly placid, sleeping face. I wiggled the light back and forth over her eyes, but they remained stubbornly closed. Then she made a cooing noise and flipped over so she faced the wall.

It didn’t seem fair that Abbie was not only sound asleep but was having a good dream.

Now in the next room I heard the low grumble of my dad’s voice. He must have said the exact right thing, because my mom gave a sniffly laugh, then quieted down. Gratefully I smushed my head deeper into my pillow and resolved to laugh at my dad’s next joke, no matter how corny it was.

I aimed the flashlight at the wall. It was papered instead of painted because Granly thought wallpaper was warm and cozy. The paper was barely pink and dotted with tiny impressionistic butterflies—each one just a few swipes of ink and a couple blobs of watercolor. They were the pale greens, blues, pinks, and tans of birds’ eggs.

This wallpaper was in one of my earliest memories. I don’t know how old I was—young enough that I was put to bed before the sun had fully set. I was also young enough that I couldn’t yet read myself to sleep. So instead I tried to follow the pattern in the wallpaper. I found the gray-blue butterfly that seemed to be dancing with the coral one, then I searched for the spot where the pair repeated. I pointed at the blue and coral butterflies over and over, working my way around the room, until my eyes became the butterfly wings and fluttered shut.

Now, at three a.m., searching out my favorite butterflies with a flashlight felt more like a hunting expedition than a relaxing way to drift off to sleep. So I groped for the nightstand and grabbed the first thing I found there.

I squinted at the book through half-closed eyes. Oh. Coconut Dreams.

Stella wanted to know what I thought of it. So did Josh. At least it had seemed that way.

So, even though I was already pretty sure what I would think of Coconut Dreams, I smiled as I cracked it open and started reading.

The best thing I could say about the story of Nicole’s exile on the Island of Bad Similes was that it put me to sleep within three pages. The last thing I thought as my flashlight slipped out of my fingers and I fell back asleep was, This is better than a sleeping pill. I wonder if I could stretch Coconut Dreams out to last two and a half months.

With all the what ifs I had to think about—not to mention the what nows—I had a feeling I was going to need it.





Maybe it was because my dad was taking some time off work. Maybe it was because my mom was a fourth-grade teacher who thought every moment of every day should be educational.

Whatever the reason, our first weeks in Bluepointe became all about family outings.

Normally my sisters and I would have protested. Our time in Bluepointe was supposed to be lazy, so lazy that moving from the couch to the kitchen required serious consideration. So lazy that you could spend two hours in the lake, just bobbing around and counting clouds. So lazy that you’d subsist on chips and salsa for lunch and dinner if it would get you out of having to think about or help prepare a real meal.

But this summer, of course, was different. None of us wanted to be in the cottage much, especially me. Being home made me ache for Granly. It also gave me time to talk myself in circles about Josh. One moment, I felt certain that he liked me, and I would make definite (okay, definite-ish) plans to put on my cutest vintage sundress and head to Dog Ear.

The next minute, I would talk myself out of it. I wondered if I’d misread what he’d said. I pictured myself showing up at Dog Ear, clutching my long to-read list like a total dork, only to have Josh be all casual and brush-offy.

Or maybe, I thought, I’d show up and he wouldn’t even be there. Then I’d have to go back. It might take multiple attempts to pin him down. The next thing you know, I’m a stalker.

The idea that it could all go well—that was the scenario I couldn’t quite envision. I knew that kind of thing happened all the time. It had been the easiest thing in the world for Emma and Ethan. But it had never happened to me, and I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that it ever would.

If I just put off going to Dog Ear, I told myself, I could delay the inevitable disappointment.

So that was how I ended up joining my family for an endless series of day trips. We went wild mushroom hunting in the Michigan woods. My parents had read about it in some foodie magazine, and they would not be deterred by the fact that choosing the wrong mushrooms could kill us all. (Somehow we survived. And the mushrooms actually weren’t bad, if you could get past the lingering taste of dirt.)

