The energy between him, Cybill, and Charlie was certainly weird. It was like the erotic vibrations were shooting off every which way, in every which direction, far too many for Alice to keep track of. Sometimes it seemed like the two girls were fighting over him. Sometimes it seemed like Charlie and Cybill were in league with each other against him. Sometimes it seemed like he and Cybill were in league with each other against Charlie. Alice suspected he wanted to pull her in the mix, too, turn this ménage à trois into a ménage à quatre. No thanks. Anytime she caught him looking at her, she returned his gaze, keeping her eyes steady and expressionless. He was always the first to look away. Good. She didn’t like games, not his games at least, and no way was she going to let him trick her into playing. How, she wondered, did someone so young get so jaded? How, she also wondered, did she ever allow herself to be intimidated by this jerk?

Alice was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of her name. She looked up. It was Cybill, holding out Jude’s flask to her. “You thirsty?”

Alice waved away the offer, remembering, but only barely, to smile so she wouldn’t seem rude.

“Charlie, I know you’re thirsty.”

As Charlie laughed and leaned forward to accept the flask, the back of her shirt lifted, and Alice saw that her angel’s wing was covered by a Hello Kitty Band-Aid. She had been so mad at Charlie when she got the tattoo. She was even more mad at Charlie now, seeing her hide the tattoo she’d wanted so badly, ashamed of it because Jude judged it shameful. It was hard for Alice to believe that her strong, tough, take-no-shit sister was letting herself be influenced by this smirky rich kid. It was like Charlie was so used to boys turning themselves inside out to get her attention, she couldn’t resist the one boy who kept a little distance. What a cliché. But Alice didn’t feel as if she could say anything to Charlie about the situation or warn her off Jude, as much as she wanted to. Not now. Not after she’d just unloaded her suspicions about Maggie and Richard onto Charlie and found her so resistant. Charlie would simply write her off as paranoid, quit listening to anything she said.

If Alice had to bite her tongue, then she couldn’t hang around any longer and watch Charlie falling for Jude’s manipulative push-pull bullshit, or she’d bite her tongue clean off at the root. She stood up from her chair, nearly bumping her head on the sand-dollar wind chimes hanging above the back door.

“I’m going to take a walk on the beach,” she said. “My legs are falling asleep from all this sitting. You guys have fun.”