“Building a house,” Tressa says.

“Out of rocks?” I ask. They wouldn’t build a fairy house together, would they?

“Uh . . . I was kidding,” Tressa says, half laughing. “We’re collecting stuff. Hanging out.”

“Can I help?” I ask.

Brandy doesn’t say anything, but she hands me her pail, which surprises me.

We collect stuff but don’t talk to each other. The beach is starting to fill up. A group of kids comes toward us, laughing and dragging boogie boards, reminding me of better times.

And then there’s the boy throwing rocks into the waves. “Oomph!” Splash.

“Hey, Delsie,” Tressa says. “I think there are some good ones down there. Why don’t you check it out?”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a little better.

I take about ten steps away, bend over, and pick up a perfect scallop shell. “Brandy! This one is perfect!”

“Cool.” Brandy smiles. Tressa watches her.

“No,” Tressa says. “Further down.”

I take another five steps.

“Keep going,” she says, shielding her face from the sun.

I step away again, but I know it won’t be enough. She wants me to step all the way to China.

“Yup. Keep going,” she calls.

Instead of backing up, I scurry over to Brandy, reach into my pocket, and pull out the rock that I decorated for her. “Here. I made this for you,” I tell her. “It’s a perfect skipping rock, but I decided to decorate it with glitter like we used to.”

“Thanks,” Brandy says. She reads the quote I painted on it out loud: “As a friend, on a scale from one to ten, you’re a ten and a half.” She smiles again, and before she can say anything else, Tressa slaps the bottom of Brandy’s hand, sending the rock into the air. Then she catches it and skips it into the ocean. It all happens in a half second.

“Hey!” Brandy says.

“Well, you heard her,” Tressa says. “She said it was a great skipping rock.”

Don’t cry, I tell myself. Don’t.

But I can’t keep the tears from coming. First the sunscreen and now this. And Brandy just stands there like a pile of seaweed. It’s like she’s a stranger. The idea of not having her as a friend anymore does me in. So I turn to leave. I take two steps.

“Wait! Come back!” Tressa calls.

“Oomph!” Splash goes the next rock from the boy.

I don’t know why I turn around. Maybe a really dumb part of me thinks they’ll be kind if they see me cry, that they’ll feel sorry and we can all be friends.

But when I turn around, Tressa is laughing. “Wow. Are you actually crying?”

Brandy takes a step toward me and stops, and I know if she has to choose, she won’t choose me.

I cry harder. Enough to hear myself, and I hate it. But the sound of Tressa’s fake crying in the background of my real crying is even worse. I am humiliated.

“Hey!” A loud, deep voice cuts into my own noise. I look up.