After that we spent an afternoon churning butter at a living history museum a few towns over.

We rode inner tubes down the South Branch Galien River.

We cooked massive breakfasts and elaborate dinners, each involving new and difficult recipes that my parents had squirreled away over the course of the year.

And, oh, the antiquing. I knew we’d gone overboard with that when I found myself having a serious internal debate about which kind of quilt pattern I liked best, Double Wedding Ring or Log Cabin.

But toward the end of June it all fell apart. Abbie slipped out one morning for a “quick dunk” in the lake and never came back, so I was sent to look for her.

When I got there, she was still in the water. And even though she was just bobbing around in a bikini instead of seriously training in her Speedo, I decided I’d better not disturb her. I had no choice but to flop onto the sand and start texting with Emma. I’d just happened to stash my phone in my bag on my way out the door, along with a giant tube of sunscreen, Granly’s old copy of Sense and Sensibility, and my bathing suit and cover-up.

You know, just in case.

One by one the rest of my family arrived. First came my dad with a soft cooler full of soft drinks. Then Hannah, who had a beach blanket and a mesh bag of clementines. And finally my mom, wearing her purse and a confused expression.

“But we’re going to that artists’ colony to watch them make fused glass,” she complained. She was decked out in touristy clothes: capri pants, walking sandals, floppy-brimmed hat—the works.

“That sounds fascinating,” Hannah said, shielding her eyes with her hand and squinting up at Mom. “But you know what would be an even more interesting way to spend the day?”

“What?” Mom asked.

“Lying on this beach doing absolutely nothing,” Hannah said.

Without looking up from my phone—where Emma had just finished a long, dramatic story about getting caught making out with Ethan in the parking lot of the LA Ballet—I raised my fist in silent solidarity.

“There’s not another glass demonstration until August,” my mom protested feebly. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that she kicked off her sandals as she said it.

“Maybe Hannah’s right, hon,” my dad said. “It’s been a long few weeks. It’s been a long year. Maybe it’s time for a breather. We can go see them blow glass next time.”

“Fuse glass . . . ,” my mom said. But her teacherly voice trailed off as she gazed out at the blue-green, sun-dappled lake.

She sat down gingerly on the blanket.

“Cold Fresca?” Hannah asked, digging into the cooler for my mom’s favorite drink.

Mom shrugged as she took the can and popped it open. She took a sip. It turned into a deep swig. Then she dug her toes into the sand, flopped back onto the blanket, and said to the sky, “Oh. My. Gawd.”

“See?” Hannah said to her. “Nice, huh?”

I held up my hand so Hannah could high-five me, then returned to my cell phone.

That’s when Abbie emerged from the lake, shaking the water out of her hair like a wet puppy.

“Uh-oh,” she said, eyeing Mom. “Well, I guess it was too good to last. So what’s on the agenda today? Making our own soap? Tracing Johnny Appleseed’s steps through Michigan?”

“Here,” Mom said as she reached into the cooler. “Have a Coke. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh. My. Gawd,” Abbie said, gaping at our mother.

“She’s crossed over to the dark side,” Hannah said happily. Then she flopped onto her back next to my mom and closed her eyes for a nap.





At some point we got hungry. So we threw on our flip-flops and shuffled up to town.

Perhaps because it was the first café we hit on Main Street, we wandered into Dis and Dat. A little hole in the wall with mustard-yellow walls, Dis and Dat sold two things and two things only: hot dogs and french fries. Both the food and the thick-necked guys behind the counter had south-side-of-“Chicawgo” accents. They clapped their serving tongs like castanets and pointed them at you as they interrogated you about your hot dog toppings.

“You want some of dese pickles?” they’d demand. “How about some of dose peppers?”

They’d shake celery salt on your dog and announce, “A little of dis.”

Then they’d squirt on some mustard and say, “And a little of dat.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little insider pride when Hannah marched up to the counter and barked, “Five of ’em with everything.”

