“You did the right thing by calling,” my dad says.
Part of me still feels bad that I didn’t notice anything off about her sooner, but I nod, trying to take their words to heart. Margarine’s going to be fine. I cuddle with her for a few more moments, then stand up.
“Myles said some friends are meeting up on the beach. Okay if I go?”
“Myles?” my dad asks, brows raised. “The Ford kid?”
“Yeah.” I try for a bored-sounding tone. “I told you guys he was working at Pearl’s this summer too, remember?”
My dad obviously doesn’t remember this, because he narrows his eyes with a “Hmm.”
“Who else will be there?” my mom asks.
“Not Kat, obviously,” I say, unable to hide my irritation. If Kat were here and we said we were going to the beach, my parents wouldn’t have said a word about it. It already sucks that my other half is missing. Why are they making it worse when I might actually do something social for the first time this summer?
“Exactly,” my mom says, undeterred. “I didn’t have to worry when I knew you were with a friend we trusted.”
“We’re not saying you can’t go,” my dad adds. “We just want more information.”
I sigh. I have no idea who will be there besides Myles, but I ramble off a few names that I know my parents will find familiar. “I’ll be home by midnight,” I add for good measure.
After a wordless glance at my dad, my mom nods. “Okay. Just make sure you keep your phone with you.”
“I will,” I say, and give Margarine one more kiss before I head upstairs. I strip out of my work clothes and don a fresh pair of cutoffs, my Cape Cod sweatshirt, and my Birkenstocks that are hanging on for dear life. My hair’s a lost cause, but the wind on that part of the beach always whips it around anyway, so I thread it into a thick braid to keep it contained.
Minutes later I’m through the back door and bouncing downour back porch steps and into the sand. It helps that the dunes are close to my house and I know the area like the back of my hand. I know where to approach so I can get a good idea of who’s there without being seen, and if I end up standing around like an awkward loser, I can just come home.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pause to slide it out.
Seriously?NowKat calls me?
Not when I was panicking about Margarine early this afternoon, or anytime in the hours after. Not the multiple times when I’ve been lonely and missing her and feeling sorry for myself. Instead, like she has some sixth sense of when I’m finally about to be with other people, she picks the absolute worst time to barge right back in.
I tap Ignore and put the phone back in my pocket just as I crest one of the rolling hills. Seagrass brushes my ankles as I regard the decent-sized gathering before me.
I take one deep breath. Then two.
Here goes nothing.
12PLAYLIST:east coast summer
MYLES SEES ME RIGHTaway. As promised, he’s still in his Pearl’s shirt and shorts, and I clock the plastic cup in one of his hands as he waves with the other.
“Amelia!” he calls. “You made it.”
The confidence I mustered to show up alone would have spiraled if I hadn’t quickly found someone I knew, and the warmth in Myles’s greeting is like turning my face toward the sun. I grin and walk up to the group he’s standing with. They’re all seniors, and all way more popular than me.
Several of the girls are wearing dresses or short skirts and a lot more makeup than I am. Suddenly I wish I’d taken a little more time to freshen up. “Am I underdressed?”
Myles snorts. “Definitely not. It’s all for that new guy.” He glances down at me and tugs at my sweatshirt. “I like this way better.”
“Oh. Thanks… me too,” I say, his words lifting me like the next breeze could pull me straight up and away. He likes something about me—something that’s just me, everyday Amelia—better.
Because Myles has good manners, he introduces me to everyone. I know all their names, because our school isn’t that big and most of us juniors know the seniors. Most of them smile or say hi. One of the girls eyes me uncertainly, like she’s debating whether I’m a threat.
“Amelia works at Pearl’s too,” Myles tells them. Then he turns to me. “Want something to drink?”
“U-um,” I stammer. I’ve never hung out with a bunch of seniors before, and I don’t want to look like a total loser. “Sure.”
