“I guess . . .” I started slowly. Feeling nervous. Feeling ashamed. Feeling . . . everything. “They teased me a lot. Because I was . . .” I paused. Use a euphemism, Lori. Don’t actually say it out loud. “Different,” I offered.

He studied me for what seemed like the longest time. If he hadn’t worked out what I meant, then I certainly wasn’t going to explain it further. And then finally, after what felt like a forever under his probing gaze, he spoke.

“Lisa and Zac are different. Different is cool. Different isn’t boring like everyone else at BWH.”

“Wait . . . .you think everyone at BWH is boring?”

“Don’t you?”

“I mean . . . for the most part. But I didn’t think you would.”

He sat up fully on the sand. “Are you saying I’m boring?”

I smiled. “No.”

“You think I’m boring. Don’t you? Cos I don’t listen to weird Swedish music.”

“No.” I smiled.

“Then why’re you smiling like that?”

I covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head. “Not smiling.”

“Yes. You are.”

I giggled this time, my hand still pressed to my mouth.

He eyed me for a while. “I’ll just have to prove to you that I’m not.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” I asked.

“I’ll think of something. Besides, how do you know I don’t listen to superunderground ukulele music?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t,” he said flatly, which made me laugh even more. “Do you?”

I shook my head. “But I know this one guy back at art school who plays in a ukulele band.”

“Of course you do.” That smile again. Atomic bomb smile. Exploding star smile. Big bloody bang smile. It made me feel stupid, and giddy, as if the rock below me was spinning, and then he broke eye contact and flopped back down on the sand.

“So why do you think everyone at BWH is boring?” I asked, once the rock had stopped spinning.

His shoulders slumped. “Maybe boring is the wrong word. Maybe it’s more that they all seem to have these perfect, oblivious lives. They don’t have siblings like we do, or a dad who goes to AA meetings, or a mom who was really depressed for a while.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m complaining, or trying to imply those things are bad, it’s just . . . I don’t know if I’m making sense?”

“You are. I know what you mean.” Because I did. My parents were divorced, my mother was a sexter, and my dad was engaged to a woman who was young enough to be my older sister. And then there was Zac. It made me feel different from everyone else, and now I realized that despite all outward appearances to the contrary, Jake felt different too.

“That’s why I love swimming,” he said.

“Why?”

“It’s so silent and still under the water. Everything else disappears down there.”