She knew not to say “please” and she definitely knew not to ask for ketchup. Chicagoans have this weird thing about ketchup on a hot dog. Ask for it, and they’ll act like you said something disgusting about their mother.

“That’s what I like to heah!” the guy behind the counter said to Hannah. He started tossing butterflied buns onto an orange plastic tray. Hannah couldn’t have been more pleased if she’d gotten an A-plus on an exam. My dad laughed and gave her a squeeze.

“Think she’ll do all right at U of C?” he asked the counterman.

“Don’t you worry ’bout her,” the counter guy said, pointing his tongs at my dad now. “A U of C girl. She’s a sharpie.”

“She’s a genius!” my dad agreed.

“Daaaaaad,” Hannah said. Her grin faded fast.

But at least the hot dogs were amazing. We sat down at one of the cramped sidewalk tables to devour them. In addition to the celery salt, peppers, pickles, and mustard, each dog was piled with chopped onions, tomatoes, and pickle relish dyed an unnatural emerald green. I sat with my back to the plate-glass window so the Dis and Dat guys wouldn’t see me picking off the onions.

“Yummmm,” Abbie said as she wolfed down her dog. “I’m so getting something from the Pop Guy for dessert.”

As she peered down the street to see if the rainbow umbrella was there (it was, of course), she suddenly clutched at Hannah’s arm.

“Hey,” Hannah said, dropping her french fry. “That hurts.”

“It’s him!” Abbie hissed. She released Hannah’s arm to gesture wildly at the other side of Main Street.

“Oh my God,” Hannah said, covering her face with both hands. “You’re such a spaz. He’ll see you!”

“It’s not yours,” Abbie almost shouted. “It’s mine. You know—James. Or John . . . Wait a minute—Jim? Jim! I think it’s almost definitely Jim.”

She crammed her last bit of hot dog into her mouth as she stood up.

“What are you doing?” Hannah asked.

“Catching up to him,” Abbie declared. “Hello. We have it all planned, or did you forget?”

“Didn’t the plan involve you looking hot in your swimsuit?” I said as I crammed a fry into my mouth.

“What?” Abbie said. She glanced down at the wrinkled shorts and baggy T-shirt she’d thrown over her bikini. She shrugged and whipped off her shirt, revealing her tan, muscly abs and her skimpy swimsuit top.

“No,” both my parents said at the exact same time.

“You guys are so hung up,” Abbie sighed as she shimmied back into her T-shirt. “It’s just a body. What’s the big deal?”

“Don’t answer that,” my mom said to my dad with a wry smile. “It’s a trap.”

Hannah and I rolled our eyes at each other. My parents loved it when they got to join forces and tease us. Which, if you asked me, was kind of mean. It’s not like we could help being teenagers any more than they could choose not to be old and wrinkly.

Abbie knotted her T-shirt at the waist and wove her disheveled hair into two sleek braids, which rendered her instantly adorable.

The she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me and Hannah.

“Hurry up!” she said.

“What?” I squawked. “I’m not going with you!”

I glanced over my shoulder to look at myself in the Dis and Dat window. My outfit was okay—I was wearing a gauzy vintage swim cover-up that looked better the more it wrinkled, which was a good thing, because it was very wrinkled. But from the neck up my look was . . . problematic. Even in the dim reflection of the window, I could see that a bunch of new freckles had popped out on my face in the morning sun. My hair was so lake-tangled that a neat braid like Abbie’s was out of the question. Even my usual ponytail could barely contain it. Spiral curls sproinged out along my hairline, pointing in all different directions.

“A, yes you are going with me. Both of you,” Abbie said to me and Hannah. “And B, it doesn’t matter how you look.”

Hannah looked at me and bit her lip.

“It matters a little bit,” she said before reaching over and snatching the rubber band out of my hair. I felt my wild ringlets bounce off my shoulders.

“Hey!” I said.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past hour,” my mom said with a grin. Turning in her seat next to mine, she scrunched my hair a little bit and then smiled. “I love it. It’s just like Granly’s.”

