Ruth stretched, and Mickey noticed the light blond hairs under her arms, hairs Mickey didn’t have. She wanted to reach over and touch them, but she didn’t.

“You’ll get boobs soon.”

Mickey laughed a too-hard laugh and sat up.

“I wasn’t looking at your boobs.”

“What were you looking at?”

Ruth kept her face up toward the sky, her eyes closed.

“You have to shave your armpits.”

Ruth twitched but didn’t put her arms down. If Ruth had said that to Mickey, Mickey would’ve died of humiliation. But Ruth didn’t seem to care. She dared Mickey to challenge her insecurities. Mickey stood down.

“What does it feel like?” she asked finally.

“Which?”

It was the perfect question, and Mickey’s truest answer would’ve been, All of it. What it felt like to be Ruth, to live in her skin. Mickey glanced down at her own body. Her two-piece bunched and sagged, a resolved grimace of an outfit.

“You can touch them if you want.”

“What? Why would I?” Mickey asked, shoving her hands under her butt.

“You’ll have them soon too; you might as well touch them. See what it’s like.”

Mickey couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, Mick, don’t be such a square.” Ruth grabbed Mickey’s wrist and put her hand on her bathing suit top. Mickey could feel the rise of her nipple through the slick fabric.

“Go ahead, squeeze it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nope.”

Mickey squeezed her fingers together, felt the meat of her.

“It feels . . . squishy.”

“Way squishier than a dick, that’s for sure.”

“How do you know?”

It was the wrong question.

Ruth sat up and adjusted her bikini top. Then she shaded her eyes, looking out toward the horizon.

“Who’s that?”

“Who?” Mickey asked, sitting up and following Ruth’s gaze. A boat had just pulled into the residential shallows, motor cut in accordance with the buoys.

She recognized the Waterson boys immediately. The four of them had logged countless hours of tag and make-believe in the woods between their houses, but that had stopped as soon as Cody decided playing with girls—especially younger girls—was gross. But now, the way Josh held one palm on the steering wheel and one over his eyes made Mickey’s heart skip like a knife through vegetable skin. Like a close call.

“The Watersons,” Mickey said, putting up a hand in a small wave.

“Who are the Watersons?” Ruth asked, stretching her long legs out to the side.

“Our neighbors. Josh and Cody.”

“Our age?”

“Josh is Sean’s age; Cody is yours,” Mickey said.

“Are they cute? They look like they could be cute.”

Mickey’s skipping heart nicked her throat. She was hesitant to tell Ruth, but she didn’t know why. This was what girlfriends were for, after all.

“Josh is pretty cute, I guess.”