I actually don’t know when we’re heading back to New York. You’d think I’d be counting down the days, but right at this moment, I’m looking forward to going on some more adventures here. Seeing more stuff. Learning more from this girl who’s full of surprises. “That’s a cool idea, thank you.”

She nods. “Sure. I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

The barbecue that night is a lot of fun, as is pizza and night swimming at Keisha’s the evening after, and going to a Battle of the Bands at a club the night after that, and a sunset sail on Brea’s boat the night after that. The days are cool too, even as Jasmine begins to trust me with heavier equipment and more work, leaving my muscles sore and my skin lobster-pink at the end of long days shooting lighthouses, slow-crawling crabs, and hang gliders. I get to see everything touristy from a completely different angle, and I always expect Jasmine to mock the cheesy gift shops and fanny packs, but she never does. Instead, she plays the role of tour guide, adding her own little-known facts about the first flights to our stroll around the Wright Brothers Memorial and the histories of the different lighthouses. It’s clear that coming to the Outer Banks for summers her entire life has given her a profound pride in the place.

I’ve never seen someone find so much beauty in everything.

But by Friday night, which brings us to a poker game at Carter’s, she seems wiped. She doesn’t acknowledge it as she drives us to his house, though. She’s just quiet, the way she is to and from photo shoots, a time I’ve come to realize she uses to go over her plans in her head. But unless she’s planning card strategies, that isn’t what’s on her mind.

I don’t push. Something tells me that never works with her.

“How real is this poker game?” I ask instead. I brought it up to distract her, but I’m a little nervous. “Is this, like, playing for M&Ms, or for actual cash? Because I don’t have a whole lot of the latter.”

She waves her hand. “I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll spot you.”

Okay, I’m annoyed. It’s enough that I’m living in her house, well aware my mom is her dad’s secretary and I’m her “assistant.” I don’t need to be handed out cash favors. “I’m not looking to be spotted; I want to be prepared.”