Then her eyes went glassy.

And I really didn’t want to go down that road—not after the perfect morning we’d just had. So I grabbed my beach bag and jumped up to follow Abbie, who was already halfway down the block. Hannah huffed into place behind me a moment later.

The Silver sisters began to stalk their prey.

Jim or John or James was sauntering slowly about a block ahead of us. He was totally Abbie’s type. Super-tan, super-muscly, and happily aware of both. It turned out he was moving at that turtlelike pace so he could check himself out in every store window he passed. He also had to shake his long, blond-tipped bangs out of his eyes every few steps.

Hannah and I rolled our eyes at each other.

“Perfect summer fling material,” she whispered to me.

“Ugh,” I said. “I know where I’d fling him.”

Abbie was so fixated on sneaking up on him, she didn’t hear us. When she turned to whisper to us, her face was alight.

“I think he’s heading to the Pop Guy,” she whispered. “Score! I can get the boy and dessert!”

“If I hadn’t just seen her in a bikini,” I said to Hannah, “I’d swear she was a boy.”

“ ‘It’s just a body,’ ” Hannah mimicked. She put her hands on her hips and swished them back and forth. “ ‘What’s the big deal?’ ”

I laughed so loud that Abbie turned around and glared at me. I tried, not very hard, to quiet down. Not that it mattered. Jim (or John or whoever) was completely oblivious to us.

He also didn’t seem to be in the mood for a pop. Just before he reached the rainbow umbrella, he jaywalked across the street, heading for the corner.

And on the corner was—

“Oh, no,” I breathed, skidding to a halt.

“What! What is it?” Abbie asked as she and Hannah hopped off the curb in pursuit.

When I didn’t answer, Abbie huffed with impatience and grabbed my hand. She dragged me across the street, almost getting us hit by a pickup truck while she was at it.

Before I knew it, we were pushing through the jangly front door of Dog Ear. Immediately after feeling a rush of best-bookstore-ever happiness, I was seized with panic.

Josh couldn’t see me like this! I was supposed to be wearing my favorite yellow sundress with the bell-shaped skirt. I should have on mascara and lip gloss. My nose should not be bright red after a morning in the sun, and my hair . . . Well, there was nothing that could be done about my hair, but a big hat would have been nice.

I froze in my tracks. Abbie, still clutching my hand, tried to get me to follow her to the lounge, where her boy was headed (probably just to snap up some free snacks without even making the pretense of reading something). But I wouldn’t budge. My eyes darted around the bookstore. Behind the half-dozen stacks of books on the corner of the L-shaped counter, there was a girl with cherry-red streaks in her hair. She was sitting on a stool, reading a book and scratching her head with a neon pink pencil. A gray-haired man was unpacking a box in the kids’ section, and a half-dozen people were browsing the stacks. But I didn’t see Josh.

I breathed a little easier, but I wasn’t in the clear yet. I decided that if he didn’t surface in three minutes, he probably wasn’t there and I was safe.

Until then I was staying put. I pretended to study the table full of bestsellers just inside the door.

“Oh, fine!” Abbie whispered. “I should have known I couldn’t count on you in a bookstore. Come on, Hannah.”

Hannah followed her to the lounge. I watched as Abbie smoothly grabbed a random book off a shelf, then flopped herself onto the couch next to her boy. She kicked off her flip-flops and plunked her feet onto the coffee table, the better for J-boy to check out her legs.

It took, oh, about thirty seconds for him to recognize Abbie and start chatting with her. Hannah perched easily on the couch arm and joined in on the banter. How did my sisters make it look so effortless?

I pulled my ragged little notepad out of my bag. I jotted down all the things that would have been going through my mind if I were Abbie:

Okay, so he remembers me, I wrote, channeling my sister, but that doesn’t mean he likes me. What if he doesn’t?

What if he does?

What if he does but he has a girlfriend?

What if I become his girlfriend and then find out he kisses like a fish?

