Free Fifteenth Summer by Michelle Dalton Page B

stomach swooped. I managed a little wave before the jingly door slammed behind me.
    I considered going back in to say good-bye in a less awkward way, but going back in seemed more awkward still.
    And besides, he hadn’t waved back.
    I left so fast, he didn’t have time to, I told myself as I trotted across the street after my sisters. Right? It’s not because he realized I’m a spaz with even spazzier siblings. Right? Right?
    I was lost in these neurotic thoughts as my sisters bought up the dregs of the Pop Guy’s wares. As we headed down the street toward home, Hannah handed me a napkin and a creamy white frozen pop.
    “What flavor is this?” I asked. I held it up. It looked like there were raisins in it.
    “Rice pudding,” Hannah said.
    “Oh, yuck!” I said, curling my lip.
    “Hey, at least it doesn’t have tarragon or sage in it,” Abbie said. “We know you hate those.”
    “What’d you guys get?” I said, tentatively taking a lick ofmy pop. It was actually cinnamony and delicious, if I could just ignore the nubbly texture of the rice.
    “Coconut jalapeño,” Abbie said, hanging her tongue out. “Spicy!”
    “Cherry vanilla,” Hannah said. “Mmmm.”
    “Ooh,” I said. “Let’s go halvesies.”
    “Nope!” Hannah said. “Abbie said I could have the good one. Wingman’s honor.”
    I grumbled as I nibbled at my pop, trying to avoid the bits of rice.
    It was only when we turned off Main Street and Abbie and Hannah started debating outfits for the lantern party that my thoughts drifted back to Dog Ear. Suddenly I remembered something Josh had said.
    “We could both read it.”
    My eyes widened. I froze mid-lick.
    He asked me to form an anti–book club with him, I realized. That’s definitely more meaningful than just saying, “You should come into Dog Ear sometime,” right?
    I started to get a little short of breath. I trailed behind my sisters as I debated with myself.
    Okay, hold on, I told myself. It’s not like he was asking me out on a date. He just wants to goof on a bad book. It’s not a big deal. Or is it?
    “We could both read it and make fun of it.” That’s what he said. So where would this fun-making take place? Over coffee? On the beach? On a picnic blanket on the beach on which he has laid out a spread of all my favorite herb-free foods?
    The itchy feeling of melted ice pop dripping down my arm pulled me out of my daydream, which had been veering into the truly ridiculous anyway. As I mopped the melted milk off my wrist, I shook my head.
    He just means we could have a laugh the next time I wander into Dog Ear, I admonished myself. That’s all. I bet he won’t even bother to actually read it.
    But that night in bed, as I flicked on my reading light and regarded the two books on my nightstand— Coconut Dreams and Sense and Sensibility —I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing the tropical romance.
    As I read it, every florid paragraph seemed to have a footnote filled with the banter I could have with Josh.
    And suddenly Coconut Dreams became a book that I really didn’t want to put down.

B y the day of the lantern party, we’d been in Bluepointe for almost three weeks. We’d gotten used to having nothing to do—no jobs or sports practices to rush to, no exams to study for, no friends to meet up with. Everything had slowed down. And what little we had to accomplish could be stretched out for hours.
    Which was why, after a morning at the beach and a protracted, piecemeal lunch on the screened porch, my sisters and I spent almost the entire afternoon getting ready for our evening.
    This was not our usual thing. Abbie was strictly a wash-and-wearkind of girl, and Hannah could blow-dry her hair into a perfect, sleek ’do in about three minutes. My routine mostly involved working copious amounts of product into my hair to make it go corkscrewy instead of turning into a giant poof of frizz.
    But this afternoon we were a veritable movie montage of primping, perfuming, and