“They always close from the third weekend of June to the first weekend of July,” I say. There’s no way I’m giving in to Piper when I know I’m right. There’s something satisfying about proving her wrong.

Piper’s eyes narrow. “Is there a sign on the shop window or something?”

“No,” I answer.

“Then how do you know?” She folds her arms and nods to Olivia like she’s proving a point.

Olivia turns to me and waits for my answer. For the logical explanation Piper somehow knows I won’t have.

“The owner told me,” I say, feeling like I can’t take a deep enough breath. I understand what Piper’s trying to do. She wants to make me look ridiculous in front of my best friend. Piper’s poisoned everyone else against me; it’s only a matter of time before Olivia listens to her too.

“When did the owner tell you?” Piper’s smile is all teeth and pink lip gloss.

I slowly close my fingers into a fist and squeeze it tight. “Last year before they left.”

“And you remembered all this time?” Piper asks, her eyes wide with fake shock. “Do you stalk them, too? Is there anyone you don’t stalk?”

There’s a pile of horse manure behind Piper. I bet her shiny boots have never once touched any kind of poop, and for one brief second I fantasize about changing that.

“Remembering when an ice cream store closes isn’t stalking them,” Olivia says. I glance at her gratefully, but she avoids my gaze and bites her thumbnail. If Olivia sees me differently after the smallest glimpse of my memory, what will happen if she finds out the whole truth?

“Whatever,” Piper says, picking up her purse. “There’s your mom, Olivia. If the ice cream place is closed, you can come over to my place for a swim.” She turns and heads to Olivia’s car without a glance at me.

“Later, Lulu.” Olivia waves as she follows Piper, but she still won’t look me in the eye.

I stare as they drive off, the dust from the road kicked up behind the car. With Gram slipping away, I won’t have anyone else if Olivia stops being my friend too.

When Gram pulls up next to the barn, I try to shake off the sadness that covers me in a film of grit and dirt. She fiddles with the buttons by the steering wheel, her head bent as she tries to find the right one to unlock my door. I knock on her window until she rolls it down, and point to the button she’s searching for.

She pushes it with a flustered laugh. “Oh, there it is. All these buttons are so confusing, yes?”