A Different Kind of Summer

“For an hour. It’s important, we’re planning some fund-raising. For hurricane relief.”

“That’s very nice, I’m glad to hear it. You can do it after exams.”

“Half an hour, that’s all. The break’ll do us good. What did I get over, Mom? Besides Jason.” She reached for the sangria pitcher and her mother lightly slapped her hand. “And that arrogant dweeb, Luke McKinley.”

“Oh, you’re over him now?”

“Completely.” She took a juice glass out of the cupboard. “That much? It’s healthy, Mom. Look at all the fruit.” When her mother ignored her, she brought out an egg cup. “That much?”

“All right. No refills.”

Gwyn watched Molly fill the egg cup to the brim and sip appreciatively. “How did you ever fall for an arrogant dweeb in the first place?”

“Have you seen Luke McKinley? He’s the cutest, hottest guy ever.”

“He isn’t,” Iris interrupted. “He’s just cocky.”

Molly nodded emphatically, eyebrows up for extra emphasis. “Hot, cute and cocky. You feel like he’s looking in the mirror the whole time he’s talking to you. Imagine kissing him—”

“Hey! I told you, no imagining kissing until you’re sixteen.” Iris winked at Gwyn.

“Right, Mom.”

“We’re getting pizza for dinner,” Iris went on, “and you and Chris are joining us, Gwyn. Molly can play with him for a while, won’t you, Molly? Chris’s teacher thinks he doesn’t have any fun.”

Molly didn’t hide her irritation. “Sure. There’s no time for fund-raising for a hurricane, but I can play with Chris.”

Gwyn said, “That’s all right. I’ve got dinner planned.”

“No, no, stay, Mrs. Sinclair. I didn’t mean it like that. I want to play with him. We can rescue each other from glaciers again. Personally, at that age I liked Beanie Babies, but hey.”

“That’s not a helpful tone,” Iris told her daughter. “And the pizza will be here in five minutes, Gwyn, so you really should stay. Chris said he was hungry.”

Gwyn went to the window to check on him again. Bitten from head to toe, scared and hungry. Maybe she really wasn’t taking good care of him. He was still reading, his knees up and his back resting against the tree. He looked relaxed. For him, trying to figure things out was fun. At least she’d always thought so. Are you sure? Bretton had asked, about something or other. She was never sure, not about anything.

“I went to the museum after I saw Ms. Gibson to talk to the man who frightened Chris last Saturday. Guess what?”

“What?”

“He’s got a Ph.D. In climatology.”

“Oh, oh. An honest to goodness expert.”

“He’s really annoying.” That wasn’t exactly true. It was more that he was too sure of his facts and too willing to share them. Actually, he seemed—she wouldn’t go so far as to say caring—but almost, he almost seemed caring.

“What’s that sparkle I see?”

“Sparkle?”

“You got sort of a sparkle when you mentioned this guy.”