Lucky in our apartment. Whoa. I’m a little fluttery just thinking about it. Another first for us. It’s one thing for us to be on our own private boat together, but in public, around other people … that’s new territory. Good territory. It’s just new. And exciting.

“I’ll double-check to make sure it’s all okay,” I tell him. “But I’m pretty sure it is. Just text me when you’re done?”

He checks to make sure no one’s watching and quickly kisses my forehead, holding oil-stained hands away from my shirt. “Sounds like a plan. Mushrooms and olives on my side, by the way. No cheese.”

“That’s not even pizza anymore,” I say, making a face.

“If they have clams—”

“NO.”

He grins. “See you in an hour.”

I cross back over to the Nook and head around back, up the steps, and into our apartment. Looks clean. Okay. At least I don’t have to freak out about that. I text Mom but when she doesn’t reply right away, I’m not surprised. Hopefully she’ll see it before he comes over.

Heading through the living room past our 1950s pinup girl lamp, I make a beeline to Evie’s room and knock briefly on her door. I know she’s there, because the sounds of grungy 1980s post-punk music rattle the walls. She’s probably studying for class and can’t hear me, so I knock louder and then crack open the door and stick my head through.

“Hey,” I shout over the music.

Then I freeze.

Evie’s there, all right. She’s not alone.

A dark head of hair rises from the covers like a mermaid from the water, and for a moment, there’s a jumble of limbs, and I’m seeing way more of my cousin’s skin than I want to see. But when I blink, most of that skin is quickly covered up with a quilt, and a face I never wanted to see again is staring back at me.

Adrian Summers.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

Evie looks at me.

What do I do now? I know I shouldn’t be here, but it’s too late. They’re both staring at me in horror. And I’m staring back. It’s all super uncomfortable, and the music’s still blasting like it doesn’t realize that it’s underscoring a really awkward moment for all of us.

Oh, Evie. Cuz.

Whyyyyyyy?

She blinks at me with big eyes that say: I couldn’t help it. ’Twas the Saint-Martin curse!

And I glare back at her with narrowed eyes that say: All the disappointment.