I glanced over at it, noticing that all the underwater lights were on. It gleamed like a giant turquoise jewel in the darkness of the backyard. There was no way anyone could miss it.

“Mom—”

But she already had me by the shoulders, turning me to face her. “Harper, have you been drinking?”

“No,” I said, reaching up to squeeze one of her hands for emphasis. “You know I wouldn’t do that. I promise.”

Mom watched me for a long time. There were new wrinkles around her eyes, and in the dim, greenish light of the pool, she looked almost sickly. All the euphoria that had just been coursing through me seemed to drain out. I had almost been killed tonight. I pictured Mom, sitting at the kitchen table in her robe, waiting for me when I was never coming home, and suddenly, the whole superhero thing didn’t seem so great.

“I’m fine,” I told her again, reaching out to hug her before remembering that I was soaking wet. “Just . . . distracted and clumsy.”

I wasn’t sure how convinced she was, but she finally smiled and tucked a piece of wet hair behind my ear. “Okay. But you might want to work on that, or Mary Beth won’t be the only one taking out an entire row of debutantes.”

Relieved, I laughed. “She’ll get better.”

Mom and I walked back into the house, and I saw that the coffeepot was on and nearly empty. “How long have you been up?” I asked. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and that was my curfew.

“Awhile,” was all Mom said, but then, from the doorway, I heard Dad say, “She hasn’t been to bed yet.”

Dad’s hair—what little he had left—was sticking up and his eyes were blurry with sleep. As he shuffled into the kitchen, I smiled at his familiar plaid pajama pants and University of Alabama T-shirt. “Why are you soaking wet?” he asked.

“She fell in the pool,” Mom explained. Unlike her, he seemed to take that in stride. “Gotta be more careful, kiddo,” he told me, walking up to Mom. He put a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her toward him to kiss her temple.

I guess I should be icked out that I have parents who are obviously still so in love—and to be honest, sometimes, I am—but there was also something . . . comforting about it. I thought of Ryan, wondering if we got married, would we be like this in twenty years?

“So did you win?” Dad asked, and it took me a minute to remember what he was talking about.

“I did,” I told him. “But I left the crown in Ryan’s car.”

Dad squinted. “That doesn’t sound like you. Hope you weren’t distracted. Do I need to get my shotgun?”

“Ew,” I said as Mom nudged him with her elbow.