“Barely,” I say miserably, stretching my legs out from my seat on the second-highest step. “I can feel my tan fading already.” It’s impossible to shake the concern that every little change I went through this summer has contributed to Chase’s attraction, and even though it would make him a colossal ass if it were true, and even though he already said it isn’t about how I look, I can’t help feeling like if I shed too much of the summer, he’ll realize I’m the same girl he wasn’t interested in last year or the year before that.

“You can always join me at the salon,” Gia singsongs. She is the queen of spray tans and is always trying to convince us to come along, but I just can’t get on board. I would end up leaving splotches of orange on white surfaces all over town.

“Not gonna happen, G,” says Shannon, slathering on another layer of sunscreen at the mere mention of tans. “Painting your skin is weird.”

Kiki, who’s Japanese American and naturally darker than the rest of us, just snorts and does a somersault in the pool.

“You’re all gonna change your minds when it comes time to buy homecoming dresses,” Gia warns.

“Speak for yourself,” says Shannon. “I am wearing red lipstick and it’s gonna look perfect with my paleness, thank you very much.”

“How do you know what you’re wearing already? We haven’t even gone shopping yet,” I say. I haven’t given a ton of thought to Homecoming this year, but I’ve imagined myself on Chase’s arm at it enough in the past. The dress is always nebulous, though—I like clothes, but being on a tight budget means shopping always feels like a mixed bag, for fear I’ll find something I absolutely love that I can’t take home in a million years.

It was a double-edged sword shopping with Jasmine—she knew my limitations, and like that night at the poker game, she never acknowledged them out loud; she just made sure we went to places that’d work for me. It was uncomfortable in its own way, but it didn’t have that overhang of dread that shopping with Shannon did, the worry that she’d find something she thought looked so good on me she’d say “Just pay me back later” or “You have your mom’s card—who cares if it’s a little over budget?” And I couldn’t get mad when she was trying to be nice. It wasn’t her fault she was spoiled and completely clueless. But I couldn’t exactly get mad at my mom either. All it left me with was a lot of frustration that usually had me going home with a headache.