I stopped scribbling and looked at Abbie’s face. It was as open and sunny as the mason jar full of daisies on the coffee table. Clearly she was thinking none of these ridiculous things. I bet the only loop running through her head was: I look awesome! This hottie is the perfect match for me. Until I dump him to head back home.

I sighed as I flipped my notepad closed and tossed it back into my bag. When Abbie was born, she hogged all the badass genes, leaving none for me when I came along.

On the bright side, I realized, three minutes had passed and Josh hadn’t emerged from a back room or from behind a bookshelf. He clearly wasn’t there. Which meant I was free to dig into Dog Ear without worrying about how horrid I looked.

I glanced at Abbie and Hannah. Hannah had found a book and sunk into the leather chair to read it. Abbie was laughing with J-boy. She flicked one of her braids over her shoulder and propped her chin on her fist. She was laying it on thick! I had time.

I wondered if that book Josh had showed me, Beyond the Beneath, was still in stock. I started for the YA section.

But as soon as I passed the stacks of books on the corner of the counter, I realized I’d made a grave miscalculation.

The only person I’d seen behind the counter was the girl with the red streaks. But behind that barricade of books, there was plenty more room for another person. Especially if that person was sitting in a low chair and bent over a desk tucked below the counter.

I stifled a gasp as Josh came into my sight line. He was doing his letter C slouch again, so hunched over that you could almost see the knobby curve of his spine through the thin, white fabric of his T-shirt.

And in case you were wondering whether I thought his spine was as cute as his forehead, the answer, pathetically, is yes.

I froze in place, debating whether I should tiptoe back to the front door, where Josh couldn’t see me, or dart into the stacks to hide among the books. Before I could do either, though, I got distracted by the thing on Josh’s desk.

It was a huge poster. It had a blown-up image of a book cover in one corner. I couldn’t read the name of the book, but I could see that it was an image of blue sky filled with perfect fluffy clouds.

Josh was inking in a sketch above the cover. It was a beautiful girl’s face, gazing down at the book. She looked hazy and transparent—like she was one with the sky.

It was really, really good.

In another corner of the poster, Josh had made block letters in a funky, slanty font. I recognized it from the Dog Ear sign.

I glanced around at some of the other posters on the walls, each advertising an author reading or book launch party. Josh’s same leaning font was on every one.

Other than that, they were all wildly different. One poster—for a book about a London punk—featured E.B. the dog with a Mohawk, black eyeliner, and safety pins in his floppy ears. Another, for a campy zombie book, had a funny portrait of a zombie gnawing on a human arm like it was a cob of corn. Still another, for a children’s picture book, had a pigeon pitching a fit from all different angles, like a police mug shot.

Clearly Josh had made all of these.

With my mouth hanging open in surprise, I glanced back at him. That’s when I saw that he was staring at me!

As our eyes met I snapped my mouth shut with such force, I felt my teeth jangle a bit.

Josh did the exact same thing.

I didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or to duck my disheveled head and run out of Dog Ear. Given my lack of makeup, I kind of wanted to do the latter.

But given Josh’s adorable face?

I stayed.

“You finally came,” he said.

He had a nervous/sweet half smile on his face. And his smooth cap of hair was kind of flattened in the one part where I guessed he’d been propping it on his hand while he drew. His shoulders were angular and adorable inside his thin T-shirt.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to, but things have been kind of family-intensive. I’m with my sisters right now, in fact . . .”

My voice trailed off as I gestured at them in the lounge.

What I didn’t say was, “My sisters dragged me in here because I was too terrified to come by myself.”

“Oh,” he said. Which made me wonder what he wasn’t saying.

“So you made all these?” I said, pointing at the framed posters lining the wall.

“Well . . .” Josh glanced at the half-finished poster on the desk, and then I could tell what he was thinking. He was wishing he could do a full-body dive on top of it, covering it up so I wouldn’t know his secret.

“So . . . it’s not all receipt tape?” I broached.

He looked squirmy again. But a sheepish smile snuck through. And even though he was trying to fight it off, it lit up his face.

