By the time they reached Cleveland they could mash together three, four, five creatures into one, and they added real people into the mix, like Prince and Mrs. LaSpisa, the guidance counselor from school who gave him a beeswax candle when she’d heard his mother had died. Michael thought the game was stupid and funny and charming. He was excited to see Cape Cod, and the ride out there—with all of them close together, playing games like a real family—would have been perfect if he hadn’t been so distrustful of his good fortune to be included, and so skeptical that his luck would last.

After their stop in Syracuse, Ann fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. He couldn’t help it: the feeling of her breath on his neck and the fruity smell of shampoo in her long, straight hair made him hard. Of course she turned him on. She was pretty, but there was more to his attraction to her than that. He’d heard kids at school say she was stuck-up, and he supposed she could be, but he admired her confidence and drive. Plus, she’d allowed him to see a side of her that other people didn’t see. He’d be forever in her debt for taking an interest in him when nobody else did. If it weren’t for Ann, he’d be in some foster home or out on the street.

He could practically taste her, smell her, feel her soft hair in his hands. He studied everything about her: the dimple on her cheek, the bump on her nose, the way she frowned when she did homework and tapped her fingers against her leg when she was bored. He couldn’t explain it; it was as if she’d been imprinting herself on him.

The waves kept smashing against the shore, and the wind whistled in his ears. Couldn’t everything just stop for a minute? Couldn’t there be quiet? He didn’t know what to do; he only knew that Ann’s hand felt like an anchor. He wanted her to keep holding on as much as he knew she should let go. He wasn’t her boyfriend.

“Let’s swim,” Ann said. A strand of her hair had gotten caught in the bubble-gum-scented lip gloss she always used, and it was all he could do not to reach out and pull it away for her. In the sun, her hair looked as golden as the tinsel on a Christmas tree, while Poppy’s hair had a copper cast to it. They were both wearing one-pieces, the kind of modest suits girls wear to swim meets, but it was cold near the water and he couldn’t help but notice Ann’s nipples poking through the fabric. Michael looked away, embarrassed.

Ann stepped closer to the water and tugged on his arm. “Come on. Don’t you want to swim?”