In the distance I heard the front door close, followed by footsteps crossing the wooden floors. Analemma, who was lying in a pool of sunlight on the deck, thumped her tail against the floor as a person in dirt-stained cargo shorts and a baseball cap came out onto the deck.

“All finished?” Joan asked.

I figured this was the missing gardener.

“Yep. All done.”

I gave the gardener a second look and realized she was a woman, although if you didn’t pay too close attention it would be easy to mistake her for a man. She was boyish, with short hair beneath her Giants baseball cap, dressed in what looked like boys’ clothes. She was probably in her twenties. Both her forearms were dark with tattoos; I couldn’t make them out, but the designs looked intricate.

“Steph, this is my son, Matthew, and my granddaughter, Aria,” Joan said. “Matty, Aria, this is Steph.” Joan went back into the kitchen, where I saw her rummaging through her purse.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Steph said to my dad, extending her hand to him as if they were man to man. As she came closer I saw some of the tattoos more clearly. A snake, maybe, or fish—something with scales.

“You helping out my mother?” Dad asked.

“I do a little yard work,” Steph said.

“She’s good,” Joan called from inside. “You know all my neighbors want to hire you. You could have a monopoly on Woodacre yards if you wanted.”

“Thanks,” Steph said.

Joan came back with a check and handed it to her. “Same time in two weeks?”

“I’ll be here,” Steph said. She glanced at me. “Nice to meet you, too. Your grandma’s told me a lot about you.”

I felt the tiniest bit self-conscious. “Oh yeah? You know she lies.”

Joan’s mouth quirked into an impish grin. “Everything I said was true,” she insisted.

Steph smiled and pocketed the check. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ll see you in two weeks.” She gave me a quick look as she left, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of me.

It wasn’t like I was struck by lightning or anything, but I remember that last look, that fraction of a moment before she left. I remember thinking I wish you were a boy, because then my summer would be a lot more interesting.

Chapter 3

This is why I was spending the summer in Woodacre instead of on Martha’s Vineyard: A boy took some topless photos of me and posted them on Tumblr. The photos got around, and somebody spray-painted slut on my locker, which meant the school counselor got nosy and called me in to her office. I wouldn’t tell her what the graffiti was about, so she poked around on her own and found the photos somehow, and then she called my dad and told him.