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“Good. Saves time.”
“Alvy—”
He brushed past, his shoulder knocking mine. I grabbed his arm. He stopped but didn’t turn.
“I’m trying,” I said.
His chest rose with an exasperated breath. “I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.” He turned then, and the hurt in his face nearly knocked me back into the water.
I’d seen Alvin furious. I’d seen him terrified. I’d seen him laughing so hard he couldn’t stand upright. I’d never been able to look at him when he was disappointed in me, though. And that was becoming often.
He twisted his arm free. “You don’t get to kiss me, panic, shove me into a lake, fake-save me, and then stand there telling me you’re trying, Dee.”
“I didn’t know you were faking,” I repeated, like that somehow meant something. We both knew it didn’t.
“That is not the point.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He stepped closer, his voice low and shaking. “You don’t get to keep treating me like I’m the problem because you’re scared of what you want.”
I flinched. He saw it. “I’m not afraid of you,” I told him anyway.
“No. You’re afraid of masked men hiding in the woods, you’re afraid of spiders, you’re afraid of your mother being upset at you. But most of all, you’re afraid of yourself.”
I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him he was arrogant, dramatic, impossible.
Instead, I stared at the lake. Where I’d kissed my best friend and felt the whole world click into place. Then spent the years following it trying to force that same world back apart.
Behind me, Alvin sighed again. “Come on, DeeDee.”
I looked at him.
His expression had softened, but the distance remained. “We’re going to catch pneumonia.”
“I’m a professional swimmer.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a professional camper. And I’m pretty sure pneumonia is frowned upon in the counselor handbook.”
I almost smiled.
He pointed at me. “Don’t look so pleased. You owe me a mask.”
“It’s out on the dock.”
“Yeah, but that one has dirty lake water all over it. You owe me a new one.”
“I’m not buying you another murder mask.”
