He snaps on the underwater pool lights. The pool contains several inflatable toys, something Mom’s always lamenting. “Don’t they know you’re supposed to put those away every night or the filter doesn’t work? God knows how unsanitary that pool is.”

But it doesn’t look unsanitary. It’s beautiful, glowing sapphire in the night. I dive right in, swim to the end, come up for air.

“You’re fast,” Jase calls from the middle of the pool. “Race?”

“Are you one of those competitive beat-the-girl-in-a-race-just-to-prove-a-macho-point types?”

“You seem,” Jase observes, “to know a lot of annoying people. I’m just me, Samantha. Race?”

“You’re on.”

I haven’t been on the swim team for a year. Practices started to take too much time away from my homework, and Mom put her foot down. I still swim when I can, though. And I’m still fast. He still wins. Twice. Then I do, at least once. After that we just paddle around.

Eventually, Jase climbs out, pulls two towels from a big wooden bin, and spreads them on the grass. I collapse onto one, staring up at the night sky. It’s so hot, the humidity pressing down on me like fingers.

He lies down next to me.

To be honest, I keep expecting him to make a pass. Charley Tyler would have been reaching for the top of my swimsuit faster than Patsy. But Jase just folds one arm behind his head, looking up at the sky. “What’s that one?” he asks, pointing.

“What?”

“You said you were into stargazing. Tell me what that one is?”

I squint where his finger is pointing. “Draco.”

“And that?”

“Corona Borealis.”

“And over there?”

“Scorpius.”

“You really are an astrophysicist. What about that one over there?”

“Norma.”

A bark of laughter. “Honestly?”

“You’re the one who had a tarantula named Agnes. Yes, truly.”

He rolls onto his side to look at me. “How’d you find out about Agnes?”

“George.”

“Of course. George tells all.”

“I love George,” I say.

Okay, now his face is close to mine. If I were to raise my head and tilt over just a bit…But I will not, because there’s no way I’m going to be the one who does that. I never have been, and I’m not starting now. Instead I just look at Jase, wondering if he’ll lean any nearer. Then I see the sweep of headlights pulling into our circular drive.

I jump up. “I’ve got to get home. I’ve got to get home now.” My voice is high, panicky. My mother always checks my room before she goes to sleep. I run over to the chain fence, bang through the gate, then feel Jase’s hands at my waist, lifting me up so I’m nearly to the top of our tall slippery one, close enough to throw one leg over.

“Easy. You’ll make it. Don’t worry.” His voice is low, soothing. Probably his calm-the-nervous-animal voice.

I drop down on the other side and am running for the trellis.

“Samantha!”

I turn, though I can only see the top of his head over the fence.

“Watch out for the hammer. It’s still on the grass. Thanks for the race.”

I nod, give a quick wave, and run.

Chapter Ten

“Samantha! Samantha.” Tracy comes hurtling into my bedroom. “Where’s your navy blue halter top?”

“In my drawer, Trace. Whyever do you ask?” I respond sweetly. Tracy’s packing to leave for Martha’s Vineyard—half an hour before Flip’s picking her up. Typical. She regards it as the right of the first born to co-opt any articles of my clothing she fancies, as long as they’re not actually on my back at the time.

“I’m taking it, okay? Just for the summer—you can have it back in the fall, promise.” She yanks open my bureau drawer, scrabbling through clothes, pulling out not only the blue top but a few white ones.

“Right, because fall is when I’ll really need the halter tops. Put those back.”

“Come on! I need more white shirts—we’ll be playing tons of tennis.”

“I hear they may even have stores on the Vineyard these days.”

Tracy rolls her eyes and shoves the shirts back in, whirling to return to her room. Last year she taught tennis at the B&T, and I’m suddenly conscious that it will be weird without her there too, not just at home. My sister is, for all intents and purposes, already gone.

“I’ll miss you,” I say as she whips dresses off hangers, shoving them helter-skelter into a suitcase of Mom’s, not at all bothered by the prominent GCR monogram.

“I’ll send you postcards.” She opens up a pillowcase, striding into the bathroom. I watch as she sweeps the hair straightener, curling iron, and electric toothbrush off the counter into the sack. “I hope you won’t really miss me, Samantha. It’s the summer before your senior year. Forget Mom. Bust loose. Enjoy life.” She waves her birth control compact at me for emphasis.

Ugh. I so don’t need a visual aid for my sister’s sex life.

Shoving the compact into the pillowcase, she knots the end. Then her shoulders sag, her face suddenly vulnerable. “I’m afraid I’m getting in too deep with Flip. Spending the whole summer with him…Maybe not smart.”

“I like Flip,” I say.

“Yeah, I like Flip too,” she says shortly, “but I only want to like Flip till the end of August. He’s going to college in Florida. I’m headed to Vermont.”

“Planes, trains, automobiles…” I suggest.

“I hate that messy long-distance stuff, Samantha. Plus, then you wonder whether he’s got some girl on campus that you don’t know about and you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Have some trust, Trace. Flip seems pretty devoted.”

She sighs. “I know. He brought me a magazine and a Froz-Fruit at the beach the other day. It was so sweet. That was when I realized I might be getting in too deep.”

Ooops.

“Can’t you just see how it all goes?”

Tracy’s smile is rueful. “I seem to remember that when you were dating Charley you had some sort of timetable for every move you’d let him make.”

“Charley needed a timetable or he’d have tried for sex in his dad’s Prius in our driveway before our first date.”

She chuckles. “He was a total hound. But great dimples. Did you ever actually sleep with him?”

“No. Never.” How can she forget? I’m kind of hurt. I remember every detail of Tracy’s love life, including that traumatic summer two years ago when she dated three brothers, breaking two of their hearts and getting hers thoroughly broken by the third.

Flip honks from the driveway, something Mom would generally deplore but somehow puts up with from him.

“Help! I’m late—gotta go! Love you!” Tracy tramples down the stairs, loud as a herd of elephants in tap shoes. I’ve never understood how my petite, slender sister can make so much noise on the stairs. She throws her arms around Mom, squeezes her a second, dashes to the door, and shouts, “Coming, Flip! I’m worth waiting for, I promise!”

“I know, babydoll!” Flip calls back.

Tracy runs back to me, kisses my cheek noisily, pulls back. “Are you sure about the white shirts?”

“Yes. Go!” I say, and with a twirl of skirt and a slam of the door, she’s gone.

“Soooo, there’s an SAT test prep at Stony Bay High this August,” Nan says as we walk to the B&T. We stopped at Doane’s and she’s slurping her cookies-and-cream milkshake while I crunch the ice of my lime rickey.

“Be still my heart. It’s summer, Nan.” I tip my face up to the sun, take a deep breath of the warm air. Low tide. The sun-warm scent of the river.

“I know,” she says. “But it’s just one morning. I had the stomach flu when we took them last time, and I only got nineteen hundred. That’s just not good enough. Not for Columbia.”

“Can’t you take it online?” I like school and I love Nan, but I’d just as soon not think about GPAs and test scores until after Labor Day.

“It’s not the same. This is proctored and everything. The conditions are exactly like the actual test. We could do it together. It would be fun.”