“Ands, there aren’t any rules about this sort of thing.” Jase stretches out on his back on the towel next to me and George.

“There really should be,” Andy argues. “’Cause how on earth are you supposed to figure it all out? That was nothing like kissing my bedpost. Or the bathroom mirror.”

Both Jase and Tim burst out laughing.

“No tongue there,” Jase mutters.

“Or only your own. And solo’s never as good,” laughs Tim.

“Why would you kiss your bedpost, Andy? That’s kinda yuck.” George wrinkles his nose. Andy gives all three boys an annoyed look and floats back into the house.

Tim reaches for his jacket, taking his cigarettes out of the inside pocket and tapping one into his palm. George’s eyes get round.

“Is that a cigarette? Are those cigarettes?”

Tim looks a bit nonplussed. “Sure. D’you mind?”

“You’ll die if you smoke those. Your lungs get black and shrivel up. Then you die.” George is suddenly near tears. “Don’t die. I don’t wanna see you die. I saw Jase’s hamster die and it got all stiff and its eyes stayed open but they weren’t shiny anymore.”

Tim’s face goes blank. He glances over at Jase as if for instruction. Jase just gazes back at him.

“Hell,” Tim says, and shoves the cigarette back in. He stands up, stalks to the pool, and dives in deep.

George turns to me. “What’s that mean? Does that mean no or yes?”

Mrs. Garrett sticks her head out the back door. “Jase—the garbage disposal broke again. Can you help me out?”

The Garretts have fireworks, thanks, Mrs. Garrett tells me, to her brother Hank, who lives down south and ships them up illegally every year. So we’re all on the Garretts’ lawn as the summer sky darkens.

“Jack!” Mrs. Garrett calls. “Please don’t burn off your hand! Why do I need to say this? I tell you this every year.”

“If I do,” Mr. Garrett says, placing some fireworks in a circle of stones, “I’m suing your brother. He never sends instructions. Light up, Jase!”

Jase strikes a long match and hands it to his dad. Mrs. Garrett encircles George and Patsy in her arms. “You wouldn’t read them anyway!” she calls out as the match flares blue and the fireworks shoot into the night sky.

As the last firework fizzles down, I roll onto my side, following the lines of Jase’s face with my index finger.

“You’ve never played for me,” I say.

“Mmm?” he sounds sleepy.

“I’ve seen Andy and Duff play their instruments. You claim you can play the guitar. But I’ve never seen evidence. When are you going to play me a ballad?”

“Uh, never?”

“Why not?” I ask, tracing the arch of one of his dark eyebrows.

“Because that would be incredibly lame, not to mention goofy. And I try to steer clear of lame. Not to mention goofy.”

He shifts to his back, pointing into the night sky. “Okay, what’s that star? And that one?”

“The Summer Triangle. That’s Vega, and Deneb and Altair. Over there is…Lyra, Sagittarius…” I follow the path of the flickering stars with my index finger.

“I love that you know this,” Jase says softly. “Hey, is that a shooting star? You can wish on those, right?”

“An airplane, Jase. See the little red taillight?”

“Jesus. Okay. So much for not being lame and goofy.”

I laugh, lean over to kiss his neck. “You can wish on the airplane anyway, though, if you want.”

“Somehow the thrill is gone,” he says, pulling me close. “Besides, what else would I wish for?”

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Hello sweetheart.” The voice is cool as water. “Have anything to say to me?”

I freeze in the act of silently closing the front door. Oh God. Oh God. How did I not see Mom’s car? I thought the fireworks and steam train would take longer. How could I have stayed out so late?

“I never thought I’d be doing this for you.” The voice is amused now, and I look up to see Tracy sitting on the couch, shaking her head at me.

I’d forgotten her pitch-perfect imitation of Mom, which, combined with her impressive forgery skills, got her out of field trips she didn’t want to go on, school days with tests she hadn’t studied for, and health classes she was bored by.

I laugh and take a deep breath. “Jeez, Trace. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She’s smirking. “Mom called right at curfew to make sure you were safe and sound. I told her you’d been tucked up in your little bed for hours, dreaming sweet innocent dreams. Good thing she can’t see you now.” She stands up and walks behind me, turning me to face the mirror in the hallway. “So who’s the guy?”

“There isn’t—” I begin.

“Samantha, please. Your hair’s a mess, your lips are all puffy, and you’ll be needing that stupid Breakfast Ahoy scarf to cover that hickey right there. I repeat: Who’s the guy?”

I do indeed look flushed and rumpled, a look I’ve seen on Tracy many a time but am still getting used to on myself. “You don’t know him,” I say, attempting to straighten my hair. “Please don’t say anything to Mom.”

“Little Miss Perfection has a secret lov-ah!” Tracy’s giggling now.

“We’re not…We haven’t—”

“Huh,” Tracy says, unimpressed. “Judging by the expression on your face, it’s just a matter of time. I covered for you. Now, spill. If I don’t know him, there’s got to be a reason why. Please tell me it’s someone Mom won’t have a fit about.”

“She would not be happy,” I admit.

“Why? Is he a druggie? A drinker?”

“A Garrett,” I say. “From next door.”

“Holy heck, Samantha. You’re really pushing the limits, aren’t you? Who knew you’d turn out to be the big rebel? Is he the one with the leather jacket and the motorcycle? If so, you are doomed. Mom’ll ground you till you’re thirty-five.”

I blow out an impatient breath. “Not him—his younger brother. Jase. Who’s probably the best person I’ve ever met…kind and smart and…good. He…I…” I run out of words, rub my lips with my fingers.