“Did you ever start that book?” he said, changing the subject. “The one with the monsoon?”

“No monsoon yet,” I said with a laugh. “But she did compare the rising tropical sun to a hothouse hyacinth.”

“Ooh, that’s bad,” he said, and cringed.

“Oh, wretched,” I said happily. “Which, you know, can sometimes be a good thing. Like Lifetime movies of the week? My sisters and I love them.”

“Because you can laugh at them—”

“Not with, but at,” I interjected.

“Right,” Josh said. “But the point is, you do it together. Can’t do that with a book.”

Then his eyes lit up.

“Wait a minute,” he said.

He disappeared beneath the counter. I heard a shuffling sound, and the slap, slap, slap of paperbacks hitting the floor. I glanced nervously at Abbie and Hannah. Hannah was completely immersed in a book that just reeked of important subject matter. And Abbie was giving J-Boy a flirty punch in the arm. She practically batted her eyelashes at him.

Suddenly Josh reemerged. His flattened hair had popped back up. And he was holding a coverless paperback book. I pointed at it.

“Is that—”

“Coconut Dreams,” Josh said. “We had two copies. This one was in the recycle box. My parents are supposed to drive the stuff over to the office supply place to get them shredded, but of course that hasn’t happened yet.”

This time, though, Josh seemed kind of delighted to have parents who neglected the boring bookstore chores.

“So . . . what?” I said. “You’re gonna read that?”

“We could read it,” he said. “You know, at the same time.”

“Like a book club?” I said. That sounded, um, wholesome, in a middle-aged kind of way.

“Naw,” Josh said. “It’s like an anti–book club. We could both read it and make fun of it.”

“So you do hate books,” I joked.

“No, I don’t!” Josh said. “There are a lot—well, some—that I think are amazing.”

He dropped Coconut Dreams onto the desk and grabbed another book off it. It had the same cover as the book on Josh’s in-progress poster. It was called Photo Negative.

“This one is amazing,” Josh said, showing me the new book. “You haven’t read it because it’s not out yet. But when it does come out, you’ve got to get it.”

“And the writer’s coming here?” I said, nodding at his poster.

“Yeah,” he said, clutching the book a little more tightly. “He is.”

He looked so cutely vulnerable that I smiled. I couldn’t help it. It was like I had no control over my face.

Josh smiled too—tentatively, like he’d dodged a bullet. He glanced back at his desk and seemed about to say something, when I felt Abbie tap-tap-tap my shoulder. I jumped.

“Hey,” I said, turning to give her an irritated look. Hannah was behind her, looking amused.

Abbie whispered gleefully, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

She pulled me over to a display case that blocked our view of the J-boy in the lounge. It was also conveniently out of earshot of Josh.

“The bad news is,” Abbie breathed, “I still don’t know his name.”

I looked over at Josh. His smile had faded, but it hadn’t completely disappeared. He turned back to the desk.

I turned back to Abbie. She was so giddy with her impending good news that she didn’t even seem to notice me making eye contact with Josh.

It probably doesn’t occur to her that I could have a J-boy of my own, I thought ruefully.

“The good news is,” Abbie said, “he’s invited us to a party on Sunday. It’s called a lantern party. I guess they do it every summer on the last day of June.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “Why that day?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Abbie said, waving her hand dismissively. “He explained it, but I didn’t get the whole story. It’s some small-town private joke.”

“Huh,” I said. I shot Hannah a dubious looks. “So he invited all of us?”

“Yeah, essentially,” Hannah said. “I bet Liam will be there.”

“Oh, great,” I said. “So you can both go off with your boys and leave me with a bunch of strangers.”

“A bunch of potential,” Abbie declared. “We’re going to be here the rest of the summer. Don’t you want to make some friends? Don’t tell me you want to stay home with Mom and Dad every night.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Josh. He was sitting back at his desk, scribbling intensely on his poster.

I crossed my arms over my chest and faced my sisters again.

