“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Gretchen said. “You should do it.”

“No way. You do it!” I said.

“You’re the one who’s all, ‘this year will be different,’ so prove it,” she said.

“You’re the one who needs the fresh start,” I countered.

“Okay, then.” Gretchen smiled and turned to the man behind the table. “I have a question. Would you be there to warm us up when we get out of the lake?” she asked him.

I was about to kick her, but then I remembered she already had one broken leg.

“Well, I don’t know.” He smiled at her. “I could be, I guess. Then again, I might need you to warm me up.”

“I’ll be standing on the shore. So I’ll definitely be warm,” Gretchen said. “Should I bring you a robe?”

“Gretchen,” I said, gently pulling her back from the table before she threw herself onto it. “Where’s Brett?”

“He’s right here,” she said. “Clinging to my good leg.”

“Oh. Sorry, but I just think…you know. Tone it down a little.” Maybe I sounded like our mom now, but I didn’t care. She was totally embarrassing me!

“What are you talking about?” she replied.

“Should you really flirt with him that much?” I asked.

“Why not?”

“Because. He might…”

“Think I like him? What would be the problem there? Honestly, it’s like we’re from a different gene pool.”

But see, that was the point. I’d seen the way she did things and decided I was going to be different. Extremely different.

She knew all about the so-called inner flirt. She had no problem being that way. I, however, felt like a phony whenever I tried it.

I felt badly for pulling her away so abruptly, so I stepped back up to the table.

“Can I make a contribution?” I asked. That wasn’t phony, at least. I did want to support Special Olympics, even if I didn’t want to do it by jumping into White Bear Lake myself.

“Sure, that would be great.” He smiled so nicely at me, I kind of wished he were my age instead of Gretchen’s.

Wow, I thought. I’ve only been here a few nights and already I’m turning into my sister.

“Don’t forget to check your rearview mirror,” Gretchen said, peering over her shoulder as I backed out of the parking spot at the mall.

“Gretchen,” I said, trying to keep my composure, “I’ve been driving for a couple of years. You know that, right?”

“I know, but this is city driving. It’s different.”

“Yes. Very different. At home, we just back up without looking,” I said. “We smash into other people’s cars and that’s how we figure out when to stop. Every parking lot is a demolition derby, basically.”

“Look, Kirsten. It’s not funny. It’s a well-known fact that teenage drivers are most likely to get into an accident. And if you drive up my insurance rates—”

“I’m still on Mom and Dad’s family insurance policy. Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“Oh. You are?” She sounded a little happier.

“And, I’ve never had an accident, and I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket, or speeding ticket, or any kind of ticket. Someone shoved a flyer for a tanning salon under the windshield wiper once, and that’s about it.”

“Ooh…tanning. What a great idea!” Gretchen said, easing back in her seat with a sigh. “You want to go?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Of course not. You have, like, the year-round bronze look,” Gretchen complained.

“I do not,” I said.

“Do too.”

I decided not to prolong the argument. I just don’t believe in getting the fake bake, myself. End of story. And it’s not because I have anything naturally “golden” about me, except maybe my hair, in the sunlight, in the middle of the summer.

We rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Gretchen said, “Well, do you mind watching Brett while I go?”

“I wanna go tanning!” Brett cried from his seat.

“Little boys don’t need tans,” Gretchen said to him. “Only mommies need tans. Especially single mommies.”

“Aw, come on,” Brett complained.

“If you’re going to get a tan, Gretchen, you could be ready for the Polar Bear Plunge after all,” I said.

“Emphasis on the being a polar bear,” she muttered. She frowned at her thighs, but I didn’t see what the problem was. I was starting to think she was just obsessing for no reason, because she had nothing else to concentrate on.

“Come on, it’s my treat,” she urged as we pulled up and parked at the day salon.

“Thanks for the offer, but Brett and I will go to the park so he can play,” I said. “I think he’ll have more fun there.”

“You’re such a good mother,” she teased.

“Don’t even think it. Call my cell when you’re done.”

“Okay, but don’t go too far. I don’t want to be sitting here waiting for you forever,” she said as I helped her out of the minivan.

So much for gratitude. “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

On the way home, we stopped by the local neighborhood grocery store, Zublansky’s, for milk, eggs and ice cream for Brett.

I normally don’t like grocery stores, but Zublansky’s is my definition of heaven. They have everything you could ever think of, and it’s all so attractively displayed that it’s like going to the Tiffany’s of grocery stores. The lighting is even nice.

Gretchen and Brett waited in the car while I ran into the store. I was relieved because things would be so much easier that way. I’d be able to move at a pace faster than a crawl.

I quickly hit the dairy section, and I had to lean halfway into the freezer to pull out a pint of strawberry ice cream from the back of the shelf.

When I emerged, there was a boy standing right behind me, staring at me.

Not just any boy, either. The one who’d returned my lost hat at the lake the other day. The cute one with short auburn hair and green eyes. The one I’d fallen on top of.

They were coming out of the woodwork. Or the ice. Or somewhere.

He was wearing an apron with the store’s name stitched over the pocket. Unless his name was Zublansky’s, Your One-Stop Shop.

“Uh, hi,” I said, feeling stupid.

He just looked at me. “Hello.”

And then I let the freezer door slam shut on my foot.

Ouch. Don’t cry don’t cry it doesn’t hurt that much, you’ll probably only lose two or three toes at most.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked.

“No, no, just fine, just getting some ice cream,” I said. I held up the pint and then dropped it into my basket. “Pretty much…have it covered,” I gasped, with a tiny whimper.

He didn’t say anything else. He just walked away and I stood there, grimacing. Once he was down the aisle, I considered sticking my foot back into the freezer to ice down the swelling. Great, first Gretchen had lost a leg, and now me.

Eventually I limped up to the checkout, where the guy was bagging groceries. I decided to skip his aisle and take the next one over. I had paid and was picking up my bag when he asked, “Need any help out to the car?”

“No thanks. I should be good,” I said. “The pain’s going away and I just have the one bag, so…”

He stared at me. “I wasn’t asking you.”

I turned to see an elderly woman behind me. “Oh. Right! Well, I can help her,” I offered, because there was a long line forming behind me.

“I prefer Conor,” she said to me in a snooty voice.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Whitman?” he asked as he went over to pick up her shopping bags.

I couldn’t get out to the car fast enough.

Some people you were glad to bump into again. Other people? Not so much.

As soon as we got home, I turned on my computer and checked my email. The first thing I saw made my heart sink.

FWD: RESERVATION/DEPOSIT

REQUIRED

Hey—it’s time to send in your reservation for Groundhog Getaway! We need final totals this week so we get a big enough cabin. Fill out and print attached form; mail by Friday with check or credit card # for deposit. Or call the rental agency; info attached below.