Anthony’s phone blinked ominously: LOW BATTERY. He sighed. When he got back to the cottage, he’d charge his phone, then he’d call Cassie. If Cassie didn’t answer, he’d call his mother—maybe Max was there again! If not, he might work up the courage to talk about money.

The only problem with his plan was that he didn’t exactly know where he was; the wrong turn had thrown him off. And even though Block Island was only seven miles long, Anthony’s familiarity with its geography was almost nonexistent. He started the car again. Was there a tick-tick-tick noise coming from the engine? He cocked his head, listening. Maybe he’d imagined it. Anthony’s knowledge of the inner workings of cars, when written out in long form, could fit on one side of a dime.

He eased back onto the road, figuring that if he reached the water he’d probably be able to work out how to wind his way around the island and back to the cottage.

The Le Baron shuddered and shook and came to a cranky halt.

“No!” said Anthony. “No no no no no.” He turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. “No!” he said. “Don’t do this to me.” He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. The car was smack in the middle of the road.

Anthony got out and struggled for a good long time with the hood. Even this simple task was a challenge. Mortifying. From off in the distance he heard the deep lowing of a cow. “I know, buddy,” he said. “I feel the same way.”

When he finally had the hood open, he stared at the engine, as though the car might reveal the source of its problems in word form, so that Anthony could read it. He felt himself turn red with humiliation, even though there was nobody there to watch him.

He looked again at his phone and began to google. He’d google Le Baron and tick tick tick noise. The LOW BATTERY message blinked twice, then darkness fell over the screen.

The day was hot and cloudless and the sun glinted off the asphalt like an insult. In town, from the little Anthony had seen, this place was wall-to-wall people and tank tops and ice cream and noise. How could an island that seemed so overpopulated—the crush of humanity where the ferries docked, the intolerable moped traffic, bikes everywhere—also be so empty?

He waited, and waited some more. His unease deepened. At last a bright yellow Jeep, top down, came along the road and stopped behind him, pulling over to the side. The license plate read JOYBMBS and the driver was a woman who looked vaguely familiar to Anthony, although he didn’t know why. She had long dark hair and pale smooth skin. She was wearing giant sunglasses, which she pushed on top of her head when she said, “Need some help?” Her eyes were dark brown.

Anthony wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn’t like being in a position of need, and there was such shame clinging to his lack of car knowledge. But the truth was the truth. “Yeah,” he said, ducking his head. “I guess I do.”