“Hi, Alex,” I say, when his feet sink into the sand, but he ignores me and heads straight for Nolan, who looks like he would consider going for a swim in the lake rather than deal with his friend.

“Alex,” he begins. “Dude, what’s your—”

“My problem?” Alex has stopped a foot away from where Nolan sits, one hand clenched around his cell phone, the other tugging at the collar of his shirt. “My problem, Nolan, is somebody forgot to confirm the inflatable waterslide last month, when they said they would, so the company rented it out to an end-of-summer bash in Wisconsin! And now, less than twenty-four hours before the bazaar that I finally, finally convinced Mom I can handle planning on my own, our biggest chance of direct donations is in the toilet, and I didn’t even know about it because my best friend is an ass who didn’t bother to tell me.”

“I forgot.” Nolan scrambles to his feet. “I forgot, and when I remembered, I figured you probably called to confirm, because that’s how we work: You give me an assignment, I ignore the assignment, and you do it yourself. I’m an idiot, and you fix it.”

There’s a touch of exasperated humor in Nolan’s tone, and I think Alex can hear it, because he leans forward like he might actually strangle Nolan.

“What’s the big deal? What about the booths and stuff?” I ask.

Alex’s look is cutting. “Amelia, I like you. Nolan likes you. It would pain me to dump you in the lake. Stay out of this.”

“Lay off her, Alex,” Nolan says. “Besides, she’s right. You’ve got tons of booths. It’ll be fine.”

If Alex had magic powers that could summon storms, we’d all be killed in a fiery sharknado.

“The waterslide was supposed to be rented at a steep discount,” he grits out. “And we were going to charge a dollar a slide, which means we could make a whole lot of money. It’s the biggest earner at the festival. Now our best hope is that Mr. Larson’s donated hand-knit scarves will sell.”

“DIY and handmade stuff is in,” Nolan pipes up hopefully.

Alex’s anger breaks off long enough for him to give Nolan’s uniform of jeans and an old T-shirt a withering look.

“Yes, Nolan, because you are so in tune with what is hip and cool.”

“Look,” I interrupt. “There has to be something else we can do that will be cheap and bring in money.”

“Not on such short notice, we can’t. I’ve already thought of everything,” Alex says.

Nolan snorts. “I doubt that.”

“Fine, Nolan, you think of something. And if you can’t, I’m going to improvise a pie-throwing booth, and guess who I’ll put in the hot seat for that?”