I also need to remind myself that I don’t want to get too attached, so I leave Evie, retreating to my room, where I pull out my father’s fashion photo book. And I lay on the rug, turning the slick, glossy pages, re-memorizing the details of each photograph, reminding myself that there are other things out there in the world. Brighter, shinier things. And if I want them badly enough, I can have them. I just have to stick to my plan.

Lucky 2.0 might be a mirage.

I should be careful with him.

I should be careful with my heart.

It’s easier than I expected to come up with a suitable lie for Sunday dinner. I just tell Mom that I ran into Bunny Perera at the doughnut shop—true—and that I’m meeting her at the Quarterdeck for coffee … not true.

See? Only a half lie. Half the guilt.

The Nook is having computer issues, and Mom is so consumed with trying to get the end-of-the-day totals to process that I could’ve told her I was going to have one of Evie’s taxidermy bat wings surgically attached to my back, and she would’ve said, Okay, babe. Be careful.

Leaving her and Evie to close the store, I take the long way past the Freedom Art Gallery and weave my way through tourists to make sure I’m not spotted. When I sneak into the boatyard side alley, I’m a minute late. And I find Lucky pacing around his bike, a black-and-white striped shirt under his leather jacket. The moment he looks up and sees me, I forget all about guilt and my garbage truck of lies. I forget about everything.

His eyes light up as if I’m a winning lottery ticket, and we smile at each other like we’re splitting the jackpot fifty-fifty.

“Sorry I’m late,” I finally say.

“One minute, but I’m not counting.”

I laugh.

The corners of his mouth curl. “Got a surprise for you.”

“O-oh. Hope it’s a vomit bag for my seasick stomach.”

“Even better. It’s an air freshener that smells like old fish and sealant. Here,” he says, handing me a small, rainbow-striped helmet with a flying white horse on the side. “Safety first. Didn’t want to risk my head twice. Now we’ll both be covered.”

“Uh, wow,” I say. “It’s … sparkly?”

“My cousin Gabe uses it,” he explains. “Sometimes I take him for a ride on the weekends to our grandmother’s condo on the harbor.”

I point to the winged horse. It has three unicorn horns. “Tri-corn?”

He shrugs. “He’s really into horses right now, and he wanted it to have three horns.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember another boy who loved sea monsters. The kraken?”

“The kraken,” he says excitedly. “Yes.”

“Giant octopus that takes down ships.”