“Whatup, kid?” she said, beaming. “How hot is that one, am I right?”

“What are you doing?” I shouted, suddenly angry but I didn’t know why.

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” she asked. “I’m standing here basking in the glow of that hot Greek man.”

“But . . . but . . . he’s two years older than you! And you barely talked at the lake!”

She smirked. “Talking’s overrated. And he’s only a year older than me.” She gestured between the two of us. “You and me are a year and a half apart! Are you saying we can’t hang out?”

“That’s different,” I said. “We’re related. And we’re . . . That’s not what I meant.” I was flustered. “Does your mom know who you were with?”

Kennedy laughed at me, holding up her palms. “Calm down, cousin, Maureen knows. She even met him. Is that better?” Bettah?

No, it’s not! I screamed in my head. I still couldn’t figure out why I was so bothered by Kennedy and Seb, but all I knew was that I didn’t want them kissing like a CW show, and especially not in front of me.

You’re mad because you wish you were like her, but you know you never could be.

“No, I don’t!” I shouted out loud.

Kennedy looked at me funny. “You don’t what?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.

“You seem weird,” she said. “Is this about that old man again? Because we can totally go stake him out if you wa—”

“No!” I interrupted, annoyed. “I figured out who he is, and he’s just an old man who has dementia. He has nothing to do with Colette.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, smiling at me. “Because it was kinda fun investigating with y—”

“I’m sure,” I interrupted.

Kennedy smiled slyly. “Not even if we made it a double date with the brothers?”

I slammed shut my sketchbook and slid off the boulder, putting my hand on my hip. I didn’t know who I was right now, but I wasn’t quiet, polite Tess. I was angry Tess.

“Listen to me,” I said, narrowing my gaze at my cousin. “We’re not doing that—especially not with Izzy and Seb. But we’re never looking for the man again, anyway. I told you I found out who he is, so just drop it. It’s over!”

She looked hurt at first, then her face hardened, morphing back into the Kennedy I’d seen when we first got to Pinedale. It was amazing how quickly she could go from looking like a friend to looking like some angry girl on a punk-rock album cover.

“Whatever you say.” She started walking away from me, around the side of the cabin. “I can’t wait to go back to Boston. I’m sick of babysitting.”