“Are you okay, Ronan?”

“Yeah, you think you’re a human bowling ball, or what?” Tressa asks.

“Be quiet,” I say. I wonder if Ronan is going to get mad.

Michael stands and reaches out a hand to help Ronan.

Aimee comes over and whispers, “What is going on with Brandy?”

“She went to the dark side. Following that other one.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Tell me about it.”

I turn to Ronan. “Do you want to go play video games?”

“No. Why would I want to do that? I’m just getting the hang of it.”

“Oh . . . yeah. I actually thought you might be . . . um . . . embarrassed?”

“You didn’t like my first turn? What was wrong with it?” He raises his eyebrows. Trying to look innocent.

“It was great. A few more feet, and you could have hit the pins . . . with your head.”

The four of us laugh.

It takes Ronan four turns to hit two pins, and he jumps around like he got a perfect game. Pumping his fists. Spinning around.

“This kid is a goof,” Michael says. “He kind of grows on you, though.”

“Like mold that grows on old food,” Tressa chimes in.

I glare. “Who asked you?”

“Oh, did we hurt his feelings?” Tressa asks.

I turn to Brandy, who acts like she’s not paying any attention to us. “Do you even speak anymore? Or are you not allowed?”

“Be quiet, Delsie.”

“Clever comeback,” I say.

Ronan steps forward and stands closer to Tressa and Brandy. “I’ve learned a lot this summer. One thing is that when you’re hurt, it means you care. So, here is a question for you. If I’m not hurt, what does that mean?”

“C’mon,” Tressa says to Brandy. “Let’s go get snacks.”

I know that watching Brandy walk away will stick with me for a long time.

I’ll miss the friend she was—and could have been. But as Ronan makes Michael and Aimee laugh behind me, I think about how loyal these three are. I guess some friends are just glitter, and some friends are glue.

Chapter 27

WHATEVER FLOATS YOUR BOAT

There is a knock on the door. I can tell it’s Henry just by how much the screen door rattles.

“Hey, Delsie! How are you?”

“Good. I’ll get Grammy.”

“No. Actually, I’m here to talk with you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” he says, folding his arms. “What’s the weather look like tomorrow?”

“Eighty-two degrees. Moderate humidity. Decent barometric pressure, which is good. Winds out of the east at only about six miles per hour. Quiet day,” I say. “But I know you knew that, so what gives?”

“Well, I didn’t know quite that much.” He laughs. “I just wanted to hear you say it. I knew you’d have the report.” He unfolds his arms and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So it sounds like a pretty perfect fishing day. No wind. No weather. No surprises, which I know you’ll like.”