Rico studies me for a while. Then he says, “I really miss how we used to be.”
I stare back, frowning. “How we used to be …?”
But Rico says nothing else. He takes his gift bag, hooks it over his wrist, and starts walking away, leaving me alone with my thoughts, his lingering words, and an empty chair at my side where I tossed my book.
Kent’s last words to me echo back, almost like a taunt.
Am I making a mistake here?
“Fine, Rico. Okay.”
He stops—miraculously having heard me—and turns around. He waits for me to say the rest.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine!” I call out. “You go ahead, and I’ll meet you at the gym, and then we can go out tonight and do whatever. Just give me a few minutes to drop by the room and change!”
Rico’s face instantly explodes into happy fireworks. “Yes! That’s my boy!” he calls out, overjoyed. “You won’t regret it! Oh, Jonah, we’re gonna have the best last night ever!!”
I smile back, though halfhearted. “See you in a bit!”
And off he goes.
And here I remain, deflated. My eyes drift past Rico to the Quicksilver Strand, where I imagine what Kent might look like right now, in his uniform, sulking at the counter, making funnel cake after funnel cake.
Time to move on.
Maybe Rico is right. Maybe I’m a crab—like that little demonic fucker that crawled up my leg and scared the shit out of me—a hermit crab who’s growing. Perhaps I need to figure out if it’s time to find a new shell.
Or ditch the shell completely.
I decide to take a round-about way back to the resort, wandering down roads I haven’t explored yet. I stop at the corner of Cassanova and Main Street for traffic to go past, then find myself staring at what appears to be a dome-shaped event hall or art gallery across the street. Curiosity takes over, and I decide I have enough time to investigate what it is.
I’m just about to cross the road when I hear: “Jonah?”
I turn. It’s Skipper, skateboard tucked under his arm. He appears to be hanging out with his two usual friends in the movie theater parking lot, performing tricks on their skateboards from the look of it. His friends continue on while Skipper heads over to me.
“Hey, Skip,” I greet him.
He nods. “Hey. You waiting around for my brother to get off work?”
Ugh. This is about to get awkward. I turn it into a joke. “Wow, do I really look that sad and lonely?”
That makes him smile—which it only now seems to occur to me is a rare thing. “No, you look fine. I was just wondering. You guys seem to be clicking.”
I … also just now conveniently remembered Skipper saw me getting reamed by his brother last night.
Clicking, he calls it. “Um, so I …”
“Are you going to the party at the Hopewell house?”
I stare blankly at him. “The what?”
“The Hopewell house on the north pier. It’s gonna be huge. Everyone on the island will be there. It’s, like, some kind of twenty-year thing. You should come.”
Is that the party Rico casually mentioned? Oh, wait. Kent mentioned something, too. “Kent told me about it being the twentieth anniversary of the fair, or …?”
“Yeah, it’s owned and run by the Hopewells.” He tugs anxiously on his skateboard. “So are you going with my brother tonight? Figured he’d take you.”
It’s not exactly an option anymore, apparently. “You know, I think Kent’s got his own … stuff. I’m just a visitor here, anyway. I don’t belong at a party I wasn’t invited to, mooching free food and drinks. Isn’t it just a locals thing?”
“So was the bonfire.”
“Yeah, but—” How do I tell Skipper that his brother put a stop to whatever’s going on between us—without making his brother look like a bad guy? “Well, it’s just—”
He takes a step toward me and brings down his voice. “My brother can be guarded sometimes. He’s … careful. Too careful. You just gotta … I dunno … break through his walls. That’s the way you get to his heart, by breaking in.”
Whoa, now. “His heart?”
“Trust me, he’s into you. I know him better than even Mom does. He is really …” His mind goes somewhere. “He is really into you.”
I pray his mind wasn’t going to the traumatizing scene he witnessed of us last night. “Thanks, Skip,” I quickly say, as if to drag his mind away from that.
“It’s on the north pier,” he tells me. “Biggest house on Holiday Street, practically a mansion. It starts after seven. You should come. I’ll make sure Kent’s there.”
Wow, really? “I’m not sure this is a great idea. I …”
“Just come, okay? After seven.” He sets down his skateboard, then kicks it up with his foot. “I’ve never seen Kent like this before. He’s totally smitten by you.”