“What contusion?” Camille wanted to grab the guy by his crisp white lapels and shake him. “She hit her head?” She touched Julie’s chin, looking for the injury amid Julie’s dark salt-encrusted curls. There was a knot at her hairline above one eye. “How did you hit your head?”

Julie’s glance skated away. She lightly touched the damp, salt-crusted hair above her temple.

“We’ve done a neural assessment every ten minutes,” said the nurse. “Everything is normal.”

“Weren’t you wearing a safety cap?” Camille asked. “How did you get a contusion?”

“Mom, I don’t know, okay? It all happened really fast. Do me a favor and stop freaking out.”

Surliness was a new thing with Julie. Camille had started noticing it earlier in the school year. At the moment, her surliness was a hopeful sign. It meant she was feeling normal. “Now what?” Camille asked the doctor. “Are you going to admit her?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No need. The discharge papers are already being prepared.”

She melted a little with relief. “I need a phone. I dashed out of the house without mine, and I need to call my mother.”

Julie indicated her Bethany Bay Barracudas team bag. “You can use mine to call Gram.”

Camille found it and dialed her mother.

“Hey, you,” said Cherisse Vandermeer. “Did school get out early today?”

“Mom, it’s me,” said Camille. “Using Julie’s phone.”

“I thought you would be buried in your darkroom all day.”

The darkroom. Camille had an oh shit moment, but thrust it away in favor of the more immediate matter.

“I’m at the hospital,” Camille told her. “Julie was brought to the ER.”

“Oh, dear heavenly days. Is she all right? What happened?”

“She’s okay. She had an accident in surf rescue class. Just got here myself.”

There was an audible gasp. “I’ll be right over.”

“I’m all right, Gram,” Julie said loudly. “Mom’s freaking out, though.”

Now Camille heard a deep, steadying breath on the other end of the line. “I’m sure it’s going to be all right. I’ll see you there in ten minutes. Did they say what–”

The call dropped. Cell phone signals were iffy this low on the peninsula.

For the first time, Camille took a moment to look around the curtain area. Principal Drake Larson had shown up. Drake–her ex-boyfriend–looked utterly professional in a checked shirt and tie, knife pleats in his pants. But the rings of sweat in his armpits indicated he was anything but calm.

Drake should have been perfect for her, but not long ago, they had mutually decided, like two grown-ups, that their relationship was over. He still called her, though. He kept hinting that he wanted to see her again, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings by turning him down.