I started to reply, turning the word fling over in my head one more time, but then he blurted, “I haven’t done this before, is the thing. I’ve done . . . other things. There are girls I’ve gone out with, but I haven’t had sex.” He watched for my reaction. “So that’s why I’m, ah, jittery?”

“I haven’t had sex either. I . . . haven’t done anything? I haven’t been with anyone at all, I’ve kissed two guys before you, one at a middle school party and another at Wildwood, but neither of them were anything like this. So.”

Silence filled the room. I hoisted up the beach towel and tried to bury myself under it.

He tugged it below my face so he could cup my cheeks.

“This is good. This is what I want to know. I think I . . . I had the wrong take on you. I’ve been catching myself trying to, like, woo you with my musical prowess—”

I almost cackled. “What?”

“I know. I’m gonna dial it back, I promise.”

“There’s nothing to dial back. Wait, what was your take on me?”

“Ahhhh.” He nestled next to me, playing with my hair. “I think your friend Jules threw me. All the, like, society stuff you do with Ms. Visser. And the way your family joked about you never having a serious boyfriend. I figured you were, you know, on the scene, different guy every week . . .”

“If by guy you mean Ben and Jerry’s flavor, then maybe.” I blinked hard, rebooting. “Yeah, no. That girl, out at the club, it was a life I was trying on. A different one from my own. And . . . ditto the philanthropy stuff. Society. Whatever.”

“So what is your own life?” His voice was quiet.

The only things that sprang to mind were choices I could eliminate: musician, socialite, Vogue editor, normal teenager. “I don’t know yet.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up. “Best possible answer.”

“Really?” I relaxed into the pillow, turning to face him, our noses nearly touching. “It feels scary.”

“Life should feel scary. It means you’re living it. I don’t know what my life is going to look like in ten years. I have no fucking clue.”

“Oh good grief.” I grinned. “You’re going to be a star, Oscar.”

“A star what?”

“Composer, conductor, international ambassador to the classical music world. The toast of the cultural scene wherever you go. And whatever else you want to be.”

“That’s what I thought before I got here. I was sure of it.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his knuckles. “I think ahead now and it’s . . . static. Totally blank.”

“You’re just in the thick of it.” I touched his temples, his smooth jaw. His eyes stayed closed but seemed to relax under my fingers. “You shouldn’t be thinking ahead anyway, like you said. Try to enjoy what’s happening.”