I hear them before I see them. The back door of the house flies open and Drew’s son, Noah, and an unidentified number of Noah’s preteen friends all sprint out onto the pool deck. Ever since Mom installed the pool, Noah and his friends have been a permanent fixture in my life. They are obnoxious, loud, and wherever they go, the heady scent of Axe body spray follows.

I don’t even have time to take cover.

The boys catapult into the pool, and I immediately lose custody of the pizza float, which—okay. Fine. But before I can fully recover, one of them starts shooting me with a Super Soaker, and another does a backflip off the diving board, somehow managing to land directly on top of my head while another attempts to swipe my sunglasses.

“Argggh—Noah, call off your goons!” I yell, then I swim for my life, making my way to the side where my phone rests, and send a text to Bea as I pull myself out of the water. SOS.

Noah swims up next to me, churning his legs to keep his head above water. “Willow, did you get my text about going out with me on Friday?” He grins, showing off a glistening mouth of braces, and the hooligans closest to him break out into a series of hoots. I have to give him props for his bravery. And persistence. This is the third time he’s asked me out this month.

I sigh and set down my phone. “Noah, I’d be happy to go to the movie with you but not on a date. You’re twelve.”

Two soggy eyebrows go up, and he does his best to give me a suave look. “Thirteen next summer. You’re only three years older than me.”

You have to admire that kind of misplaced confidence. He goes to the same prep school as me, which means Drew is paying an astonishing amount of money for these lackluster math skills.

“You’re twelve and I’ll be seventeen in three weeks. We’re five years apart.” I try to keep my voice gentle—because rejection sucks no matter how old you are—but I’m beginning to lose patience.

“So I’ll take that as a maybe,” Noah says, flashing me a shiny braces-laden smile.

“You’ll take that as a no,” I say sternly. “You’re too young. Besides, I don’t even date people my age.”

He tilts his head to the side, smacking his left ear. “Why not?”

Because high school relationships are stupid, limiting, and distracting. Because I don’t believe in the whole Cinderella thing. Because why would I spend my time falling for someone when I plan to take off the moment I can?

I point to the deep end of the pool. “Could you look for my earring at the bottom? I think it fell off earlier.”