Ethan broke the silence. “I don’t know how you got through years of foster care and turned out so . . . normal. I’m not sure I would.”

“Well, I kind of disappeared into my own head.” Emma skimmed through the water, focused on the sound of Ethan’s low voice. “Made up a world of my own.”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“I kept journals and wrote stories. And I created a newspaper.”

“Really?”

Emma nodded, her eyes still closed. “It was sort of . . . the Daily Emma. I would take pictures and write down stuff that happened to me as if it were a top story on the front page. You know, ‘Girl Cooks Yet Another Lentil Loaf for Hippie Foster Parents.’ Or ‘Foster Sister Breaks Emma Paxton’s Prized Possession Just ’Cause She Feels Like It.’ It helped me cope. I still compose headlines in my head, sometimes.”

“How come?”

Emma wiped water from her face. “I guess it makes me feel . . . significant. Like I’m good enough to be a headline on a front page—even if it’s my own made-up newspaper.”

“I went into my own little world, too,” Ethan confessed. “I used to get picked on all the time when I was younger.”

“You were picked on?” Emma wanted to open her eyes and stare at him. “Why?”

“Why does anyone ever get picked on?” Ethan’s voice cracked. “It was just something that happened. Except instead of writing newspapers, I drew mazes. First, they were pretty basic, but eventually I made them more and more complicated until even I couldn’t solve them. I would get lost in those mazes. I imagined that they were a garden labyrinth I could disappear into forever.”

Suddenly, she felt fluttering kicks underwater. She thrust her hand out, touched skin, and opened her eyes. Ethan was wedged in the corner near the built-in hot tub.

Before Emma knew what she was doing, she touched a little shaving cut on Ethan’s chin. “Does it hurt?”

Ethan blushed. “Nah.” Then he grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. Their legs collided and Emma felt the friction between their skin. She stared at Ethan’s dewy lips, the droplets of water on his eyelashes, the smattering of freckles scattered across his shoulders.

Crickets chirped. The mesquite trees sighed in the wind. Just as Ethan leaned closer, Sutton’s necklace caught the moonlight and sent a glimmer across the surface of the pool.

The water suddenly felt like ice on Emma’s skin. This was all happening too fast. “Um . . .” she muttered, turning and swimming away.

Ethan twisted awkwardly, too, wiping water from his face.

“Ugh!” I screamed at them. Talk about frustrating!

Emma moved to the ladder. “We should probably get out.”

“Yeah.” Ethan pushed out of the pool. He looked at the flower beds and the cone-shaped bird feeder that hung from a birch tree—anywhere but at Emma.