And the problem of choosing the right words is only compounded when the goddess herself emerges from the backyard wearing a two-piece bathing suit. She looks totally hot. The silky orange fabric of the suit shines like a Lake Michigan sunset. Her dark skin glistens with tanning oil, and her damp black hair is combed straight back over her head. She’s wearing sunglasses and flip-flops. It takes everything in my power not to stare at her chest.

She sees me, and, somewhat startled and self-conscious, steps back behind the house, emerging a few seconds later wearing a white T-shirt and a beach towel wrapped around her waist. Damn. Anyway, she waves as she walks down the driveway.

My throat goes dry and I mumble something like, “From girl to woman in a single day.”

“What?” She cocks her head as she draws closer.

“I said it’s a beautiful day.”

“I thought you were Tank or my dad.”

She stops about three feet from the gate and slides her sunglasses atop her head. In the sunlight, her ivy-green eyes have a reflective quality that reminds me of stained glass.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“At a wrestling clinic. My dad took him. They’ll be home any minute.”

Awkward silence.

“Mind if I wait on the porch?”

“No.” Pause. “I heard about what you guys did that night.”

“Yeah, it was stupid. Won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t with Tank. My dad made sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She seems shy and distant now, looking off to the side, probably wondering what to say next. It occurs to me that she might be unsure of how to act around me. After all, until recently all I’ve ever done is pick on her.

“So,” she finally says. “You ready for senior year?”

“Guess so. You?”

“I can’t believe it’s finally here.” Pause. “Tank’s worried about guys asking me out.”

“Then maybe Tank should ask you to prom.”

That makes her laugh, but I still sense an overwhelming nervousness about her. Then again, I detect it in myself as well.

“Look,” I add. “He’s your brother. He’s proud of you and only wants the best for you.”

“Oh my God, listen to how you put it,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You know what he told me?”

“No, what?”

“He said he’ll tear the lungs out of the first guy who asks me out.”

“Come on,” I say, picturing Tank reaching down my throat. “He just says those things because he cares about you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it. I think he’s serious when he says that stuff. He has anger issues, especially with my dad. You know that, right?”

“He’s my best friend. Of course I know.”

There’s a long silence.