“What’s a lantern party?” I asked.

“It’s at the big dock at the marina,” Abbie said with a shrug. “I assume they’re lighting it all up with lanterns. You’ll love it.”

I cocked my head.

“I might like it,” I said slowly.

“She’s in!” Abbie blurted. She thrust her hand toward Hannah, and Hannah high-fived her. Abbie started for the door. Perfect. If she and Hannah went outside, I could finish talking to Josh.

“Oh, no!” Abbie said. She pointed at the Pop Guy’s stand across the street. He was pulling down his giant umbrella, which meant he was closing up shop. “We’ve gotta catch him!”

She trotted to the door, then looked back and gestured wildly at us.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s so hot out, if I don’t get something cold in me, I’ll pass out.”

“Okay, okay!” Hannah said with a laugh. She headed for the door.

“I’m going to . . . ,” I began.

Hannah turned and looked at me impatiently.

“What?” she said. “Aren’t you coming?”

I glanced again at Josh. His head was still down and he was frowning in concentration. Clearly he was back in work mode. I shrugged unhappily and headed for the door. Before I let it close behind me, I snuck a last peek over my shoulder—and saw Josh peeking around the book stacks at me! My stomach swooped. I managed a little wave before the jingly door slammed behind me.

I considered going back in to say good-bye in a less awkward way, but going back in seemed more awkward still.

And besides, he hadn’t waved back.

I left so fast, he didn’t have time to, I told myself as I trotted across the street after my sisters. Right? It’s not because he realized I’m a spaz with even spazzier siblings. Right? Right?

I was lost in these neurotic thoughts as my sisters bought up the dregs of the Pop Guy’s wares. As we headed down the street toward home, Hannah handed me a napkin and a creamy white frozen pop.

“What flavor is this?” I asked. I held it up. It looked like there were raisins in it.

“Rice pudding,” Hannah said.

“Oh, yuck!” I said, curling my lip.

“Hey, at least it doesn’t have tarragon or sage in it,” Abbie said. “We know you hate those.”

“What’d you guys get?” I said, tentatively taking a lick of my pop. It was actually cinnamony and delicious, if I could just ignore the nubbly texture of the rice.

“Coconut jalapeño,” Abbie said, hanging her tongue out. “Spicy!”

“Cherry vanilla,” Hannah said. “Mmmm.”

“Ooh,” I said. “Let’s go halvesies.”

“Nope!” Hannah said. “Abbie said I could have the good one. Wingman’s honor.”

I grumbled as I nibbled at my pop, trying to avoid the bits of rice.

It was only when we turned off Main Street and Abbie and Hannah started debating outfits for the lantern party that my thoughts drifted back to Dog Ear. Suddenly I remembered something Josh had said.

“We could both read it.”

My eyes widened. I froze mid-lick.

He asked me to form an anti–book club with him, I realized. That’s definitely more meaningful than just saying, “You should come into Dog Ear sometime,” right?

I started to get a little short of breath. I trailed behind my sisters as I debated with myself.

Okay, hold on, I told myself. It’s not like he was asking me out on a date. He just wants to goof on a bad book. It’s not a big deal. Or is it?

“We could both read it and make fun of it.” That’s what he said. So where would this fun-making take place? Over coffee? On the beach? On a picnic blanket on the beach on which he has laid out a spread of all my favorite herb-free foods?

The itchy feeling of melted ice pop dripping down my arm pulled me out of my daydream, which had been veering into the truly ridiculous anyway. As I mopped the melted milk off my wrist, I shook my head.

He just means we could have a laugh the next time I wander into Dog Ear, I admonished myself. That’s all. I bet he won’t even bother to actually read it.

But that night in bed, as I flicked on my reading light and regarded the two books on my nightstand—Coconut Dreams and Sense and Sensibility—I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing the tropical romance.

As I read it, every florid paragraph seemed to have a footnote filled with the banter I could have with Josh.

And suddenly Coconut Dreams became a book that I really didn’t want to put down.