Here’s what I do know about Lucky Karras: (1) His family has owned a boat-repair business in various locations around town for a few generations. (2) They live in a house west of the harbor in a small residential area called Greektown. (3) Lucky works part-time as a mechanic after school in the boatyard. (4) He reads a lot in the Nook, but he almost never buys anything. (5) He’s a loner, like me. (6) He likes the same grape gum that he used to chew when we were kids, which I only know because he folds up the waxy wrappers into tiny, neat shapes that he leaves on his desk at school, like gum-wrapper origami.

Splashing and laughter float from the pool behind us during a break in the dance music. No way am I brave enough to ask Lucky to confirm or deny the nasty rumors about him. I try for a safer subject and ask, “What are you doing out here alone in the bushes, anyway?”

“Meditating on the meaning of life and how to live it.”

“What is that? Some kind of code for smoking up?”

“You offering?”

“I have a peppermint candy in my pocket.”

He whistles softly. “Now it’s a party.”

I smile. Just a little.

He smiles. Just a little …

“Seriously,” I say. “What are you doing back here?”

“Antony invited me.” When I make a face he elaborates, “Adrian’s cousin.”

Huh. Hopefully that’s not the same guy Evie is trying to avoid. “Which Adrian?”

He looks at me as if I’m a big-eyed space alien who just walked out of a flying saucer. “Adrian Summers? As in descended from the founder of Beauty? Father is Levi Summers? This is his cousin’s house.”

I stare at Lucky, blinking.

“You know Evie just broke up with Adrian Summers, right?” Lucky says. “I thought you and Evie were close, or whatever. You live in the same house and work together.”

Oh.

Now I feel completely blindsided. Why didn’t Evie tell me this? I pretend like my cheeks aren’t suddenly ten degrees warmer and try to cover it up with more sarcasm—a tried-and-true Saint-Martin technique for avoiding humiliation. “And you got a personal invite to a Golden party, huh? Didn’t realize you were part of the crème de la crème of Beauty.”

“Yeah, no. My pops made me come,” Lucky admits. “We take care of all the Summers family’s boats. Gotta flaunt my handsome mug around all these future yacht owners, so one day, when he thinks I’m taking over the family business, which I’m not”—he holds up a finger to his lips—“I can charge them ridiculous prices for oil changes and repairs.” He shrugs.

“Circle of life, and all that?”

“All that,” he agrees. “And what about you, shutterbug?”

I frown at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Your mom still does.”